We begin again.

August 23, 2016.

My 47th birthday.

“It’s too big. It’s too scary. It’s been too long. No one will understand. No one cares. It’s waaaaay TMI. Just put it behind you. Move on. I wonder what’s on Netflix that I haven’t seen yet…”
My inner critic has been working overtime and she’s really loud and really persuasive. It IS easier to tune out, zone out, disconnect than have to feel ONE MORE FEELING about this situation.

But then…

My Inner Voice (and yes, I capitalize it because it comes from God, Source, the Divine) whispers, “Just tell the truth.”

My guess is that this story will be somewhat disjointed for awhile. My mind, usually fairly step-by-step and logical in the way I write a story, swirls with PTSD now and my heart jumps between pain so big that I’m scared to let it out more than the tiniest wisps, and relief at being free of the day to day horror. Writing about the past year is excruciating. I'll be writing along and all of a sudden my mind blanks. This has never happened to me before. I know what it is and I know why it is but it's still tough to accept it.

It’s been a bit more than a year since I stopped. I stopped day to day care of Loreli (I've changed both of the kid's names to pseudonyms). It was the end of July 2015 that I gave up. There was nothing more to give her. Every positive interaction she allowed was twisted up and given back to Daniel, the dogs, and me in hate, fury, and abuse. She was ten years old and had been with us for nearly 6 years. I enrolled her in full time daycare. Brad picked her up at 6:00pm. I told Brad that Daniel and I would no longer be in the house alone with her. If she was there, then he was there. Brad didn’t know exactly what was going on but agreed.

(One of the many ways to tell a RAD family is by the family members who do NOT have RAD. The mom is depressed (unexpressed anger), withdrawn, ultra protective of her other children and pets. She treats the child with RAD differently and often insists on structure and line of sight for the RAD child but not her others. The mom, siblings, and pets are targets for the RAD child's abuse and she has to stay on high alert (hypervigilance) in order to keep everyone as safe as possible. The dad, 99.9% of the time, is targeted differently. He is targeted to see the child with RAD in a sunnier way. He almost NEVER sees the abuse, as the child with RAD waits until he is gone before starting in. This is called "triangulation" or sometimes "splitting" and results in the divorce of 80% of marriages with RAD kids.)

Once Loreli was in full time day care, Daniel and I began to have our summer. There was only about a month left of it at that point but we made every moment count. We went swimming a lot, to the museum, zoo, and aquarium. We had fun. It was weird and good and scary, and so needed.

We both let the steam out, one tiny bit at a time. We both were like tightly coiled springs.

As with all holidays with a kid with Reactive Attachment Disorder, Thanksgiving was ruined. Everything was fine until it was time to eat and then the screaming started. I didn’t even try to help her, I knew that as soon as I did and we had a good, bonding moment, she would turn around and hurt Daniel, the dogs, or me. It is the cycle of a child with severe RAD. A tiny part of her wants the love but a bigger part of her is living in the past with the person who hurt her. That part will not allow her to accept love. That’s the part that will insist that harming Daniel, the dogs, or me is crucial for her survival.

After Thanksgiving, a frustrated and defeated Daniel said, “If she’s here for Christmas then I’m going to stay in my bedroom.” So sayeth a child who has no power and no hope.

She was not here for Christmas.

We accepted a spot for Loreli at The Institute for Attachment and Child Development.

The Institute is different from any other program in that they have all of the structure and therapy of a residential treatment center but the children live in an actual home with a real mom and dad (who have both been trained and have their own experience with RAD), their children and several other treatment kids. What this means is that the children with RAD cannot triangulate as easily. In an RTC, which have rotating staff, it is known that the children constantly triangulate (pitting one caregiver against another).

She left on December 9, 2015. Very quickly we were told that Loreli has severe RAD. As with this entire process, I felt relief and grief. What we had been experiencing for 6 years wasn’t “just” RAD (which is bad enough) but severe RAD. I learned that Daniel and I really did have PTSD from living with this abusive child. I learned that they expected to work with her for at least a year.

Daniel and I had a year to heal…from 6 years of abuse.

Buying a farm--learning to stay in the flow

Found as I was walking along this morning, coming to this realization

Brad and I have been looking for a farm and have found a place we love. It requires a leap of faith. The thought of it is, in turns, both exciting and terrifying. Day dreaming of it, imagining living there, our kids there, our mare Rayn there and someday other friends: more horses, a mini donkey, some free range chickens, growing hay, all of that is very exciting! Weaving the dream seems to be in my personality. Brad, with his personality, is the make-it-happen-guy. We make a great team.

