Connectedness

I love the descriptive definitions of connectedness… joined, linked, belonging. This simple word, connectedness, does not seem appropriate for all the feelings conjured. To encompass our life’s objectives: to find our place in the world, to identify our special tribe, to be comfortable and familiar in our own skin surrounded by people who intimately know and love us. To know our flaws and faults and bumps and bruises and choose to stand by our side. To be enough for them and with them.

We have been fostering dogs and cats for a rescue (shout out to MASRescue.org) for quite some time. Fostering has been filled with a range of emotions but mostly love. To share ourselves with a creature who may have been abused or neglected, to help them learn to trust again and become confident in our love for them, to watch them grow into the best they can be and then to connect them with their forever family and watch them thrive. This is love. And it is not jealous or bitter. It is not done for glory or recognition. Love is given purely to those who are most in need. It seems so easy, simple, unadulterated and unencumbered to provide this for our furry friends, yet so challenging with our human peers.

We have a senior dog who came into our lives three and a half years ago. I had been working overseas and a few days after I arrived home (Mary allowed me a buffer for jet lag), I received a call about this hound dog from WV who needed a spot to land. She had clearly been used as a breeding dog and had spent her existence outside. The reason given for owner surrender was that she had eaten a chicken. Now I like chicken, although not raw. And I can understand being hungry and watching this chicken run around, probably a little cold and a lot neglected, and thinking that somebody was planning to eat it, so why not her. And she was at least 10 years old so probably felt deserving of a good meal after all she had provided for her owner. Or maybe she was too old to care. She was hungry.

Honey came into our home. But not without a lot of encouragement from my youngest. We became acutely aware that Honey had never stepped foot inside a home. (Imagine an elderly woman… now imagine trying to coax her into doing something she has never done before… and she just met you… and she’s not stupid… Exactly) Ella sat on the floor just inside the sliding door offering dog treats to Honey. Honey liked the idea of treats and Ella seemed nice… but no. I recall watching the sky get darker and wondered how we were going to move this unwilling and clever dog inside the house. But fortunately for us, kids are the best at getting new fosters comfortable. And who doesn’t trust a young kid with treats? It’s not like she’s offering candy out of a windowless van. Eventually, even Honey succumbed to Ella’s charms and ventured into the unknown.

Few people know the impact this one dog has had on my life. When I was traveling, my kids called me every day as soon as they got home from school. We had a 6-hour time difference for this trip and they wanted to connect with me and share their day. Prior to leaving, I had made dinners for each day I would be absent and stored them in the freezer. My oldest and I created a menu for the duration of my absence and she had instructions to remove a dish each morning before school. When Macy returned home, she would place the dish in the oven following the instructions. She served dinner every night. She was 15. Totally capable and wonderfully responsible.

The girls took care of their routine tasks, kept up with their academics, attended dance classes and performed extra chores to help during this time. When I landed back in the states, I received a call from my youngest discussing her weekend plans. I had not yet de-planed. I inquired if there might be another parent in close proximity with whom she could confer regarding her expectations. She responded that there was a person in the same residence but that she would rather not approach him. We continued to chat and make plans so that my day was completely booked upon my return with shuttling and supporting children (and taking the youngest and her bff to CFA for lunch which included chicken). I managed a quick shower but no nap. The other parent stayed in his office.

To shortcut some of the less glamorous parts here, none of us were connected in any way, shape or form to the other adult who shared our home. In fact, being disconnected from people and being incapable of any connection, can make one a bit of an ass. Perhaps more, but let’s leave it at that for now. Bad things happened. I was close to my breaking point after trying to make this thing work for over 20 years.

Honey arrived and needed our love and compassion. When she finally entered the house, she sought refuge in a crate. The doors were kept open but she wanted a place to hide. The girls and I draped towels over the crate and placed fleece blankets (ones the girls had tied together at slumber parties and in girl scout troop meetings) at the bottom. Honey laid down nervously. I crawled in next to her and laid beside her. I spooned her and held her close and told her that life would now be good. She no longer had to worry about anything. She was safe. I told her she was enough.

She exhaled. I still remember that sound. It is lodged somewhere deep inside my brain. She exhaled. Because she felt safe and loved. It seemed a foreign concept.

I could not remember the last time I had exhaled. I realized I was always holding my breath. So were the girls. There was an extended family dinner shortly after this with more emotionally abusive behavior. Negative commentary was no longer reserved for private spaces but was publicly shared. I was standing solo on stage under a terribly uncomfortable hot light and the person with the microphone was loudly proclaiming that nothing I ever did, nothing I ever was, nothing ever. Was enough. Nothing. And he was selling tickets to the show. Cheap. I was done.

You see, Honey helped me understand and feel the power of being enough. The power of being connected and belonging. And I understood in that moment, that I needed to change our situation so that also felt safe. I needed my girls to know that they were and are more than enough. Always. Forever. Love.

(Choosing to remain trapped in a bad situation models that behavior for your children. Please do whatever you can to set yourself and your children free from current and future pain. Teach them what love and respect and nurturing looks like, what is feels like, what it truly is. Take off the masks. Burn them. Do not listen to anyone who tells you that what you are doing is wrong or misguided. Run fast and far from those who do not know, do not care, would rather pretend all is fine. Stand up for yourself and your people. Those who tell you they love you and do not treat you with kindness and compassion every single day, do not know what love is. You cannot teach them. You cannot change them. History will be on your side even if people spread false narratives. Truth always prevails and even if you never see this comprehension in the eyes of your doubters, free yourself. Think about this: consider driftwood. It has been set free and tossed and churned and is all the more beautiful. You are enough.)

Fast forward through a tumultuous divorce, sharing the pain and horror with an old friend, losing un-supporters along the way, therapy for all, late night talks, eventual laughter, and finally, I am connected. I am joined to the love of my life. Our daughters are thriving. We belong. And I am forever grateful.

And Honey… she is still with us. Although she has dementia and is sharing some of the same signs and stages with my mother. Having been through years thus far with my mom’s declining condition, I have a better handle on what Honey is going through and what might help her. She stays close by all the time now. She likes the dog bed next to the sliding door so she can feel the sun on her face. She gets lost outside and we find her and help her back in. She seems confused by the other dogs and happenings in the house.

But she always knows we love her. She always feels connected to us if not her surroundings. Honey sleeps in Ella’s room now and I work at the kitchen counter during the day so she can see me when she wakes from her long slumbers and looks around. She smiles and her eyes twinkle when she sees me. Just like my mom every time my husband walks in with her chocolate milkshake. She knows that she is loved. Somewhere in her heart or head or perhaps muscle memory, she feels connected. She is enough. Even in the world of dementia.

As are each and every one of us. We are enough.

(I was not planning on my writing taking this direction today. I thought I would write about my mom’s connectedness. And then I saw Honey looking at me and thought about her current state. The words flowed and I went to a dark place that I have rarely shared. This place leaves me feeling exhausted and vulnerable and somewhat tearful. But no longer fearful. It is a process- contemplating the meaning of all these moments in one’s life. Comprehending the intricate webs of events and threads of people and places. Connectedness is also about being with nature and getting outside and feeling the sun on one’s face, or the wind or snow- whatever it is for you. May you find a point of connection every day- to the world, to another, to yourself. Thank you for reaching out and sharing your own journeys with me. Beyond grateful!)