Evey

This week was very rough. When my family took Evey into the vet with a fever and cough, we were expecting bronchitis, penumonia at the most. So we were surprised when the X-rays came back with fluid on the lungs where you could not even distinguish Evey's sweet heart. Moments before the vet came in with the bad news, we had been laughing and joking.  Even the vet was ready to say it was a cold before the Xrays, and she could have been sent home without ever knowing, so I am glad that we pushed for them. Further tests at Atlanta's equivalent of a Mayo clinic for animals turned up that Evey has Lyphoma with masses on her liver, spleen, and chest area. One of the masses is pressing on her lungs making it hard to breathe.

This goes a long way to explain why Evey was getting so tired so quickly, and I felt horrible for not knowing how bad she felt when I laughed at taking her for a "drag" instead of a walk. Although she normally approached walks with energy and enthusiasm, after very little she was lagging and tired. Now we know why and it breaks my heart.  It's so hard to tell that she's sick because she has such a good nature.

Previously my daughter, Morgan, was afraid of dogs, but Evey is precious and hard not to love. When we first introduced Evey, we'd had a black lab that was rough and hyper, and had drug Morgan to the ground playing the first week with us. Although Trinity was a sweet animal and could be calm with adults, she simply got too wound up with Morgan. Evey calmly came into our home and Morgan and her bonded. When Trinity knocked Morgan down in that first meeting, Evey put Trinity in her place. Ever since, she's been Morgan's protector. She's protective of me as well, but she's especially gentle and tolerant with Morgan. Although strong when playing tug of war with me or my husband, Evey always let's Morgan win and never pulls very hard. She's so good with Morgan and Morgan loves her. Evey's favorite part of the day is going with me to pick Morgan up from school. After Morgan is in the car, she turns from the front seat so she can watch Morgan in her carseat. When Morgan was visiting her grandparents, I skyed Morgan, and Evey jumped up the happiest she'd been in days, just to hear Morgan's voice.  After the call, she went and laid by Morgan's bed because she missed her furless puppy. Morgan still doesn't quite grasp how sick Evey is, but she now wants to be an animal doctor.

We started the FundRazr to try and help with Evey's care, because the treatment is not cheap. At first we were terrified that because of money we would have to let Evey go, but we were betting on a tax refund that hasn't happened yet. Thanks to the generosity of friends and family, it softened the blow of the mounting bills. We are already $3,000 in and with the chemo therapy, and it's probably going to be a couple thousand more, making the final total somewhere around $5,000 when all is said and done. But how can you put a price on love?

Evey is our angel. She was rescued from a shelter by a friend who could no longer keep her in her apartment complex. When she came to us 9 months ago, she was a Godsend, and has been my constant companion. Considering my situation, she's done a lot to help me cope with certain things, just by being herself. She's our little furry nanny who herds us all upstairs when it gets dark, always caring for her people. Once she decides you're one of her people, she will lavish you with doggy kisses. People who don't normally like dogs, like Evey.  She's not a dog, she's our furry angel. She's taken care of us for the past year. Now it's her turn for us to care for her.  If you can, please share the FundRazr. Things are really tight. Please keep Evey in your prayers, and thank you to all who have prayed and shared. 

Broken Nose

Riding at the Ranch in Montana.

One of the things that I am very self conscious of is my nose. It's been broken so many times that the bone that should keep it straight isn't even connected anymore.  I'm sure I have a deviated septum, and wish that I could get it fixed, but I have to say it holds a lot of stories.

How does one break their nose that often? You may ask. Well, although my present sedentary figure does not convey it, I was once very active and pursued life with a passion. I wanted to live it to its fullest. Although I was arguably sheltered in many ways, I also had experiences that others did not, and in my youth I was enamored with the West and being a cowgirl. This was largely in part because my grandfather had been an actual cowboy (also architect and WWII bomber pilot) and I spent my Summers in Montana adventuring on his 300 acre ranch.