For me, in this moment in time though, I'm feeling a little rushed. The dreamweaving isn't complete quite yet. His "hows" aren't quite answered either. I need a little time.

I've been rushing along with my make-it-happen partner and this morning I found myself finally "feeling" my body: my churning, upset stomach, what felt like the edge of a panic attack, it was hard to take a deep breath! This absolutely may be the perfect farm for us, I hope it is, but I don't find happiness in forcing it to happen. For me, the happiness and peace come in watching it unfold before my eyes.

So, I'm going to continue to get our house ready to put on the market. I'm going to continue making the phone calls I need to make, with the goal/vision in sight.

What I'm changing is my mental and emotional state around the whole thing. I'm letting go of the fear:
"The interest rates are going up. If we are going to do it, the time is now!"
"Where can we find enough retired horses to board?!"
"What if the owners don't want to throw in their haying equipment!?"

I refuse to be rushed in this. What a joyous time in our lives, a lifelong dream is being realized. The only now that has to be done is to enjoy the process and to feel good. If something feels icky then that piece isn't flowing toward the greatest good, that piece gets held up, held back. I'm looking for flow, for awe, for the magic. When I feel good, it comes. When I don't, it doesn't. Pretty simple really.

The Good

Watching my daughter self-sabotage the Good in her life has had me shining a light on that part of myself these past months. It's shocking how much I too, self-sabotage. I gave myself a goal today. It started off as just this, "This week I'm going to allow the good." but quickly morphed into the Good--those wonderful things God/Source/Spirit/our Higher Selves/the Universe shows me everyday. The things I often look at and think, "I can't have that." or "I don't deserve that." or "I'm not allowed." 

The Good

This week I'm going to allow the Good.

I don't have to run up to the Good, screaming, "Welcome! I'm so excited you're here!"

that might be too scary. 

All I have to do is allow it to exist around me. 

I'm visualizing myself like a horse, who sees something worrisome: 

Neck arched, eyes wide, nostrils flared, "WHAT IS THAT??? Oh my God!" 
tiptoeing up to the Good, sniffing it, jumping away in fear, 
looking at it out of the corner of my eye, pretending I don't see it, 
pretending I really wasn't that scared of it. 

Taking a deep breath and tiptoeing up to the Good again, 

closing my eyes as the Good reaches out to touch my cheek, 
and having that brief moment of Recognition 
before leaping away again, "Oh my God! It TOUCHED me!" 

This week, I'm going to allow the Good to exist near me. 

Maybe engage in a little dance. 
And begin to learn that the Good isn't going to eat me.

Hiding

I’ve been hiding.

When my life takes a steep dip, I hide. There are a few people who hear about it but mostly I keep to myself. When I can’t think, feel, or research my way out of something, I feel as if I am totally lost.

I know, logically, that it’s ridiculous. I need to be outside, get in the sun, visit with the horses, and be with family and friends who truly love me.

I need to write. A lot. It might be the very best medicine for me but when things get really bad I can’t say anything nice, at all. In the moment there is no, “Hey, this horrible thing happened and here’s how it worked out.” No, it’s all horrible and not getting better. (Boy that sure sounds like Loreli doesn’t it? I can’t imagine why we trigger each other so much…)

This newest version of hell started immediately after I wrote this post about Daniel. Loreli was so angry that Daniel was getting the attention he deserved. To her it meant that life was unpredictable and scary. It took me a long time for me to truly come to terms with my own phrase, “Manipulation is a cry for help.” Loreli was, daily, begging for help with her behavior and manipulations. But, being human, and tired, and not taking care of myself enough, I had just had enough. I didn’t want to have to go back to the beginning again/Level One, that was really hard!

Looking back I think, “Sure Level One is difficult, but nothing is as difficult as living with a child who feels so unsafe that they are completely out of control!” If there is a person living in the house who feels unsafe, no one feels safe.

Loreli spiraled out of control. She went from screaming, yelling, and slamming doors to growling and acting aggressively. Next up was lying, cheating, and stealing. She was flipping out and I was too scared to do anything about it. Scared that doing our version of Level One wouldn’t work again. Scared that I didn’t have it in me to do that again. Scared of doing it all on my own. Scared that Daniel was being traumatized again, just when I had started to work on that with him. Scared that this was going to happen over and over and over again for the rest of our lives. But when Loreli’s behavior got really bad, and she hurt Daniel, hurt Onya, and tried to hurt Midgie all in the space of a few days, I knew I didn’t have a choice. She was so frightened that she had come to the edge. She was throwing out every behavior she knew in order to make me sit up and take notice. I did. We went back to Level One. This time I typed it up and gave her a copy so she would know exactly what was going on.

