Pulling Back the Veil

Pulling back the veil

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Last week the hubby and I watched the movie, The Girl on the Train. I had not read the book prior to watching it. After watching it, I planned to discuss an aspect of it. I just didn’t know aptly it might apply on the day that I would sit down to write.

I have pretty good detective skills and was the winner when the hubby and I once went on a Murder Mystery Dinner Train ride. The movie did a good job at keeping me guessing. The thing that struck me, however, can even be seen on the trailer. So…no spoilers here.

The main character thought she was watching a person’s happiness. Her perception was limited by these fragments of what was presented to her. Much like the world of social media or the Jones’s that you see across the street.

I was struck by that parallel since I find myself struggling with not falling prey to the comparison game. Why don’t my photos garner more likes? Why aren’t my followers growing by leaps and bounds like so-and-so?

And then sometimes I have moments where I realize that I’d probably be overwhelmed if those things did have explosive growth.

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Why might I be overwhelmed? Because everything I post doesn’t reflect every single thing going on in my life. It is just a snippet, a glimpse, into the mundane, into the exciting, into the every day.

I will share my children’s victories, but I will not be sharing my experiences when they make poor choices. Those moments are a sacred part of their story and while they intertwine with mine, it is my job to cover them in grace not hang them out to dry.

I will share with you that the oldest and I picked out the corsage for his date to Prom.

I will share with you that the hubby and I spent hours purging unnecessary clutter from our lives over the weekend. I was almost embarrassed at the amount we took to the local charity because we shouldn’t have purchased most of it to begin with. We are working toward a life more in line with simplicity and contentment. I felt a wave of relief as I saw spaces open.

And sometimes, I will pull back the veil and allow you to see a little deeper.

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You may recall from this post that I spoke about how our Yorkie-Poo, Kiwi, had Lyme disease.

Or may have seen this video on my Instagram story about three months ago. At the time, the doctor was really surprised that the kidneys had held up as long as they had.

This past Friday, she seemed to be a little off. Over the course of the weekend, she seemed to become less interested in eating and then less interested in drinking. By this morning, her breathing had become much more labored. I took her to the vet first thing this morning. They ran her bloodwork and it was as I expected. All of her kidney and liver values were highly elevated. Any choice that was even a remote possibility would not have changed anything. So I stood there and had to make another hard decision about a dog. We had to make the same hard decisions with our Golden Retriever, who died of cancer, two years ago.

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This time there would be no coming home and telling everyone goodbye. This situation was much more critical. God in his infinite wisdom had brought some words to me before I stood alone in this sterile room, deciding fate.

You see, this is my daughter’s dog. She begged for a little dog for years until the pull at her daddy’s heartstrings made him concede and get this dog when the girlie was 6. She carried this dog around over the weekend, tried everything to cajole her into eating, bathed her, swaddled her, and poured copious amounts of love onto her. She knew what was happening. What the future may hold. She asked me if I would need to make that hard decision. I said that it was a strong possibility given her health problems. She told me that she would rather that than her slowly starve since she wouldn’t eat. And then this morning, on the drive to school, she told me that she had said goodbye.

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It was because of those words that I chose not to extend her suffering. Had I not known if she had been able to say goodbye, I would not have known what to do in that moment. So with tears, I signed the consent and stayed with her, comforting her, until the end.

I returned home to an empty house, lay down on my bed, and let the tears just fall.

I grieved this little dog that drove me crazy with her passive aggressive antics.

I grieved this little dog that lay her head under my chin when I said “who’s mama’s baby”.

I grieved that I will not hear her pattering footsteps or the clanging of her dog tags. I grieved the emptiness when I return home and start toward the back door to let her in and realize she is not there.

I grieved this little dog who brought sunshine into my daughter’s soul.

Soon, the girlie will walk through the doors and I will have to tell her. The boys will be sad as well, but she was the girlie’s friend. Tail-wagging at the door when the girlie arrived home friend. Lay with you in the bed while you read a book friend. Share your goldfish crackers friend.

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And my heart begins to break again.

She had dreamed of taking her little furry friend off to college. She thought they would be pals for many years to come. She did not know that disease would come and take those dreams away.

Some days I will pull back the veil. Some days I will allow you to see deeper into my pains and my joys.

I am reminded that just as a dog’s lifespan isn’t promised in terms of years, neither are ours.