However growing up, I had a knack for surviving extreme circumstances without a scratch, while getting wounded in the most embarrassing of circumstances. To this day, stairs are my number one enemy. In one such case after winning a fencing match with a friend, I was changing in the bathroom and taking off my shirt broke off the metal hook to han it on, which gouged my arm.  This is not the exciting story of a fencing wound, but my general clutzy bad luck.  I also have a katana scar in my leg... from my own sharp katana... I was doing forms with a live blade next to someone who wasn't watching, so when I tried to add a step to the side to avoid his blade... well... you get the gist.

One of the main reasons for the broken nose is that I decided to teach my horse how to kiss.  I did this by holding a carrot in my mouth, and normally she would put her soft muzzle to my lips for a "kiss". I asked for kisses before feeding her, and on some days well, she was more demanding than others. At times she would open her lips and I would get a real kiss from chin to forehead in horse slobber.  But a couple times I just got whopped in the face real hard. This was by far an anomaly and not a frequent

A Summer day, my friends and I were headed to the river.

occurrence.

The incident that probably did the most damage was a quite embarrassing car accident in my Jeep CJ7.  I was driving down a washboard dirt road, when the Jeep began to bounce.  One of the things about Jeeps is that they have truck shocks, but they aren't actually heavy enough for them.  So the vibrations of the road made the Jeep bounce up and down. Two things happened. The seatbelt clinched tight prepared for an accident, which although just about knocked the air out of me, would have been one thing, but the metal latch holding the seat in place was rusted. So when the seat belt clinched tight, it pulled the seat back as far as it would go, which pulled me away from all the vehicle's controls. Pedals, stick, and steering wheel were all out of reach.  As I attempted to unfasten the seatbelt and regain control of the vehicle, the bouncing broke the ties holding down the soft top, which in the bounce flipped over the roll bar, landing the metal framing firmly on the bridge of my nose and covering me in the soft top.

So there I was helplessly bouncing off the road next to my old church into the Kudzu.  I was so mad when the vehicle stopped that I got out cussing and just wrenched my nose back in place. I noticed as I stumbled over something that there were lots of car parts in the Kudzu, which left me to speculate that I probably wasn't the only person to have such an experience on that road. That was a bad day. While I was at the hospital some people looted my car, before the tow truck got there, stealing my radio and even my car battery.  However that is not the most badass of the broken nose tales.

By college, I was pretty used to breaking my nose.  It was just part and parcel of the lifestyle I'd had, and I accounted it as collateral for experience. Although the next story is by far the most unbelievable, it also has the most witnesses since it happened at a fencing tournament. Although I got no medals or awards at the tournament, what I did is well remembered.

Honestly my heart was not in the tournament that day, and I was not fencing my best. I just wanted to quit, so when I was fencing this one fellow, higher rated than I, my heart just wasn't in it. Funny how you remember little details. When the incident occurred, I had 1 point when he scored his 7th.  We were fencing Epee. His point caught a dent in my mask and the force of the blade caught my mask, spinning it and breaking my nose. The director called a halt as I pulled off the mask, holding my nose. He asked if I was okay when the battle computer switched on in my head. Now it was personal and there was no way in hell that I was going to lose this bout. Taking my nose and jerking it back into place, I told the director flatly, "happens all the time," as I put my mask back on and took my guard position.

The director looked a little unsure, but carried on.  I went from losing with 1 point to his 7, to winning 14 to 7. He didn't score another point, and later was heard telling his coach that he never saw anything in between. The director said fence, and then I hit him and it was over.  Bouts last to 15 points though and I had one more point to win. That's when the epic happened. Woe be to those who oppose me when I apply my will.

As my opponent attacked and I retreated, I began to trip backwards and my brain went into over time as time seemed to slow down.  There was no way I was going to fall on my butt, no way that I was going to let this person win. So, although I had never done one before OR since, I used the momentum of the fall and the pull of the reel and pushed upwards instead, doing a back flip. It was not just a backflip, but a backflip into a split.  I saw opponent, sky, floor, opponent, and stuck out my blade.  When I landed, I was in a full split with my opponent bent over me, balanced on the end of my blade. I had my left hand down to make sure that my left knee was not touching the ground, which would have been illegal. Then as my opponent withdrew, I popped up like it was nothing.