With all of that fear, anxiety, and depression swirling around inside of me I began having chest pains and weird aches and pains in my body. I went to the doctor and had a CIMT test. This is an ultrasound of the carotid arteries in the neck—it shows how much plaque is lining the arteries. I was half expecting them to rush me in to emergency surgery because I was so clogged. When I went into see Deb, my nurse practitioner, she told me I had the arteries of a 46 year old. Being 45, I was pretty happy about that. We talked about some other things and suddenly I found myself blurting out, “I’m pretty sure the stress of my life is going to kill me.” Deb, bless her heart, looked at me, took me seriously and said, “We need to look at lessening the stress in your life.” I looked back and said, “I can’t get rid of this stress, she’s my daughter.” Deb asked me to go eat lunch and come back for a “Myer’s Cocktail IV”.

It took about an hour and I felt amazing. Calmly energized. I could THINK again. The anxiety had lessened. The depression had lifted. It was incredible. That was a Friday afternoon.

It lasted for 24 hours.

Saturday evening and all day Sunday I was back to fear, anxiety and depression. Monday I had another IV.

It lasted for 4 days.

I’ve had 6 now and I’m up to every 2 weeks. Deb’s nurse says, “We are just filling in all your potholes. You should be able to get these once a month eventually.”

The fear, anxiety, and depression are gone. I’m able to think, respond, and act in a positive way. I had no idea I was so riddled with anxiety and depression. I thought I was slightly prone. It wasn’t until I had the relief the vitamins and minerals gave me that I realized, “Oh my God! I’ve been depressed and anxious for the 5 years that Loreli has been home.”

I’m very good at hiding that part of myself most of the time and I’m a master at smiling and laughing so no one usually knows—things I’m working on.

Look what happened when I finally let my guard down and told someone the scary truth without a smile or a laugh…

Someone helped me. 

And it was good.

There's a hole in my sidewalk...

From the public time-in on Friday, a four hour time-in on Sunday, and a time-in with Daddy on Monday--we've been going through hell lately. Almost a month ago I realized how much more Daniel needed and that we really had to step up our game. Since then Loreli has been on this downward spiral. Logically I understand it. Emotionally I've been freaking out, "How can this be? We've come so far! All of our lives have been so much better since mid-November, I just can't go through this hell again!"

Apparently I can.

After four hours (our past record was two) in a time-in on Sunday she finally decided to try to talk to me. Using a stem sentence I encouraged her with, "I'm afraid because..." 

Tears...stammering..."I'm afraid because I think you never really wanted me."

We talked about that a little but looking at it now I think I should have asked her, "What is it that makes you think I never wanted you?" maybe we would have gotten to what I think is the crux of the problem--when I give attention to Daniel she no longer feels loved--or she has something else going on in there that I don't yet know about.

Instead I asked her what Hiro (the part of her that is "survivor Loreli") thought. She wasn't sure, she just feels unwanted.

We talked about how our brains kind of get a "groove" in them and that groove is comfortable. It may not feel good but it feels familiar and sometimes familiar is mistaken for good. Maybe Hiro is pushing her toward that groove. I told her I have my own inner Hiro and she's always pushing me toward living in that groove too. She thinks it's safe in there. 

Loreli looked at me with big eyes and said, "What does your Hiro tell you?"

I looked into Loreli's eyes and thought, "Is this wise?" It's probably some serious ammo that will be flung back at me someday but going along with my wish to live a more full, deep, big, open-hearted life, I said, "It's ugly. My inner Hiro says, 'You aren't perfect. You aren't even good enough. You aren't good enough to help the kids. What makes you think you can do it? You suck.'"

Loreli looked shocked. Then teary. Then resolute. "Mom, that's not true. You are good enough. You help us all the time."

Then I was teary...

I told her I fight my inner Hiro all the time and sometimes I succeed, "I hear you but I don't agree. Bug off."

We talked about one of our favorite poems by Portia Nelson:

Autobiography in Five Short Chapters

Chapter One:
I walk down the street.
There's a deep hole in the sidewalk. 
I fall in.
I am lost...I am helpless.
It isn't my fault.
It takes forever to find a way out.

Chapter Two:
I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I pretend I don't see it.
I fall in again.
I can't believe I am in this same place.
But, it isn't my fault.
It still takes a long time to get out.

Chapter Three:
I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I see it is there.
I still fall in...it's a habit...but,
my eyes are open.
I know where I am.
It is my fault.
I get out immediately.

Chapter Four: 
I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I walk around it.

Chapter Five:
I walk down another street.

I told her I think I'm in chapter three. She didn't think she was. We recited it and she decided that she was in chapter two. "When I fall in the hole I think I might want to stay there forever. I can't get out on my own. I need you to pull me out."

This kid.

"I'm glad I'm a step ahead and can help you get out of that hole. Just imagine how it will feel when we both 'walk down another street.'" 

I talked to her about what I call "The Trauma Pie". "Imagine a pie with a bunch of pieces, let's say it has..."

"27 pieces."

"Okay, 27 pieces. They are all pieces of one trauma. For 7 months now you've been working through one piece at a time. You fall into the hole in the sidewalk, you allow me to pull you out, we look at the pie piece of that trauma, talk about it and then let it fall into the dirt, buh-bye. Now we have 26 pieces to work through. Each time the pie gets a little bit smaller. Every piece we look at, talk about, work through and let fall into the dirt just means that we are that much closer to "walking down another street" someday. For that trauma. There are others too, right? We keep chunking away at those Trauma Pies, both of us! But someday we will both "walk down another street" and our pie plates will be empty. And when another trauma pops up, because we are human, we'll know how to work our way through and we can help each other do it."

After going through all that emotion though she was back as Hiro the next evening with Brad. Damn. Amazingly though, Brad tried his first time-in! Yay Brad! This is not an easy process and takes a lot of listening to your Inner Voice. 

I wasn't around because I had dealt with so much verbal abuse from Daniel earlier and was sick of the whole thing so I was hiding in my car in the garage.

No, I'm not kidding. 

No, I didn't have a bottle of wine with me. I don't drink but sometimes I wish I did.

I was so exhausted that I fell asleep and woke up with a scream and flailing out in the dark, not having a clue as to where I was. The light had gone off in the garage and it was pitch black in the car. I must have hit the power lock button in my panic so when I finally realized I was in my car and tried to open the door, I still couldn't get out---aaaarrrrgh!

Anyway.

The time-in devolved into this poster that she propped in her door:

Which is the saddest thing I've ever seen. When I posted it on a private Reactive Attachment Disorder list I'm on, I got a lot of comments saying, "Thank God she's verbal about it. It's scarier when you don't know what they are thinking."

I was distraught though. I had definitely "fallen into the hole in the sidewalk". I saw it but I didn't know what else to do.

So I listened to the call of the horses and went to see them yesterday. I took my camp chair with the foot rest, a big floppy hat (it's 65 degrees here in Colorado) and my journal. Here is what I learned:

Wynter kept snuffling me, trying to gently nibble me and my chair. I kept telling him to, "Be gentle..." After I had said it for the twentieth time I actually heard what I was saying. "Yes, I hear what I said Wynter. Thank you." I'm supposed to "be gentle" with my children.

Like a petulant child I asked him, "Who's going to be gentle with me!?" And he said, "We are."

He stopped nibbling and stood quiet vigil over me for about ten minutes, his head and neck hanging over me in my chair. It felt I had a protector. And with Wynter being a near 18hh horse (very, very tall), that was quite the feeling!

He went to get a drink and then came back to curiously nibble at my chair again, he was so persistent!

... ... ...

Oh, got it! As I am supposed to be! Stay the course, don't give up! Stop doubting what I know. 

He wanted me to remember my saying about children of trauma, "Manipulation is a cry for help." Say it with me here:

Manipulation is a cry for help.

Rayn came to me to lend her support and show me to take care of myself. She's like a trusted girlfriend.

And then sweet Remi came over to me. Oh, my heart.

 

With his inhalation, "We..." and his exhalation, "Love you..." over and over and over again.

Crying, I synced my breath with his and the, "We love you," changed to him saying and then me following his lead--together with our breathing, "We love. We love. We love." 

 

He said, "It is what we (all of us) are here to do. Because we (the horses and I) open wide to love we are easily hurt."

And then Remi said, "If that is the price to be paid, I'll gladly pay it."

 

"Boundaries are necessary but don't use them to wall yourself off."

"Come to us," and then he put his nose in the center of my chest and said, "We clear your energy." (I had been thinking that maybe I needed to go get some Reiki for myself).

Needless to say I left feeling loved, protected, clear on my purpose, and ready to take on the rest of the day. 

