It was, in a word--horrible. While I am certain there are many things in life much worse, the Sunday my grandgirls were told it was time to say "Goodbye" to their family pet was as terrible, as awful as I had expected it to be.
I had been asked to stay with the girls while Mom and Dad took Tank to the vet. It was time. At 14, his vision had diminished due to cataracts. His hearing almost gone, he hadn't heard me when I came in the door. Arthritis in his back hips made it increasingly difficult for him to carry his massive body and to navigate the steps outside. Tumors were developing, and the bones were visible on his once-vigorous frame, even though he ate.
Tank's deteriorating physical condition had been evident for months, and the family openly talked about the inevitability of the situation, that he was coming to the end of his lifespan. Still, as often happens in many areas of life, reality was a different story, a shock, a surprise.
The girls were given as much time as needed. They hugged him, covering his body with theirs. Lying on the floor next to him, talking to him and petting him, their grief and sobs were gut-wrenching and heart-breaking. Now 10 and 12, he had been with them their entire lives. How does one let go of a best friend, a companion?
The thought quietly entered my mind, and I shared it with the family. A letter, written by each of the girls, to Tank, their "forever" buddy, telling him all the things they wanted to say, all the things they wanted him to know and hear.
And so, after my daughter and son-in-law left, the grandgirls sat down at the table and began to write. The crying subsided as they wrote their letters to Tank, expressing their feelings and their thoughts in words, on paper. I told them what they wrote was personal and could be tucked away forever, shared with no one, if they so chose.
"That was helpful," the little one said, as she folded up her letter, heading off to put it in her memory box. The older one agreed as she put hers in a small baggie along with some of her pup's fur.
I am a proponent of this kind of writing. It cannot be called "writing a journal." Journals are diaries. This is venting, emptying, unloading from the very most inner depths of a person, a cleansing and cleaning out, if you will. Though there may be no scientific data to support it, it is my experience and conviction that something positive happens when one voices in such a manner, transferring from within to paper. After all, isn't that the basis, the essence of poetry, music, composition?
Many years ago, I was in the darkest of dark places. All alone, I questioned all that I believed to be true. I know and understand hopelessness, dreading the beginnings of yet another day.
I began writing, simply writing. Everything I thought, everything I felt, all the doubts, all the questions, all the frustrations began pouring out of me onto the paper. And, for me, all of the anger I felt towards a God who I was certain had neither heard my prayers nor answered them, who I knew cared nothing about me.
I have no idea how long this continued, but it was over quite a lengthy period of time. Despondent, filled with only negative, troubled over my life and how I was living it, I remember sitting at the kitchen table and filling page after page. Punctuation, grammar, and form be damned, I just wrote and wrote and wrote.
There came a time when I was finished, though I didn't realize it when it happened. There was no final chapter, but the need to go there no longer existed. Just as one does not go digging through a garbage can, there was no need to re-read all that had been released, and it went in the trash. No one ever read the writings, and only God and I even knew of their existence.
By that time an inner healing had begun. We all know that physical wounds cannot heal as long as infection is present. So it is with our inner beings. That which is negative is toxic and must be removed. Personally, that happened as I wrote letters to God, honest and real. I had no idea when I began that I would end up at His doorstep, but I did.
For those of you in a chronic set of circumstances, behavior, or memories which continue to haunt, daunt, or taunt you, robbing you of joy and peace in your life and the living of it, may I make a suggestion? Find a quiet place, a piece of paper and pen or pencil and just begin writing whatever comes to your mind.
While talking with a friend or even a professional has value and merit, I feel there is no substitute for pencil and paper, baring one's soul in black and white, sweeping out the recesses and corners of one's mind. Try it. You just might be surprised at the outcome.
It costs nothing, and for me, it was one of the most valuable experiences of my life.
And it is for your eyes only.
No comments:
Post a Comment