I wrote this on my personal Facebook Page the other day: “No matter how “bad” you believe your day to be, always remember someone, somewhere is having the worst day of his/her life-enduring unspeakable tragedy and loss. I’m as selfish and bad about this as anyone, but it’s something I’m going to make a concerted effort to work on.”
I completely believe every word. For example, and I blogged about this last week, one of my high school classmates had to bury her 22-year-old-son on Saturday. Nothing in my life that I’m going through or have dealt with this year can even touch this horror.
That being said, I’d be lying If I tried to act like we have not had A LOT we’ve had to deal with since January 1. On 1/13, my truck was hit by a woman on Hwy 75 in Waxhaw while traveling to the vets to get some medicine for our aging, beloved cockapoo (see above pic). No worries. No one was hurt. Vehicles are fixable. Or so I thought. I love my truck. After 3 months in the shop, I was informed today that the frame is bent after all, and it’s being totaled. I’m figuring out how to proceed from here.
Oh, and that beloved cockapoo? We lost him at the end of February/first of March. It is a loss that has had a continual punishing effect on our hearts and souls. I don’t know if it will ever “feel better.” I just know that a day doesn’t go by that I don’t miss “Frisky” like nothing I’ve ever experienced.
Then, last week we lost Debbie’s Aunt, Ruth Kline. To even refer to her with that familial title is a sort of disrespect. Ruth was more than Debbie’s mom’s sister. She was more like a second mother. As a child, Debbie would count the days until they would travel 60 miles to Dallas from her hometown to spend time with Ruth and her family because she was so much fun. Ruth is the one who first welcomed me to the family. I was nervous as a cat in room full of rocking chairs when I was invited to Debbie’s family Christmas Gathering in 1992. I knew we were “serious,” and meeting the family is never an easy thing. I was barely speaking to anyone when the doorbell rang. I quickly got up to get it and was greeted by a wild, red-headed woman with a blender and margarita fixings in her arms, a warm smile and a “You must be Chuck. Grab this and let’s go make margaritas so we can tolerate this family.” Over the years we shared too many laughs to count. We shared some tough moments too. I watched Ruth bury her daughter (I spoke at the funeral-that was tough), her sister (Debbie’s mom), and her husband. I watched Ruth comfort Debbie during her mother’s bought and eventual defeat at the hands of dementia. And I watched the love between my son and his “Aunt Rocky.” There are no more adult figures from Debbie’s childhood that are still with us. I’m not sure how she’s dealing with this. My wife has a tendency to keep her emotions buried deep, even from me.
That, along with a couple of professional issues we’ve had to handle recently have made the first 90 days of 2022 very emotionally trying at best. “No matter how “bad” you believe your day to be, always remember someone, somewhere is having the worst day of his/her life-enduring unspeakable tragedy and loss. I’m as selfish and bad about this as anyone, but it’s something I’m going to make a concerted effort to work on.”
I keep repeating those words. And I mean every one of them. And I’m trying. It’s just been another bad day…