Looking back at old posts from along the way of Chelli’s illness produces such a mixed bag of emotion. Almost always, it starts with a simple and unavoidable acknowledgment that, my god, we’ve been at this for a long time. Sometimes, there are little details I’ve forgotten, moments that seemed cataclysmic at the time, now relegated to “oh, yeah, remember that?” status. Other times, I’m proud of how far we’ve come, of how much we’ve rebuilt a life, unconventional and nutty and sometimes sad as it is, on this new foundation of shifting sand. Occasionally, like with today’s “memory,” I find that I’m keenly aware of what’s going to happen next for the unaware back-then version of Jeffrey, like I’m rewatching a horror movie for the fifth time, unable to tell the protagonist to please, whatever you do, do NOT open that door.
I remember this day, how we were both completely distracted while at Chelli’s hematology appointment, how neither of us were focused on her (very important) bloodwork results because we were anxiously waiting for MedVet to call us about our beloved collie, Suki. Suki had been diagnosed with cortical atrophy (essentially, canine Alzheimer’s) a few months after Chelli’s initial diagnosis, weeks after we lost her “sister,” Honey. It had been a cruel joke of a development in that indescribably awful first year of the shit storm. On this particular day, Suki was recovering from a hail-Mary surgery to see if we could forestall the worst of her disease. Initially, things seemed promising, but we’d go on to lose Suki in a matter of months and in a particularly brutal fashion. For the second time, it would be a dog-related emotional reckoning that would break us wide open.
But on this day, the news — both Chelli’s and Suki’s — was good. I’m actually glad I have those days documented, proud that we were able to express gratitude for those moments, whether they were sustained or not. One of the internal challenges I’ve faced in these more recent years of the shit storm has had to do with these expressions of gratitude when the skies are grey. I’m trying to learn to appropriately (and without guilt) honor the moments of goodness and joy without leaning into denialism.
It’s the trickiest balancing act, reality and hope.
Sometimes I ramble. 