One of These Things Is Not Like the Other

I have watched 3 living souls die. Two humans and one dog.

How's that for a starter to a blog entry?

The most peaceful death I witnessed was that of my family's dog, Pepper. Just over 2 and a half years ago, she was blind, she always smelled because of some sort of sickness she was in the middle of, and she could barely move around the yard. So, we decided that she needed to be euthanized because I couldn't bring myself to save $100 and just take her north on US95 a few miles.

And it was sad. It was hard, but very peaceful. She went to sleep and then died. One second our puppy was there. The next second, she wasn't; just her body. And Nick and I cried together in that moment.

In 2007, Nick and I were on our way to a "Fathers and Sons" outing with our church. I don't intend to get into all the details, but I witnessed a horrific crash when a vehicle traveling on I-15 in the opposite direction rolled 3 times and landed in the median. I was the first vehicle to stop and the first person on the scene. Nick stayed in the van watching a movie.

As I knelt by a little girl, I watched her grandma breathe her final breaths. It was not a pleasant memory. It was violent and can still, from time to time, disturb my thoughts more than 8 years later.

Lastly, we are coming up on the 2 year anniversary of my dad's death. I was there in the room when he died. Also in the room were my mom, 3 brothers and a sister-in-law. And while I would like to say that watching his passing was as peaceful as watching Pepper die, it wasn't. No, it was much closer to watching the woman die in the median of I-15.

It's a thought that I can't seem to get out of my mind right now. It was not an easy, peaceful thing to watch. It was painful and disturbing.

Yes, there was an experience associated with it that can bring peace to my soul if I can focus more on it than the mere physical and mortal experience. But I am not always able to do that. I wish it was a less disturbing memory, but it isn't.

I have a friend who was with her husband when he died of cancer and I spoke to her recently. She assured me that the disturbing part of the memory will fade over time. It's been 13 years for her.

So, I hold on to that. There is an experience linked with the event that brings peace and has profound meaning. I try to hold on to that and push back the other.

Today - Scout Camp

Tomorrow - college.

My two daughters are seniors in the fall.

We haven't really ever had our kids going on trips without at lest one of us there. We always took the opportunity to be a chaperon on the trip our kids went on.

This past week, though, Nick's been at scout camp.  And it has been a little, well, stressful. No contact. No reassurance that he is being adequately supervised. Just going on faith, hope and trust - in God. And that that trust will somehow translate into competent adult leaders at the camp.

He survived, so that's good. But there was definitely angst at his absence.

Is this just a small sample of how it will be next year when my daughters are away at school? Every day wondering if they are okay? If they are getting their homework done? If they are properly being taken care of - by themselves? If they are getting back and forth to classes safely?

Ugh! Why can't my kids all be in kindergarten again? All I had to worry about is whether they made it through the 3 hours without peeing their pants or eating Elmer's glue (which, by the way, I never did either of those things when I was in Kindergarten).

This business of watching kids grow up is heartache.

Of course, when they are successful, it's the complete opposite of heartache. It's heart...not-ache. It's heartfullness. If that isn't a word, I proclaim it one today.