Strength

I used to be the strong one, the one who could handle anything life threw at me.   I was, and still am, the one no one in my family will take on, head on, although they still try to play their stupid games thinking I won’t find out and won’t take them down before they know what hit them.   I am fierce in defense of my husband, and my dog – my dogs- It still doesn’t seem right to make that word plural.

When my mother died, my heart shattered.   I’m not  unique in this, few can experience the death of the person who carried them in her body and nurtured them without experience the most devastating pain.   It wasn’t her death that broke me, it was the aftermath.   My family, most of them, showed their true colors, their real opinions of me (useless bitch) (golddigger) (mooch) (lazy ass bitch).   The stories flew, the lies were spun, the gullible believed and still believe that I stole my mother’s money, I robbed the estate, and some even bought the story that I somehow killed my mother.

One person held me together, kept all the shattered bits of me from flying in every direction.  Together, we built a life.   Still, I was in pieces.  I was never really whole.   Max helped heal my broken heart.  He showed me that I was worthy of love, that I could love, that there was joy in the world, and beauty, and friends who didn’t care if I wasn’t perfect every moment.   He didn’t care if my hair was thinning, if I was fat, if the floors needed mopped.  He loved me even when I didn’t deserve it.

So the pieces of me slowly came together again.   Different.  Weaker in some spots, stronger in others.

Then he got sick.   I had read everything about preventing cancer in dogs, I had given him all the foods that were supposed to help, all the supplements, and still, I couldn’t stop it.  We fought so hard, and we lost.

Once again, I was shattered.   I never want to feel this pain again.   I didn’t think I would survive it.

Bear asked Max to send us a puppy.   Along came Maverick.   Broken and scarred as I am, Maverick loves me.   He climbs into my lap and his tail wags and he wiggles and bites me and he just totally loves me for no reason except I’m his Mommah and he’s just so full of joy that all that spills into the broken spots and in spite of me, healing has begun.
Love doesn’t know that you’re broken.   Love only knows that you’re you.

 

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