On letting go

and sitting in the sadness

Birdie, I can hardly look at this without crying.

Last weekend was a rough one. After the snow day, we woke on Saturday to frigid temps, snow still covering the lawn and the rooftops, but the fun part was over, at least for me. I started the day with a yoga class, trying to stay grounded. I had some things to do that afternoon I was dreading. First, on Saturday (I’ll get to Sunday later), a couple I didn’t know was coming to meet the dog we had adopted but were now needing to re-home. It’s a long story, but we decided, after the two-week trial period we gave ourselves, that our family couldn’t handle another animal. Three humans, a dog (Lewis) and a cat (Izzy) was, in the end, enough for us and our small-ish house.

We had been talking about it for a long time, whether or not we should get another dog, mostly for Lewis’s sake. (See my post on my dog’s mental health [sigh].) We thought having a ‘friend’ would help with his separation anxiety. Around Thanksgiving a friend on Instagram posted a photo of the cutest little chocolate lab and a plea for help to her find a new home. She had been living in Alabama on land that was used for hunting. The friend’s family were afraid for her safety on their land (because she could get shot, I guess?) and were looking for someone to adopt her. It was a moment of weakness. Or maybe I saw something in this dog’s eyes that instantly made me feel like we needed to help her.

Her name was Birdie, a six-year-old chocolate lab with the sweetest disposition (you could tell from the picture) and the most melt-your-heart big brown eyes and soft, floppy ears. (I’m crying now just thinking about her). She was not a puppy—perfect, we thought, that’ll be easier. I told Daniel and showed him the photo and he, very uncharacteristically, said, “Let’s get her.” He had grown up with labs and I had too. (Reminder: it was Thanksgiving weekend. I’m an anxious mess leading up to the holidays. Every single year no matter how hard I try, ughhhh. The timing was less than perfect).

Our teenage daughter June, the only voice of reason in the household, gingerly asked if maybe we should take some more time to think about it. I, stupidly in hindsight, ingnored that and told my friend (E.) we’d take her. The weekend after Thanksgiving E. and her husband, who were visiting family in Alabama, would drive her up to Nashville on their way home from the holiday and drop her off at our house with her crate, her bed and one shredded little snake toy. Birdie immediately made herself at home, romping with Lewis in the backyard (I am sure he thought it was just a play date), picking up his toys in the basket we keep them in in our living room and calmly playing on her own. Good signs all. Everything seemed okay.

Two weeks in, we all decided it was not working out. I cried on two occasions trying to walk the two medium-to-large-sized dogs together, almost getting injured when they pulled me into a yard where two little shitty white dogs barked and lunged at us through the fence. I called Daniel at work and told him what a hard time I was having walking them and how I missed my long, serene walks with Lewis. Lewis now acted badly on walks, pulling ahead of Birdie, making me struggle, in general regressing to his earlier, pre-training behavior. Birdie was fine, but I could tell she wasn’t a city dog and had likely not been walked on a leash very often, if ever.

Daniel, for his part, felt adamant that the two-dog situation wasn’t working out. He hated how much more hair there was all over the house. Vacuuming had to happen every day, and blankets thrown over the couch. Birdie was a snuggle bug and would jump into your lap and put her head as close to your face as she could, melting my heart over and over. Lewis is not like that, at least not with me. Daniel and June thought Birdie’s agressive cuddling was annoying. She pooped in a line and all over the yard, making picking up much harder (Lewis poops in the same spot every time). The yard was a minefield, Daniel said. All the things we should have known would be harder, and more expensive and generally just TWICE the work, proved themselves to be true. I guess we should have known, but sometimes you don’t know how things will play out until you try them.

A couple weeks in, with lots of hang-wringing and beating myself up about it, I texted my friend and told her our predicament. She said she understood and would immediately start looking for someone else to foster —or adopt—her. It was right before Christmas, though, and it would take some time before people were back in town to come meet her. I said we’d keep her as long as it took to find her a good home.

