Her brother is lost.
Or maybe it is me.
During those moments when my body is in full reaction, when I am shaking uncontrollably, barely able to breath, tears streaming down my face, I wonder; Is this what a nervous breakdown feels like? I wonder; After all that I have survived during my 53 years, after all of the horrific torture and abuse I endured as a child, this, the loss of my girl, is this going to be the one thing that finally destroys me.
I have to ask God,
To what end?
TO WHAT END?
When I wrote the blog recently about my life crumbling I never thought that it would have included the lost of my girl. I never thought that the one constant that has been present throughout my last 6 1/2 years of recovery, the one constant that I have depended on, the one source of sanity and unconditional love in my crazy fucked up existence, would be taken away from me in 5 short hours on a Monday afternoon.
I can not bear the thought of Lars not having her with him.
They were inseparable.
WE were inseparable.
All three of us had daily rituals that from the outside in looked inconsequential; but for me they were in reality monumental. Things that we did when we first got up, things that we did as we moved through the day, things that we did before we climbed into bed. I had them with her, I had them with him, and I had rituals with them. I also had the amazing privilege every minute of every day to bear witness to their shared life, the one that did not include me. The one of intimate moments, of abiding love, of races through the house. Of them curled up together cleaning each other, of them playing feline smack down before bedtime after the lights were turned out. I was bearing witness to it all. And I cherished it.
When Dino came to be a part of our lives, he too became included. And he established some of his own rituals as well. Ones that I was not privy too; nor was I suppose to be. Things he shared with each of them and with both of them. He too was bearing witness to their unconditional love.
And now that has ended as we have known it.
Through my agonizing pain I know that I have to be there for Lars. To keep up the old rituals, to establish new ones, ones that are unique to us now that my precious girl has gone. I know I must continue to make eye contact with him, to touch him tenderly, to carry him in my arms, all 16 pounds of him; even during my most difficult moments of incredible pain.
I also have to be there for Dino through his profound grief and loss too. And it has been earth shattering for him as it has been for me. Dino was my rock during the immediacy of it all. He held me, stayed by my side, let me rant and rave because the vet wouldn't listen. He let me fall to floor of the waiting room as my precious baby girl was brought to me after she had died, wrapped in a towel. He called my dear friend Guido to help me become grounded, and he helped us get home after it was all over by calling his friends Darren and Andreas. He was my rock but he is also human. And he has feeling, deep and abiding ones. Now it time for me to hold him, for us to hold each other, to be weak together, so we can mourn the loss of our baby girl, Princess Sylvia.
I have to wonder in these moments of my bewildering grief whether the pain I am feeling is not just about Sylvia. It would be easy to say it is, to say it is only about her sudden and untimely death; but in writing in my journal a few minutes ago I realized that I am also feeling all of the grief, loss, and pain that has been with me for 45 years. All of the grief, loss, and pain that I suffered during my insane childhood, during my life time of denial, and now, during my lifetime of my recovery.
I have never really been able to touch into that during therapy, that bottomless abyss. I have stuck my toe in from time to time only to pull it out again for fear of falling in and never making it out. But now I sit here, on my bed, feeling the full effects of that abyss I have tried to avoid during my entire life.
Hating God has in the moment denied me a tether in which I can hold on to, a rope of safety and sanity that is tied integrally to the edge of my abyss. I suppose if I were to focus I would probably realize that it is actually still there, still tied to my core; and that no amount of hate, pain, or despair could ever sever the connection, that intrinsic connection to my Higher Power.
I just feel like I am free falling.
I am free falling.
Free falling into the muck and mire that is my immense pain. I suppose that when I have reached the bottom or wherever I am meant to go, that my rope will stop me, and as methodically as my breath will begin to reel me back up, back to the surface and whatever new life I am meant to have. That we are meant to have. And I guess I will know it when it starts.
However, at this very moment I am unconsolable in my overwhelming grief and pain.
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