I can do this. I am doing this. And when I have fallen into the hole in the sidewalk I need to climb out and go sit with the horses in their pasture. Next time you hear me in a panic please tell me, "Climb out of that hole and go to the horses!" :-)

And if you got this far--bless you. That was a novella!

Tiger Time-In

Downtown Denver Aquarium Sumatran Tiger, stock photo.

You've heard of Tiger Moms? This isn't like that.

On Friday I learned how to do a time-in in public! I’ve always been at a loss as to what to do with unacceptable behavior in public. Leave it and the kids quickly figure it out and you are so screwed. I’ve taken the kids outside of the building or into the car but that was harder to do this time.

We were at the aquarium and Loreli was bouncing off the walls with…excitement and fear. The excitement I understood, but the fear was weird. She didn’t say she was scared but that’s the way it felt to me. So, Loreli was zooming back and forth between tanks, “Look over here! Here! Here! Here!” She came to a screeching halt in front of the tiger exhibit (tigers at the aquarium?*), spun on a dime to charge back in the opposite direction and crashed hard into Daniel, who said, “HEY!” and hit her. She yelled, “Well, you don’t have to hit me!” and Daniel burst into tears. They both went stomping away but I made them come back and we sat off to the side with me in between them. I made the mistake of saying, “Daniel, it was an accident,” which sent him into fresh tears. Since neither was able to talk in a civil manner I said we would sit and wait until they were ready. Loreli crossed her arms, glared at me and turned away. Daniel said he was ready. I listened to those words and looked into his eyes, he felt honest. I said, “When Loreli crashed into you it was an accident. She didn’t mean to. We don’t hit in this family. You are not allowed to hit Loreli.” He said he was sorry to me and then to Loreli and was back to checking out the tigers.

I looked at Loreli. She refused to look at me. I thought about what a time-in was—just time with me and calming down until the child was willing to talk in a civil way.

In a civil way, not in a “nice” way. I have a problem telling my kids to “be nice”. I know I’ve said it and I always cringe when I do. “Be nice” in my mind, means, “Cover up your real feelings and just say the right thing to get along.” At 45 I still fight against “be nice”. I fight to be able to argue my point in a civil way and not just cave to get along. I fight to actually verbally disagree with someone and “agree to disagree” instead of just going along with their viewpoint to "be nice". To say what I mean. It’s baby steps for me, undoing years of conditioning. This is just what was said to kids when I was growing up and I’m working on teaching my kids a different way. So I say “civil” and I continue to explain what that means to me: I am okay with you arguing or disagreeing with me but you will not be verbally abusive about it.

Stepping off the soapbox.

I decided we could all enjoy the aquarium and still do a time-in so I said, “Okay, let’s walk. Hold my hand please.” (I should mention that Loreli usually likes to hold my hand and at ten years old is not yet embarrassed by it. Also the point of the time-in is to have her right next to me where she can feel, unconsciously, safety of Mom) She refused. I said, “We can hold hands or I can hold your wrist.” She again refused, muttering under her breath. I took her wrist and we all wandered. About every ten steps she would say, “I’m ready to talk now.” I would look down into her flashing eyes and say, “No you’re not.” This happened…seven times maybe? Looking back on this now I realize that what I was responding with was so inflammatory! Next time I will use a tactic I’ve employed with great success: “Okay, thanks for letting me know. I’ll let you know when I’m ready too.” It still ticks her off but to a lesser extent and gives her extra time to calm herself and actuallly be ready to talk with me. I hate that I didn’t do that this time but a time-in in public was new to me and I was figuring it out as I went along.

Most interesting to me was that my first reaction wasn’t, “Oh my God! It’s all going to hell, like always.” Or “Damn, now what?” For the first time in maybe ever, I went straight to sitting quietly with them. I didn’t argue. I didn’t lecture. We sat. Progress!

And what I’ve found to be the most important thing about time-ins is that they give everyone a chance to breathe. The kids may be huffing and puffing in fury but if I just sit and let my inner critic say what she is going to say, “Everyone is looking at you. Now what? You’re so incompetent!” look at those words and say, “Nope,” and move on—all is well. When I open my heart and listen to my Inner Voice I can figure anything out.

With my heart open, I realized that Daniel, being highly sensitive, had a physical shock to his system when Loreli crashed into him. He also has had enough experience with Loreli to know that she might be slamming into him because she’s being mean. Hitting wasn’t the answer but I understood it. 

With my heart open, I realized that Loreli still has an issue with body awareness. She had been ping-ponging around the aquarium partly in excitement and partly in fear. I might have asked her what she was worried about earlier in the trip. Her yelling at Daniel after he hit her was understandable too.

