Sadness

It was an interesting weekend. For a few months now, my Mom has been talking about how Shadow- our family dog- was doing poorly. Her hind legs barely worked and she had a hard time getting up and down stairs. Still, I mostly ignored her remarks because who wants to think about the end of a life, and a precious one at that. When I was a sophomore in college, a group of pre-teachers traveled to Arizona to teach for two weeks on a Navajo reservation. There, I learned a great deal, took up smoking camels and found a destitute and sick puppy that I would rescue and adore. This weekend, my Mom and brother brought Shadow to the same vet where a childhood dog being put to sleep would bring tears to my hyper-masculine father's eyes... and where I would refuse to return. Shadow was my first baby, if you will. When I found her, she was only 6 weeks old (they estimated) and horribly ill. Imagine a Caravan full of college students, driving back to Iowa and in the back seat is a puppy who won't stop throwing up or peeing blood. I held her in my arms, trying to force water down as I wept silently. It was not a pretty trip. Her recovery, though, was a thing of beauty and she was the most loyal and loving dog a person or family could know. So, I feel awfully sad. My Mom, a single mother since I was in 5th grade and a dog owner for the past 40+ years is sad and feeling the loneliness of an empty house. All of this contributes to why I seemed to say over and over this weekend, "We're a family" when with Luke and Quinn. The three of us would be crossing a street or sliding down a slide together and I would happily say, "We're a family". And why? Because when Quinn was born I learned about a new kind of love, one that would validate and hearten my feelings for all other important people in my life, but also stands alone as unique. Shadow was a wonderful companion and enormously sweet (the anecdotes go on and on) but she became a secondary concern once Quinn was born. This wasn't because I intended to be neglectful or found her boring, but Quinn demanded/needed (and I delivered) more attention. I'm not sure why I'm starting your week off with such a blog, but there are just some things you have to write about to begin to grieve or process things. Good writing, for me, can put off or take the place of a good cry. Alright, so there's one of my stories from my weekend. You have 8 days left to blog. Many of you have yet to commit to a final writing endeavor/project. Please be sure and update us about your work to change a part of you. Have a strong day of writing.