We had her for six weeks, which made letting her go that much harder because I grew attached to her. Daniel said he “closed off his heart so that wouldn’t happen,” and I started to call him a “cold-hearted snake” after my friend Abby reminded me of the Paula Abdul song. He is NOT a cold person. He was just playing one on TV. I was torn apart emotionally (I’d never had to re-home a dog, or foster one, and I was judgy about people who did). But rationally I knew it was the right thing to do.

E found some friends who wanted to meet Birdie and we scheduled it for last Saturday. When they showed up Birdie immediately ran to them, put her paw out and acted like she’d known them all her life. The couple fell in love with her, I could tell. We chatted for while (I was secretly vetting them). They’re a childless couple, recently moved to Nashville but with family in the area. I liked them a lot. I knew this was a good match for Birdie and I told them to think about it and let us know. They texted me that afternoon to say they’d love to have her and we arranged for them to pick her up the next day, Sunday. I cried when they came for her. I gave them a paper bag with some new toys I’d bought her for Christmas plus a little red-and-white stocking with a B on it, her leash and the harness I’d bought for her, and some treats she loved. I cried the whole time. I didn’t care if they thought I was nuts. They seemed to get it. Daniel carried the crate and bed out to the car with them and I saw Birdie jump into the back seat like she knew she was off to her next home. She seemed fine, happy even. I was a total WRECK.

Again, I’m crying as I write this, sitting in the co-working space, hoping nobody sees me. I cried in yoga the other day at the end of class and my friend comforted me. She knew how hard this was for me. After Birdie left, I immediatly got to work cleaning the house, putting things back in order, lint-rolling the couch and the bedspread (I let her sleep beside me on her last night with us so I could cuddle her and tell her goodbye). I wanted things clean, but mostly I wanted to erase the signs of her that I knew would make me sad.

***

The other source of my dread last weekend was that our favorite neighbor next door was moving out. Divorce, single dad, he had to sell the house. We knew it was coming and were all very upset about it. He sold the house pretty quickly after the for-sale sign went up, closed on it a month later, found a house in another neighborhood and this was his move-out weekend. When I say I ‘love’ this neighbor it’s pretty near to how I feel about him. He and Daniel and I had grown close over the last couple years as he was going through his separation and divorce. I bought gifts for his young kids, they swam in our new pool all summer last year, he came over for drinks and dinner when he didn’t have the kids and we just think the world of him. I could not accept that he was moving out. I knew we’d stay friends but it won’t be the same.

{ Note: I am also worried about the people who bought his house (we googled them) and what they might do to the pale green and mustard Victorian, oldest-house-on-the-block with an addition on the back that Daniel built only two years ago. Will they tear it out? Will they build a huge D.A.D.U. in the back like everyone else in our neighborhood? Will we be living next to a construction site for a year? We don’t know. Maybe they will be nice, or it won’t be so bad, Daniel tells me. I worry too much. But we’ve been lucky and had the BEST neighbors in that house for all of the almost 18 (!) years we’ve lived there }.

And then the snow melted. :( It was so pretty while it lasted.

When I told my therapist, D., last week about the upcoming weekend I was dreading and anxiouly worrying about my ability to handle, she said to me, “Those things are sad, of course. But can you sit in the sadness and just be sad, and not let your mind go to worry and FEAR?” Well, hell, I don’t know. Maybe? My PTSD-mind often doesn’t let me just be with an emotion like sadness or grief, without submitting to the fear and the paralyzing worry. I’m trying to re-work my brain through therapy, and medication, but recovery is hard. And long. And life is hard. And sad.

This is a lot longer than I thought it would be. I guess I had a lot to process. :/

There were a lot of tears last weekend. The goodbyes happened and I survived. I did lash out at Daniel for “making me get rid of Birdie,” and I feel ashamed for it. He doesn’t deserve that. It was a family decision. But I wanted to keep her. I’ll miss her —and our neighbor—for a long time I’m sure. But we can visit both of them and they don’t have to be gone from my life forever. I can LET GO and BE SAD, and life will go on. One day at a time, I tell myself. This weekend is shaping up to be better—with a trip to the cabin and spending time with friends. As long as I stay away from the TV, my phone and the news on Monday, I’ll be okay.