Being angry with me is also understandable. They were both angry with each other and they knew by sitting with me they would have to work it out and that’s a sucky feeling when you’re angry!

My heart said, “Be at peace. It’s okay. This is a small thing to work through.”

The four of us stopped at a petting tank where they had horseshoe crabs. I almost didn’t allow her to join in but realized that I was being punitive. Then I heard my Inner Voice say, “Dogs.” Oh! Yes! When we first started time-ins, I noticed that the dogs were drawn to Loreli during that time. My first reaction was to not allow it (ugh), but then I felt in my bones it was important so I just sat quietly and let it unfold. Through my many experiences of time-ins with Loreli, if the dogs came to her, the time-in was over faster. She is more willing to be calm and speak civilly. It’s pretty miraculous to watch. So, I watched as Loreli went to the far end of the tank, as far away from me as she could get. She swished her hands in the water (water is also a great soother) and touched the crabs.

Less than a minute after we were done with that she said, “I’m sorry Mom,” and actually meant it.

The healing power of animals is incredible, whether they are horses, dogs, or horseshoe crabs!

*And for those who are curious, like me, about why there are Tigers at the aquarium, the aquarium participates in the AZA's (Association of Zoos and Aquariums) Species Survival Plan for Sumatran Tigers.

Feel and Come Back to Center

A week ago today I followed my Inner Voice and waited to go see Rayn until later in the day. I got to the farm about 3:00 and found the horses in their pasture, eating their afternoon hay. I stood with Rayn, looking out at the herd, and realized that one of the horses wasn't eating. Sweetie, a 24-year-old mare, had her back to her little pile of hay, head hanging low. I gave Rayn a final pat and walked toward the little mare. She was foaming at the mouth.

I brought Sweetie into the barn and returned to the pasture to get a whinnying Splash, Sweetie's best friend and protector. It was a chilly 15 degrees so Helen and I waited for the vet in her car. The vet found that Sweetie wasn't choking but she did have some ulcers on the inside of her mouth. She treated her with an anti-inflammatory and tubed a bucket of water into her to get her rehydrated. Three hours later we left Splash and Sweetie in side-by-side stalls in the barn to be checked on in the morning by her regular vet.

The next day Helen texted me that the vet thought that Sweetie had been chewing on her cheeks which caused them to become ulcerated. He floated her teeth, gave her some more pain-killers and sent them back into the pasture.

I didn't get back out to the farm again until Thursday. I almost didn't go because I only had 20 minutes to spend with Rayn but I listened to my Inner Voice and made a quick stop. Rayn started walking to me before I got to the fence. She walked right up and the first thought that popped into my head was, "Where's Sweetie?" I looked around the grazing herd but didn't see her. My heart lurched. Rayn continued to look steadily at me. I looked out into the pasture, no Sweetie. Finally I noticed a horse standing by itself on the ridge, close enough to the fence I had thought it belonged to the neighbor's herd. As I walked out to her, I passed Splash and asked him, "Why is she up there alone?" and Splash said, "It's time for her to go."

I found her with foam coming out of her nose and mouth.

Sweetie looked at me and away and said, "I can go." I asked her to come with me, that I could get her help. I touched her neck and she pinned her ears and snaked her head out at me. I told her again I could get her help and she just looked at me and said, "I can go." I told her I would tell Helen what she said. I also told Helen that I would like to be there with Sweetie if her owner couldn't, or be there to support her owner if she would like that.

That evening, Helen texted to say that Sweetie wasn't choking and that she was still having problems with the ulcers. She was just not able to recover due to her age. Her owner decided to euthanize on Friday morning. Helen and I both said we wished people could have the same death with dignity.*

Helping animals cross over that weren’t mine...well, I knew it was important but I never thought I'd be able to do such a thing. My first experience with it was Luke, a horse that I loved but wasn't mine. His navicular disease had gotten bad enough that his owner decided to let him go but she wasn't able to be there with him. I just couldn't let him cross on his own, with only the vet to be with him. He deserved to have a loved one near. All my life my Mom has said, "It's not about us, it's about them. We can't let them die alone." It was up to me.

I absolutely cry my way through every single animal that crosses over. I used to think those kind of tears would slam me into a depression and that I might actually die from sadness. (I’ve had a few bouts with depression in my life—the longest being the 8 years I lived with my first husband and the worst being the 5 years of not knowing what to do to help our family heal after Eva came home. So paralyzing depression and the uncontrollable crying that came with it are pretty scary to me.)