The director asked me what happened, and I told him that I did not know. He asked if I could do that again and I told him that I had no idea what I just did.  Although I could have gotten a red card for fencing off balance or turning my back on my opponent, they decided to throw the point out, which meant that I had not won. My opponent got one more point on me before I got the winning touch, but I won 15 to 8, and although there were no accolades for that one match, they ended up changing some rules because of me. I have a story that's lasted longer than most in those circles and have had other people tell me my own story only to be informed that it was me afterward. Perhaps it's no great accomplishment, and perhaps if I had meant to do it, it might be something to be proud of, but at least my broken nose has one interesting story behind it.

Although I still wish I could fix my broken nose, or wish that it weren't so pointy, or maybe that it was a little smaller, I like to think it gives me character, and characters have history.

Carrying Concepts

When I carry my Ruger LC9, it sits in my crossbreed holster, inside the belt of my pants. The handle pokes out and occasionally I get weird and scathing looks from people for daring to carry a firearm.  More than that, I have a child with me often and so the contempt seems to multiply. However this is my preferred way to carry, and honestly it's a lot safer for me and my child than the more "acceptable" and concealable carrying in my purse.

There are times I can't wear my crossbreed for aesthetics, and it's simply not made to work with dresses. So I do in fact have a purse to carry my gun.  After feeling shamed by carrying from general populace and the way people were treating me for having a firearm, I had started using the purse more often, just to make others more comfortable.  However the more I carried the purse, I realized the more dangerous it actually was, especially with a child around.

I'm not concerned with Morgan, because she has been informed and educated about guns, and they aren't a curiosity because they are commonplace in our home.  She knows not to touch them without adult supervision, and she understands the dangers. However I do worry about the more capricious children in my life who are less restrained.

When my gun is in my holster, on my hip, I know exactly where it is at all times. I can feel it pressed to my side and there's never a worry that if I look away some tiny hand might decide to make a reach for it. Usually it is under a layer of clothing, and it would be virtually impossible for someone to touch it, much less take it without me knowing.

However if my gun is in my purse, my purse is not always on me. Sometimes I hang it on the chair at a restaurant or lay it down at a friends' house.  This makes it far easier for the curious or crafty to get into it, and get into trouble, even if you are careful to put it out of reach. The only saving grace of this method is out of sight out of mind. If they don't know it's there, they won't go looking.  But that won't help you in a tight spot.

In a holster, my gun is accessible at all times. I reach back, take it, and protection is instantaneous. This is not the case when it is in a purse. First of all, there is the hope that you don't get purse snatched, which would immediately render the gun moot. If you carry the purse across your body to prevent that, then you still have a zipper or some extra step between you and your gun.  If you are in a situation that requires a gun, time is key, and a split second could save your life. That extra moment to get to your gun might cost you.

Carrying my gun also means that there is not a gun stored somewhere in my house that a child might get into. We have a gun safe for hunting rifles and the guns we don't use as much or practice with regularly. This ensures that the ones we might need immediate access to are there when we need them and not somewhere that someone else can get to them when we aren't looking.  It's like having a parachute but not wearing it. If you need it, it won't do you much good just to have it.

Grief

Dragon Con 2004

With the blustery month of March come many memories in tandem with the changing season. It was the month in which I gave birth to my daughter, both happy and tumultuous as I spent almost a month in the hospital afterward. Although it was traumatic, eventually I got better, and got out of the hospital to enjoy my daughter, which softened the blow. But there was another event in March that stings much worse. To this day, the loss can be felt.

On March 18, 2007, I lost my best friend and one of the best people that I had ever known. If you know me, I don't let a lot of people get very close to me, but Richard was literally the closest friend I have ever had. We bonded as I have with few people in my life.

Our friendship seemed to stretch back in time, when my mother discovered in our genealogy that the Wilhites came over on the same ship as my relatives. They were betrayed by the captain who they had paid for passage, and then detoured South and sold the passengers into servitude. Hundreds of years later, Richard and I forged a friendship, having shared many strange correlations that seemed to be serendipity. We lived in Indiana at the same time. We had both been to the Philippines. Our senses of humor were so on par that we spent a lot of time feeding the flames and laughing to where the most simple task became fun when we were together. Like anyone you are close to, we had our spats, but we valued the friendship more than anything and worked to improve our relationship, becoming better friends and closer afterward.