Don’t think that what you want to do “some day” is promised.

Truly live in the moments. Embrace today. Chase your dreams.

I've learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel. Quote by Maya Angelou

Let your light shine!

Amy

42 thoughts on “Pulling back the veil

  1. It’s true that “some day” is never a promise. And yet, knowing this doesn’t always make it easier to live in the moment. I think that’s something that humanity as a whole tends to struggle with- that balance of believing that anything is possible, while also knowing that there are no guarantees in life.

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  2. So sorry for the loss to your family. I understand the struggle of where is the line but how do I break the cycle and pull back the veil enough so that we can all see that we all have moments of struggles – remembering I spent how much on that needed kitchen appliance I have used once and wish I had the cash now, or the moments of pain when our friends and families are gone far too soon. Thank you for sharing your story.

    Liked by 1 person

    • Thank you.
      The struggle of what to share and what to hold sacred is a fine line indeed. And of course that line is different for each person. Above all, I strive to remain “real” with everything that I choose to share. 🙂 -Amy

      Liked by 1 person

  3. Sorry for your loss Amy. I welled up a bit as I was reading about the padding of feet and tags rattling, because my own dog made just those sounds as I read that. He’s getting along in years an will, inevitably be gone one day too. It’s so sad to say goodbye to our furry companions.

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  4. Oh Amy, tears as I read your post. I am so sorry for your loss. I felt my self nodding along with everything you were saying in your post and then sobbing when you share about your beloved family member. You have such a way of making us feel what you are feeling and when brave people like you do that, it encourages me to embrace my vulnerability more. I am thinking of you today and pray that you feel God’s peace as you share memories together and grieve your loss. Lots of love xx

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  5. the movie was weird
    you are truly a compassionate person. our animal family members are family and i feel when the time comes, someone will be as compassionate too. i have had too end the suffering of many of my animal family and i know i am not ending life, but ending suffering and i feel they really do understand.

    hugs

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  6. Oh Amy, you’ve brought me to tears. No wonder my news about Pandora affected you. I’m so very sorry for the loss of your precious pooch, I know how much your heart must be breaking. Thank you for lifting a little bit of the veil. This was such a raw and heartfelt post and I could relate to so much of what you wrote. There’s so much we don’t show the world of ourselves but sometimes it’s worth opening our hearts to share our vulnerability. And to allow others a chance to show they care. Sending big hugs and love to you xo ❤️

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  7. Oh Amy I’m so sorry for your families loss of your little Yorki-poo. I never understood the deep loss one feels when they’ve had a pet for so long until an hour after adopting Diva Dog. She’s 12 now and having some ageing issues so I’m keenly aware of what’s down the road, but don’t want to face it.
    My heart is breaking for you. Thanks for sharing this little bit of your private world. I hope writing a little about it helps you through the loss and pain, and the memories of your little furry friend brings smiles, and remembrances of joy soon.

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    • Thank you Deborah. It always amazes me at how intertwined those little furry friend’s lived become with ours.
      I hope you have many, many years to come with Diva Dog. They enrich our lives in ways that aren’t always noticed in the moment, but seen upon reflection. 🙂

      Liked by 1 person

  8. So sorry to hear Amy. And I applaud the courage it takes to let the glossy sheen of carefully curated facades fall away for a moment to remind us that we are all living a very human experience. That very human experience can be painful and impossibly challenging and above all messy. But it’s inspiring and reassuring to those of us following you here to remember that we are not alone.

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    • Thank you Gabe for your words of encouragement.
      I think it is so helpful to remember that we are all human and therefore not immune to pain, sickness, death, or grief.
      And you are so right that life can be messy.
      Thank goodness it can be immeasurably beautiful as well. 🙂

      Liked by 1 person

  9. I am very sorry for the loss of your family pet. I have made that decision twice with dogs that were an integral part of our family. We also took care of a family rabbit for several years, and he died this past winter. He had a hutch in our garage, and there hasn’t been one single day when I enter or exit that garage that I don’t think about him. Pets bring such joy to our lives, but we do grieve when it is their time to leave us.

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  10. You made me cry. Then I pulled Nounous, my beautiful Maltese, into my arms and held him tight. He’s getting on in years. I can’t bear the fact that someday he will be gone. My best friend will be gone.

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