Each crossing teaches me something new. Every crossing teaches me one thing over and over: Sadness and tears don't cause depression, or death, or unending grief. Tears cleanse. Tears let that tight grief in my chest loosen. Allowing myself to feel, fully, is liberating and honest and true. Tears lighten the load that living sometimes piles on our shoulders.

Watching the animals I've been with walk forward into what some of us humans might call the "unknown", with no fear whatsoever…it's hard to be too sad when I see their truth.

This time around, with Sweetie, was different. This time, it was about Splash, her friend. I arrived at the barn about an hour earlier than the vet and found Splash out in the pasture, calling for Sweetie, who was in a stall. She was calling for him just as loudly. I grabbed my halter and went to get Splash. We started quickly walking to the barn (which is rare, I never see Splash move any faster than a shamble) and then he broke into a fast trot, calling out to Sweetie. I ran with him and their happy and relieved reunion had me in tears.

I turned them both loose in the indoor arena and sat with them. Every so often Splash would lead them both over to where I was sitting in the dirt and they would snuffle me. Sweetie was in pain and asked, "Are they coming?" and I told her the vet was on his way.

Sweetie on the left. Splash is the paint.

Sweetie's owner arrived and I went outside to give her some privacy. She was heartbroken. Sweetie had been with her since she was a 2-year-old filly.

The vet arrived and I asked if it was common for horses to stand with their friends while they crossed. He said yes and that Splash could stay. I was so thankful for the owner's ability to be with her horse so I could be with Splash. I stayed with him while Sweetie was given the injections to first sedate and then allow her to let go. Splash jerked a bit when she went down but was otherwise steady, holding space for his dear friend's crossing. I silently sobbed into his neck and told him I was so sorry.

The vet said it takes a few minutes for a horse's heart to stop and several had gone by when, suddenly, Splash shook his whole body, like he would after a good roll. I felt as if Sweetie was leaving her body, the vet took out his stethoscope to check, and she was "officially" gone. Splash sniffed her foot and continued to stand stock-still. The vet said I could take him back when I was ready. I waited a little longer and started back to the pasture. As I got closer I realized that most of the horses were waiting at the fence. Splash looked back in the direction of Sweetie and called to her. When we got to the gate he managed to pull the lead rope away from me and ran back to Sweetie's body, calling to her as he went. I stayed with him while he carefully sniffed his friend and then started grazing near her. I wondered how long he would have liked to stay there and got the feeling it would be a long time. I considered staying with him until the man who picks up the horse's body came and went but decided that I wasn't ready for that. Would that have been best for Splash? Would that have given him some sort of peace? I guess I'm at the point that if that is needed, next time I will make myself stay. He knew she was gone, I just don't know if watching her body being put in a truck and driven away would have helped him any. I took him back to the pasture and he stood at the fence and whinnied over and over.

I realized that just like us, horses recognize that a friend is gone and will have to go through the grieving process. Up to that point I had never been with a horse or dog that had done this. Last year I was with a friend when her older Border Collie crossed over. Her younger Border Collie had little reaction at the time. I wondered then, if maybe animals are just closer to God, more able to cope but realized with Splash, that no, they all cope differently. Splash was extremely bonded to Sweetie and his pain was searing and sharp.

Update from this morning:

I went out today and found Splash eating hay...he has stopped calling for his friend. I checked in with him and gave him some treats. He didn't have anything to say and his eyes are dull with sadness. He is grieving.

Me? I think the most important thing I came away with is my awareness that allowing myself to be deeply moved about life is a good thing. Sure, my feelings can be big and overwhelming, but you know what? Life can be big and overwhelming. I want to stop hiding from feeling it all. The joy and the pain. I watch my kids and they are so emotional. Their fear and their pain is out there for everyone to see, they are fully feeling it. Their joy is over the top--they are fully feeling it. 

They feel and they come back to center. Feel some more, come back to center. I don't want them to lose that and I want to gain it back.

A week ago I wrote this on a post-it and stuck it to my computer. Today, I'm feeling into what it really means to me:

*Death with Dignity (for humans): If you are interested in following or helping, check out Compassion and Choices who are working to get Death with Dignity bills passed.

Do you apologize to your children?

Do you apologize to your kids when you do something wrong? Do you expect them to apologize to you or others when they do something wrong? Where will they learn the skill of a true apology if you are unable to model it for them?

