Friday was supposed to be my day off work to spend at home.  I’ve been depressed for about a week because my period was coming.  So, I planned on staying at home with Melissa (my doggy) in the bed.  She has a wonderful way of making everything all better as we sleep and watch tv all day in the bed.  But, Friday morning around 5 am, she scratched on the bedroom door wanting me to take her outside.  I got up and just opened the front door, not placing her on the chain first.  Lately, she is hungry and hurries to come right back in.  Plus, she has been listening quite well when I say “Melissa!  Get over here.”

She was sniffing around for a place to “go” and wandered towards our drive way.  I hollered her name but she couldn’t hear me.  She’s 15 years old and we’ve noticed some hearing and vision loss this year.  I ran in to the bathroom and said, “Tim, Missy isn’t listening to me.  Please come get her back up to the door.”  And, when I got back to the front door, she was in the neighbor’s yard, just at the road’s edge.  From the other end, I saw a car coming and panicked:  “MELISSA!”  She turned to find me, with a confused look on her face as to which way HOME was.  And then, in very slow motion, the car struck her!  Oh God!  I ran and yelled to Tim, while getting my jeans on!

When I got to the road, she was limp.  I scooped her up in my arms and ran to the front porch to lay her down.  She was bleeding and I wondered if she was still alive.  Tim came out to be with her, and I was trying to find the emergency vet’s phone number inside.  When I was on the phone with the vet, Tim stood up and shook his head no, as if to say “We don’t need to go; it’s too late.”  But, I made him put her in the car anyway.  I drove as safe as I could, but tears streaming all the while.  As soon as we got there, they took her body which Tim had placed in her favorite warm blanket (she too was cold natured).  They came right back out and said, “I’m so sorry.  She’s gone.”

I am so sad.  Yesterday, I cried and cried and cried and cried, and just when I think I couldn’t cry anymore, I CRIED SOME MORE.  I took her in her blanket and laid her on my bed. Then, I laid down next to her just as I had planned on doing on my Friday off.  And, I cried.  And talked to her.  And, Tim just laid there trying to comfort me.  No comfort could be brought though.  I have not lost a pet since I was a little girl, and the pain is much worse than I remembered.  Maybe it hurt just as bad back then, but time had a way of lessening the pain?

Tim was not able to dig her grave until lunch time.  He has been working 12 hour days, 7 days a week on the Grand Ole Opry since the flood damage.  So, I placed Missy on her favorite place:  on her bed in front of the living room window.  It’s a floor to ceiling window, and we raised the blinds about a foot when we first moved here almost 1.5 yrs ago.  That’s been her “window to the world” and she slept there throughout the day, getting warmed by the sun.  I left the house shortly after and drove to Mike’s house because my plans were to come home one last time and follow my usual routine:  Bursting through the back door and yelling, “GIRL!  MOMMA’S HOME!” and usually she appears stretching from her nap.  But this time, she would not appear.  I came back at lunch and yelled “Girl! Momma’s home!  Momma loves you!”  And went to the window where her body lay.  I patted her and said, “This is the last time I will get to come home to you.  I love you so much, girl.  Momma loves you.”

Then I went to bed.  I cried, and cried, and cried some more and waited for Tim to get home.  He came in and let me cry in his arms awhile, then buried her grave in the front yard, right in front of the window where Missy liked to lay.  Only this time, she would be OUTSIDE that window, a few feet under.  He came and got me when the grave was ready.  I came out and watched as he placed her body in the hole.  I carefully placed her burgundy fuzzy blanket on top, and then we put the dirt on top.  I had purchased a “grave marker” at Kroger in the floral shop – thank goodness I saw those last week – small pet markers made out of concrete with engraved sayings on them.

Missy, you were a wonderful family member. I will miss you so much.  My heart has a big hole in it, much deeper than that little shallow grave that we laid you in.  You made the sad times bearable, and the happy times happier.  Thank you for sharing all your love with us, and thank you God for putting these precious souls in our lives.

I am finding more every week that I am forgetting.  Forgetting what it was like to be this:

My 4th year surgiversary is coming up in October.  I thought it would be a day that I would remember for the rest of my life.  Now I only remember the month and year:  “October, 2006″.  I can’t remember the exact day – was it the 10th or 12th?

I do remember 251 lbs.  That’s how much I weighed when this official before picture was taken.  I was in size 24/26.  But, it all seems just like a bunch of numbers jarbled together:  251 10 12 2006 24 26.  Kind of like calling out numbers of  a lotto ticket.

In my life now, it’s the new numbers that I find myself disconcerted with:  130, 135, 139 (weight), 4, 6, 8, 10, 16, 18 (clothes sizes).  My weight goes up and down on the scale depending on when I’ve gone to the bathroom last, whether or not it’s my time of month, or if I’ve just had liquids for 3 days.  What I call “fat” now is far from my definition of fat back in the days of rainbow striped shirts and teal crop pants (before pic).

Last night I was at Walmart in the dressing room trying on some boys’ Husky 16 and Husky 18 shorts.  They were on sale and wayyyy too cute!  In one style, a size 16 fit perfect!  And when I came out of the dressing room, I told the guys (Tim & Mike were waiting on me…  our Friday night routine involves dinner out and a trip to Wally World) “I’m going on a diet!”  The lady seated in front of me waiting on her daughter had a look of disgust on her face and shook her head to the left and right saying “no”.  I said “I need 18s in this one!”  That’s when her daughter stepped out of the dressing room happy that she fit in a size 18 because she was a 20… PLUS SIZE.  I was disgusted to be in size 18 husky boys, while the girl next door to me was elated to be in a size 18 Plus Size.  I felt ashamed of myself.

That’s when I realized…  I’m starting to forget what it was like to be obese.  Now my definition of fat has shifted way to the opposite end of the spectrum and 5 lbs too much, or one size too high for me means time to go on a diet.

I received this photo in a text message from my brother today.  It said my parents had been in a car accident, but that they were at home and safe.  (Knowing how much I worry… you can imagine how NOT so calm I was to see pictures of a torn up vehicle that didn’t even come close to looking like my parents 2009 “like new” car.)

I called my mother to find out what had happened.  Last Saturday they took an out of state trip to visit family.  Today they were on their way home, an approximate 5 hour drive.  They were about 45 minutes away from home and mom asked, “Do you think we should stop to use the bathroom, get a drink and stretch?”  Dad said they had only a short way to go, they might as well keep going.

Around 25-30 minutes from home, dad was taking a nap.  Mom must have fallen asleep at the wheel and said she heard the sound of tires hitting gravel.  It caused her to turn the wheel one way, then the other.  She hit a guard rail, bounced off, hit it again, bounced off, hit it once again and was spinning in the process.  All 4 sides of the car were damaged.  But, the Nissan Altima’s air bags NEVER opened.

They walked away from the vehicle.  A female witness stopped to help, and said that she thought there was NO possible way anyone could get out of this car!  She said that angels must have been watching out over them.  The police office could not believe how far the skid marks went.

As the evening went on, I just could not get over the fact that today, I could have lost BOTH of my parents in one accident.  Things such as this have a way of stopping us in our busy paths so that we can see just how fragile life is.  Dear God, thank you for sparing my parents’ lives.  Someone on FB commented that they must have a purpose for God to spare them.  Yes, that is true:  I need them too much!