Dignity

"Dignity" isn't a word often associated with my home. "Chaos" is more suitable most days. The above picture  is a of a portion of our latest chaos. The Thursday before Easter, we were blessed with an unplanned (but not completely unexpected- Mom looked as if she'd swallowed a cantaloupe) surprise.  Eleven squirming bundles of puppy-warmth came into the world that night. Unfortunately, not all of them were strong enough to navigate this world. Four passed within a few days.

The remaining seven are five weeks old today. Rambunctious, playful and increasingly messy, Mr. Moo, Arrow, Smudge, Star, Diamond, Sleepy and Streak come together to form the very definition of chaos. I love each of them. I love Mr. Moo's block-headed stubborn sheer boyish puppy-ness. I love Streak's habit of pouncing into the center of any brawl, even though he's considerably smaller than his brother, Smudge, who's usually in the center between Moo and Diamond. I especially love little Diamond's tenacious personality- she's not afraid to mix it up with the boys. I love Star's sweet face. I love Arrow's calm dignity as he sits beside my feet looking up as if to say 'what's up with them?'. Sleepy's elfin looks and habit of sidling up for a surreptitious nibble on my shoe make me smile. I love them all... And I will be glad when they go to the homes we've carefully chosen for each of them and my house subsides to a lesser chaos once more.

Although this litter was unplanned, and... honestly, unwanted, each of these lives have brought joy, and each of these unwanted puppies will go to a home where they will be cherished for the rest of their lives. Because, after all, isn't that how life is supposed to work? We're supposed to be chosen, in delight. We're supposed to be loved as we mature, as we learn and grow. We're supposed to reach our full potential within a relationship...

But people are not puppies. Life doesn't always work out the way we planned. Sometimes, things go awry. Sometimes, people's hearts change. Sometimes they change their minds.

"People change, and forget to tell each other." -Lilian Hellman. 

And yet, somehow, life goes on.

I am still wrapping my mind around the idea of a forever without Ken by my side. I had dreams... dreams of the days when our kids were grown, finding their own way in the world. Of course, I knew they'd wander home now and then, but I hoped we'd equip them with the skills they need to seek out gainful employment and the desire to begin building lives of their own, separate from Mom and Dad. I looked forward to a future in which we would build the little A-frame cabin in the woods we'd talked about, where I would write and he would hunt and pursue his hobbies. I dreamed of getting old together.


The dream has changed. Ken has made his escape, moving into a new home, building a new space for himself, moving away, separating. To say it has been a painful process would be to say a tsunami is an ocean wave. Our lives have been broken apart, shattered. This separation isn't the natural growth I look forward to in my kids, the breaking off of a seed that drops away from the tree to set its roots into the soil and begin its own journey toward the sun. This was an unnatural break, the loss of a limb... and the scar will take time to heal.

In those first few days, as my kids clung like little burs to my side, a much-younger reaction than I expected, but natural considering the way their security had just been snatched away, I wondered if I'd ever be happy again. I wondered if I'd ever find love again, and if I do, if I'll be able to trust in it, if I'll ever dream of the future the way I once did. I see family and friends who have lived through this building new relationships, wearing them like an artificial limb, but there is something that rings false in many of those relationships. There is friendship. There is affection. There is companionship, all the things a human being needs to thrive, but there is something... something vital and precious that is missing. The sparkle when they look at one another is not there. The longing, the deep affection, the feeling that this one, this person and no other, can fill the space in them that needs filling, is lacking somehow.

That's not to say they're unhappy, or that they shouldn't seek out what they obviously find fulfilling. I have always known I'm a different breed. I expect too much, and too little. I'm too wild and too quiet, too lazy, too determined, too frenetic, too happy, too sad. I know I set myself apart, and now I know that it's a mistake to be anything different than who I am, or to try to settle. I know that by rejecting the idea of a casual romance, I may be creating a future in which I am alone... and I am ok with that. I have learned that I would rather be alone than change who I am. One day, perhaps someone will come along who looks at me and says

"This one. This is the one I want. This is the one who can fill that space in me that needs filling, this one, and no other."

One day, perhaps, I will be chosen and I will choose. One day. But for now, I will simply try to live my life with dignity, and look forward to whatever dreams this new future brings.

~*~*~

“Think of it! We could have gone on longing for one another and pretending not to notice forever. This obsession with dignity can ruin your life if you let it.”
~Mary Ann Shaffer

“Be strong. Live honorably and with dignity. When you don't think you can, hold on.”
~James Frey