I'm still here... Fuzzball shows no signs of wanting to get out. At all. People keep calling my parents to ask if I've had a baby yet. It's starting to annoy me, like I have any control over it. Gah. Anyway, here's what I was going to post Friday but decided not to.
I’ve been thinking lately of significant people in my past, both positive and negative forces in my life. I’ve had so many people come and go that sometimes it’s hard to keep track of them all. But there are a few that really stand out, and one of the ones that does isn’t even human.
You all know about Rosie and Peanut, my family’s Yorkies. I can’t even tell you how much joy these dogs give me. Every single time I go to my mom’s house it’s like I have my own personal cheering squad, because these dogs greet me with such blinding enthusiasm that I can’t even comprehend it. It's unconditional love at it's finest. Rosie wasn’t the first Yorkie that we had though. Honey was.
Honey was the sweetest little dog. She was full of sass and spunk, and she weighed in at a whopping full grown 3 pounds. She was tiny and fragile but had the personality of a Labrador. She thought she was much bigger than she actually was. Needless to say, she was an easy dog to love, and much like Rosie, everyone that met her fell in love with her.
I was always terribly worried about her size and the fact that she was so little and fragile. It scared me to ever think that anything could happen to her. So when she was accidentally killed when a heavy oak chair fell on her, my heart felt like it was literally ripped out of my chest. It was the most freak thing to ever happen in my presence, and the only time in my life so far that I’ve ever experienced such a painful and traumatic loss.
I know my sister blames herself for Honey’s death, because it was my 2 year old nephew who was playing in the chair that fell on her. He tipped it over, and although we all knew it was a complete accident, I know she was horrified.
It was gut wrenching to see my mom grab her little dog off the floor screaming. Honey's tiny little neck was broken, and even as my mom ran to get my dad, I knew there was nothing that could be done to save her. My parents ran to the car and started towards the vets office as I freaked out. Ryan tried to calm me down the whole time. My sister took my nephew and left, and I felt horrible that she blamed herself. Silently I was blaming myself, I had been holding her minutes before it happened, then I put her on the floor. If I had only held on to her for a few more minutes…
My parents came back within a few moments, and my dad drove the car into the yard. Both of my parents were a wreck. This dog was their baby. I ran to meet them and my mom had Honey in her lap. Seeing her broken body yet again was a moment that I’ll never forget. The moments that followed were somewhat of a blur, but I can remember thinking that I wasn’t planning on spending the evening burying my dog.
My parents buried her in the backyard. They even got a little memorial stone to put at her grave. I painted a purple flower on it, because I have a really cute picture of her sticking her nose in a big purple flower.
Like I said, this has been the most traumatic moment of my life to date. Every once in a while I would relive the moment. After a while that faded away, but lately it’s come back, full force, and I know that my anxiety levels and depression are building up again. It’s inevitable, because again I’m faced with a tiny and fragile life, a life that is totally in my hands. I never talk about my anxiety, but I know I have some form of an anxiety disorder which leads to depression. It's never been properly diagnosed, but I have an irrational fear of bad things happening, mostly to the people that I care about the most. The last time I was at my doctor she asked me if I wanted anything for depression, knowing that it runs in my family. I declined, because I’ve always been able to fight it off. I’m hoping to remain as strong in the future, but with so much more on the line I know it will be hard. So right now I’m preparing myself and Ryan for a bad couple of weeks. Since I’m prone to depression, I’m afraid that the “baby blues” will be full blown post partum depression, and I’m not sure if I’m prepared to deal with that. Ryan is prone to depression too, so I know it will affect him if I’m depressed.
Not only that, but thinking about Honey and how heartbroken I was (and still am) about a little creature who was in my life for such a short amount of time scares me. And that’s the problem with love. Once you take that leap of faith into loving someone, there’s always that fear. And it’s inescapable. So when I look at my husband, or when I see my baby for the first time, I know that if anything ever happened to either of them, it would crush me. I don’t know if I’d be able to live.
But that’s what makes LIFE so meaningful.