Advertisements

Forgive and forget…no

How does one forgive when the hurt is too great?

Raised up in a Catholic school environment from first grade onward, I believed to forgive was to let go of the hurt inflicted from another. Forgiveness was akin to confession. You acknowledge the hurt, let it go and move on. The party who wronged you would be grateful for the forgiveness and be forever at the mercy of the one-you- who afforded them a respite akin to what HE almighty would have given them.

Bull to the s**t!

Forgiveness comes back…to bite the hand that you thought forgave ya.

Yeah.

I can rant and rave ‘bout the many who wronged me, done me no good and I carry on saying, “I forgive and forget”, mind you, I did do the forgiving, but if you thought I forgot what you did to me when I was down and out…you got another thing coming.

I do not forget.

Nor do I easily forgive. images

Why?

Cause the damage you inflicted upon me is as bad as your thoughts on the tattoos that grace my body.

You can look at me and smile, meanwhile in your pigheaded brain you’re like, “Damn what the F… Why did she go and ink herself up?

That’s what so called forgiveness is for me. I can look at you and say, “It does not matter. What’s done is done. I forgive you and let’s move on”.  Meanwhile my imaginary daggers laced with the venom of angry queen bees is right above your head awaiting countdown to launch!

Yeah baby!

Forgiveness is earned not given.

I earn my race medals through practice and hard work. Not by the magic words, “I forgive you”.

I train, practice and work out what fits in and what needs to go.

If only FORGIVENESS were that simple.

 

***image from the www

 

Advertisements

I no longer have a heart because Pi took it with him…

October 24, 2016 at 12:30am Pi Patel, at the age of 12 passed on.

He took his last breath, in my arms wrapped in a towel after receiving Propofol followed by Euthosol. He went quietly and at peace. The laboured breathing became soft and even and the discomfort/pain dissipated as his body shut down.

On the third day of his pass, I still grieve. Not as hard as day one when I returned home with Pi’s leash and harness but no Pi. The tears and physical stress were non-stop, to the point where my eyelashes turned inward and prick at my eyeballs. I learnt on that first day at 3am, it’s better to cry standing up rather than lying down, for the phlegm building up in the sinus’ does not drain in rhythm with the tears streaming down the face. Too painful to lie down so I stood in the kitchen and cried.

The steps of grief are making their appearance against my will.

It starts with…

Bargaining

I bargained with HIM to bring Pi back and of course he has yet to do so. I stopped drinking wine a couple of days prior to Pi’s passing because the consumption was becoming excessive. I blame HIM because I feel the help given to stop drinking came with a cost-Pi’s Life! Please, please, please bring Pi back and I’ll return to drinking and consume three bottles a day!!!! 1522175740119

Bargaining TO Anger

For a vet nurse the signs leading up to Pi’s critical status should have been obvious. WHY didn’t I see it! Too busy drinking wine to notice? He was lethargic, did not want to walk, had loose stools, relieved himself on the kitchen tile.

Well…

That’s normal for Pi, except the relieving part. That’s it. Didn’t pay attention to relieving himself in the kitchen. I WAS NOT OBSERVANT ENOUGH! I LET MY OWN DOG DIE AND DID NOTHING TO SAVE HIM!. Should have questioned his doctors more, more testing, more bloodwork, more and more and more…and it still would not have saved Pi.

Anger TO Depression

dscn0030I miss him so. The pain and longing is unbearable. Prior to the euthanasia, I rubbed Pi’s head, inhaled his scent, over, over, over and felt his breath short and shallow on my cheek, over, over, and over. DID NOT WANT TO LET GO. He shivered and I held him tighter, trying to feel the little bit of warmth left in him. He was cold, weak and terribly uncomfortable. He needed to go, to get away from pain and I had to let him go.

Depression TO Acceptance

He’s not here at home with me and in two weeks time he will be home again-this time in an urn.

Ashes to Ashes

It’s easy to accept, yes, my dog is dead. Cold, heartless, steel, jagged edges=DEAD. My dog is dead and that’s that, over and finished. All that’s left in this house right now are his bed, bowls, leash, harness, tags, shampoo, medications, vitamins, lentil food sitting in the fridge, full bag of kibble, towels, winter clothing, booties…and his SCENT. I sniff his bed as much as possible. I miss him so and so and I’m so…  pi-patel

ANGRY

DEPRESSED

ANGRY, ANGRY, ANGRY.

So Angry I could scream!!!

But instead…

I CRY in the supermarket

I CRY walking Toby

I CRY looking at his pictures

I CRY, CRY, CRY…   img_1118

I no longer have a heart because Pi took it with him.

%d bloggers like this: