Building a deeper bench.

The anguish of loss is, for the loss of a better word, weird. There’s the initial shock, the overwhelm of the first days and weeks, and then there’s the moments that you think “Oh, I need to tell him that my dad’s surgery went well” that simply punch you in the gut. 

And then, in the butterfly effect of bullshit that is suicide, you’re reminded that you’re still so unbelievably angry with your loved one. Can you even use the phrase “loved one” if you’re this angry?  

When I dive into the “why am I angry (today)” question it really falls more under the fact I feel betrayed. Pete was supposed to be my support system as I was the support system for my parents. That was the deal. He was to help do the heavy lifting, literally, of things around their house. He was supposed to be around to listen as I shared my fears surrounding the ninth surgery for my dad in the last two years. He was supposed to the simple things like caring for our dog while I drove with my parents to out of town appointments. (They will want me to inform all that, yes, they can still drive well. They just have a controlling daughter who doesn’t like them to drive in the nutty I-25 traffic and who thinks an extra set of ears when meeting with doctors is important.)

My dad was diagnosed with cancer just ten days after the death of my grandfather/his father. It was determined to be aggressive but treatable and, last week, he went under the skilled, robotically controlled, hands of an incredible doc in Colorado. We are all very grateful that the surgery went smoothly and dad’s home recovering with a few more follow up appointments in the coming weeks. 

My anger with Pete more specifically, this week, stemmed from our dog sitter getting into a car accident in the middle of her time watching our dog. A dog she shouldn’t have had to come watch if my husband hadn’t bailed on life. I should not have had to even think about Pete, or my dog, while my dad was in the hospital. That part of my life was supposed to be buttoned up.

I don’t know what time the accident was - I just realized no one had come and gone at my home for about eight hours because of the Ring doorbell - and when I texted the sitter she responded that she’d been in a serious car accident and woke up in the hospital. My first concern was if she was going to be okay followed, very quickly, by concern for Ivy. It was in that concern that I realized that in moving to provide support for others I haven’t fully curated the depth of support that I had developed over the years in Denver. 

It was nearly 9 p.m. - I have the phone numbers of exactly one neighbor and three friends that live in the area on my phone.  Sure, I could have reached out on Facebook, but it was late, my dog is currently my greatest therapeutic companion, and I needed someone immediately. 

Maybe you don’t need as large of a circle in the city as you do in a small town because within seconds of texting my neighbor she agreed to head over and let the dog out and feed her.  Moments later I heard from a long time friend that she would be happy to head over for a sleepover and a snuggle with my doggo. 

Once I knew that Ivy was cared for I broke down. The adrenaline rush of problem solving fueled by the absolute rage of feeling abandoned by Pete to solve this problem (and many others) knocked down the protective wall I had built. I had not fully leaned in to just how scared I was about my dad’s diagnosis. Truly, I hadn’t taken the time to feel that in all of the feelings of the past month. There has simply been too much loss this year. 

I know I cannot control the future. I know my parents, and I, will continue to age and health challenges will continue to rear their ugly heads. What I can control is curating networks of support wherever I am so that I can be in support of others. 

Everything turned out okay. Ivy was fine. She was mad for a few hours when I got home then I made popcorn for dinner and all was forgiven. So, if you live in the area and want to have some snuggle time with this very friendly, very large, pup of mine when I’m off on future trips, let me know. 

I’m planning on everyone being around for awhile and I need a deeper bench.