I don't know about you guys, but I make mistakes all the time. As a matter of fact, I make more mistakes as a parent then I ever have in any of my other jobs put together. My kids, being young and new to the world, make just as many mistakes as I do and I expect them to apologize. How else do they learn that mistakes and apologies aren't the end of the world? That they won't perish if they make a mistake and apologize? Mistakes are a normal part of everyday life and apologies should be too.

 

If you grew up like me, this is new territory for you. Parents never apologize! It's not in our non-existent handbook. Never. Don't do it. You'll be seen as weak if you do and God forbid your children see you as human. A few years ago I decided that I was willing to put my this-is-the-way-it's-always-been-done handbook aside and try something else because what I was doing wasn't working.

Here's how to apologize in 3 (not so) easy steps:

1. Say what you are sorry for, "I'm sorry that I lost my patience and yelled at you.” Be prepared to talk about it with your child. Be prepared to hear and/or see some anger on their part. Have hope that each authentic apology will lessen their reaction and eventually they will be able to more easily accept your apology. For now, remember that this is new to them. Know that each time you apologize you are teaching them a skill that will serve them well for the rest of their lives.

2. Benjamin Franklin said, “Never ruin an apology with an excuse.”  

Refuse to fall into the trap of "I'm sorry, but..." Adding "but, however, I just need to tell you, I just need to remind you" to the end of an apology negates the apology. If you feel you need to, craft your apology in your head the first few times to get in the habit of making it actually mean something. 

 

If you need to have a conversation about the behavior that created this situation (because let's face it, kids can do unsafe things that really do need to be addressed), wait until you have apologized and are both calm. This may take some time, maybe 15 minutes, an hour, or a day. They aren't going to accept the apology OR hear the words if you talk about it now. Just apologize and leave it alone.

Kind of an addendum to #2: "I’m sorry but when you pushed your sister, you just made me so mad..." No one can make you feel anything. Your reactions and responses are your own, learn to take responsibility for them. If you find that this is a common theme in your life, "You made me feel angry. You made me feel frustrated.”, then it's time to examine that feeling yourself or find someone who can help you find the answer, "Why am I so frustrated with my kids?" Just finding out the reason behind that feeling is a relief and may be enough for you to change the habit. If not, contact a certified coach to help you work through the block. The "you made me feel" is one I work on nearly every day. It's a social norm to say, "You made me feel___" but just because it's a norm doesn't mean it's acceptable.

 

3. What can I do to make it right? / How can I do better next time?

Sometimes there is something you can do to make the mistake right and it’s important to ask how to do that. For instance, if you’ve accidentally broken something, ask how to make it right—can you replace the item?

 

Referring back to #2 once more: You’ve honestly apologized. You’re both calm. You’d like to do better next time and you’d like your child to do better as well. Now is the time to have that conversation.

Sometimes, just asking, “How would you like me to behave if we are ever in a situation like this again?” is enough. I'm surprised at the things my kids says sometimes. For example: Let’s say Loreli was running up and down the grocery aisles, I’ve asked her to stop twice, she doesn’t and I flip out and yell at her. I will apologize for yelling. Once things have calmed down I can ask her, “Can you think of a better way for me to ask you to stop running up and down the aisles?”

"Well, maybe you could hold my hand." or, "Maybe I could push the cart next time."

“Those are both good ideas, thank you, I can do that next time. Can you think of a better way to express your excitement in the grocery store?”

“I could sing!” or “I could wait until we got home and go ride my bike.”

And of course, remember, you aren’t perfect and sometimes, no matter what you do, it’s not going to come out right. For instance, I haven’t yet mastered a calm response to what I perceive as near death experiences. Once, when Daniel was 5, he wandered off with an older kid on the farm where we board our mare Rayn. I tried to stay calm. I called Brad and 911. I asked my Inner Voice where he was and kept seeing water. There are two ponds and a marshy area on the property. I completely lost it and ran for the pond screaming his name. When he turned up 5 minutes later (he had been in the marshy area thank God), my knees actually buckled before I could get to him and I sank to the ground hysterically sobbing. He came running to me and all I could say was, “Oh my God. Oh my God. Where were you? Why didn’t you answer me? WHERE WERE YOU???” My response was not the best and I botched every apology I tried,

“I’m sorry I scared you Daniel but I was so scared!”

“I’m sorry I was crying like that Daniel but I couldn’t find you!”

There was no, “How can I do better next time?” There were just tears and hugs and, “OH MY GOD! Don’t ever wander off like that again!” 

 

Sigh. After living with me for so many years, my kids are fully aware that I’m only human! :-)