Two weekends ago, we had the best weekend full of memorable family moments. From Friday-Sunday, the weekend was packed with great things like the first time to climb a tree and going back to church for the first time since Corona. We’d had special desserts and sat outside in the cooler temps. It was simply lovely. 

The weekend was rocking and rolling right along, and then it stopped rolling and mainly rocked. We woke up Monday morning and found one of our pups dead and rushed another to the vet. All bets were off for the productive Monday we had planned.

By the time Monday night arrived, I could tell I was crashing. After years of living on this rollercoaster that is my life, I’ve learned something important about myself. I will buckle down and press on in hard times. Sometimes, this determination lasts just until the dust settles. Sometimes, it lasts for years. This time, it seemed to last just long enough to take the kids to their mom’s and get a day’s work done at record speed. Little did I know that I still had a host of hard shit to navigate.

There’s always a final straw. After keeping calm and carrying on like the Hobby Lobby signs say, I crash and burn. The weight of everything finally gets to be too much and I need a reset.

Once upon a time, I couldn’t recognize this crash for what it was. It’s taken years for me to see this as a necessary part of my process. I don’t have to feel guilty about it. I just need to take time to cry. I need to sleep in and go for long walks and do something for myself. I need to break down, reset, and regroup. 

It’s like when your iPhone acts a damn fool and you have to turn it off, count to 20, and then power it back up. That’s what I need, except we have to count much higher than 20.

My first crash moment happened as I saw Hank and Cocoa’s kennel empty. We fed the other dogs and there was no Hank or Cocoa to call for. I sat on the cold, empty concrete and sobbed. My heart broke from the weight of the day. But really, my heart broke from the weight of the last month.

It was time for me to face the wild ride we’ve been on. It was time for me to acknowledge that trip to the ER where we thought my husband’s heart might be failing him…again. It was time for me to process through the fact that Zach and Ruby became heroes, and there’s changes in my work world, and that school is starting back and none of our kids’ clothes fit anymore. 

My usual process had always been to cry alone for ten seconds and then to stuff all of those hard feelings back inside like a magician hiding his trick bunny. Just like that bunny though, those feelings are bound to pop back up eventually and when they do, they typically burst out in a fury and surprise unsuspecting onlookers. 

I finally realized how faulty of a strategy this was when everything came crashing down on me at the end of 2018. Sure, I can keep going in hard times. I can still get the the job done, whatever that job may be. I’ve only made it this far in life because I have chosen so many times to stand back up. To keep going. To press on. But — there’s a time for that perseverance and there’s also a time for rest and for grief.

Within two days, we went from 5 dogs at Magnolia Ridge to just three. It seemed that we’d gotten my beloved #hoodhoundhank to the vet just in time to save his life. He declined so quickly Monday morning and by the time we made it to the vet, he couldn’t even stand and could barely lift his head. As other pups and people passed, he didn’t even attempt to meet them. He just watched them pass. This is when I knew with certainty that something was wrong. Hank was a social butterfly and loved meeting new people and pups. He was like the mayor, making his rounds, shaking hands and kissing babies.

One time, we lost him at the lake and he wouldn’t come when we called. We walked the whole neighborhood looking for him. We asked a lady sitting on her porch if she’d seen our little orange-colored beagle. She said that he’d gone on a boat ride with her neighbors. Sure enough, a little while later a boat full of people rolled back up to their dock. On the front is Hank, ears blowing in the wind, living his best life. He loved boat rides and car rides and would go anywhere with anyone.

The vet determined they’d been bitten by a snake, probably a Copperhead, and it was too late for anti-venom. Because Hank’s bite was on his neck, the infection was even more dangerous. By Wednesday morning, he was no longer with us. 

Hank was my first fur baby. I adopted him when I knew I’d be moving to #wfwhitehouse and we trudged through a lot of tough things together. He was there for my unraveling and through all of the ups and downs of the last few years. Truthfully, knowing that he depended on me is one of the things that kept me hanging in there at one point. He wasn’t known for his affection, but he was a wonderful companion anyway, especially when I felt so alone.

Less than 24 hours after being told Hank had passed, our area was hit by a hurricane. We spent the next 7 days without electricity and 5 days without running water. It’s bloody hot in Louisiana in August and every task of that week felt 100x harder because we were so hot all the time. 

Not having electricity was manageable once we located generators and window units. There was even something sweet about playing games via the dim light of an old oil lantern. And boxed lunches in the car and poolside dinners.

Not having running water was a different story, though. That really took things to the next level and in a lot of ways, almost broke me. I was so sad that I’d lost my handsome Hank and I couldn’t even grieve in comfort at my own house. I couldn’t even use my own toilet without manually adding water to the tank. The week took a lot out of me.

Now, we’re looking at surgery since my husband has a ruptured Achilles’ tendon on Sunday. They say that you shouldn’t share writing about hardship while you’re still in the weeds, so I’m going to have to let this fun fact marinate for a bit. I do trust that we’ll be done with this marathon of RANDOM hard things, and I still might have a breakdown before we make it through. Stay tuned. You might see me on the news.

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I usually work for writing here to have a purpose or a lesson. I tell stories of my life, and I usually try to do that from a posture of overcoming. I like to show a pathway for a better life. 

The best I can do for you today is to say this — life is really hard sometimes. When you notice yourself buckling from the weight of things, it doesn’t mean you’re weak. Most likely, it means you’ve pressed on for longer than anyone else could have. And now, you deserve a break, the good kind of time out where you hit pause for just a second and catch your breath. 

Taking this pause is the only way that you’ll be able to keep fighting. Take your time. Catch your breath. We can keep fighting, as soon as we’ve gathered our energy. If you need a day off, schedule it. If you need to get out a good cry, grab a tissue and go for it. Go for a walk. Take a nap. Eat the chocolate. We’re simply not created to be tough and resilient all the time and some days/week/months/years suck. I’m looking at you, 2020!

I hope that today’s post finds you in the land of sunshine and rainbows. And if it doesn’t, you’re in good company. I’ll be recovering from this past several weeks for months to come and I’m happy to share the real side of that struggle, if it makes you feel less alone. Feel free to walk alongside me in the land of heartbreak and hurricanes. We don’t have to walk the road alone.