The night he died, he had called me not more than an hour before. Previously he had moved to NC for a new job, and his life seemed to be on an upswing. Because of his heart condition and the expectation of a shortened life span, he told me that he rarely made an effort to connect to people, much less keep in contact with them, because he felt that everything was temporary. Previously there seemed no point to staying in contact and that it would ultimately protect and insulate them. However he told me that he loved me and wanted to stay connected. At the culmination of everything two people with difficulty making attachments had defied the odds and attached to each other in a unique and strong platonic friendship that became very important to both of us. Little did I know that was the last time that I would ever hear his voice.

Drawing of Richard to commemorate him.

We were playing World of Warcraft and Richard had been playing his dwarven hunter killing ooze monsters. He had told me ironically that he was tired of dying. I made some stupid joke about green ooze and mutant turtles. It was a pretty bad joke, but then he never responded. Little did I know that at that moment he had turned to say something to his room mate and died mid sentence of a stroke.

It was sudden and unexpected when the call came from Tom (his room mate). We rushed to NC, but Richard was gone by the time we got there. I was devastated by his loss. I had lost family members that I was not as upset about losing as him, because they were not close. He was one of the most important people in my life, and a part of me died with him, as did the laughter.

To pour salt in wounds, people liked to speculate that maybe more was going on, but it was simply the truest of friendships. The best of friends. He was that person who we were so in sync that we almost didn't need words. We could make silly hand motions and the other person would know what we meant. Sure it was love, but it wasn't romantic. Just like you could love a family member and it not be romantic and the loss be tragic and heart breaking.

Grief is a process, and it never really goes away, because some people in your life can never be replaced. A little part of you dies with them. You can look for someone else to fill the void, but it's not the same, especially when someone is so close as we were.

Recently some friends of mine lost family members and friends. Certain people have been callous while others are compassionate. Truly you discover who are your true friends are in times like these, and it is hard to know how to respond.  Even having lost someone so close to me, I am lost in what to do for my friends. It's not like a car that needs to go to the shop and be fixed. As Kaylee said in Firefly "Sometimes a thing is broke and can't be fixed," even when you really wish that you could.

Grief comes in stages, and people go through these stages at their own pace, sometimes revisiting one stage more than once. However people on the outside often want you to just be okay so they don't have to worry about you, and don't understand if they have not experienced such a loss. Even if they have, everyone deals with things differently and it's hard to compare one relationship to another. Some have unresolved issues that now that the person is gone, can never truly be resolved. While others may not have been as attached and seem to be unaffected.

Although Richard and I were open with our feelings and had nothing really unresolved, the sudden shock of his loss and the huge hole it left behind were tremendously difficult to cope with, and really you never get over it.  There are things in this life that get better with time, but the damage always leaves a mark, like breaking a leg. It may heal, but it will hurt when the weather is cold. Others may not heal correctly and be left with a limp. Some may break so badly that it can never heal correctly without help. If they don't seek that help, they could be lame for the rest of their life, effecting everything that they do. Although emotional pain is not as visible or easy to explain as physical pain, it works larger the same way.

The world may not stop for broken hearts, but hearts can break further if not handled correctly in such situations. Though grief is not a free pass to abuse people, if you are dealing with someone who is grieving it helps to understand and expect emotional outbursts. Anger and depression are part of the package.  This is all normal and part of the process. To expect differently may stunt the process and the ability to heal.

I still think of Richard and miss him. That never goes away, especially near his birthday and the day he died, it's hard to ignore. There is still a hole in my heart that will never be filled. I doubt that I will ever meet another that can fill his shoes. But at the end of the day, I am glad that he was in my life. I cannot imagine how dull and different my life would be had I never known him. I guess it's true that the good die young. In that case, guess it will be a long time till I see him again ;)