Asking For Help

In the Mid-West, where I grew up, you are taught from a young age never to ask for help. This applies to everything! Being self-sufficient is the way of life.

Growing up with first generation Swiss immigrant Grandparents added another, stricter dimension to my upbringing on the subject. It was absolutely imperative not only not to ask for anything, but if you did you were punished with silence. Silence meant shame and could last for several days.

I always wondered what it meant to them to have needs? Perhaps it was considered a sign of weakness? Maybe a sense of inadequacy that ensued from actually having needs was obscured and this might have provided a way to cope?

There was a strong tie between needs and pride. I think now that the pride aspect was probably a cover-up. The pride though, to a child, seemed to elevate the adults around me to superhuman proportions. It gave them immense power. They were not human. This fact set up a challenging world to understand and live in.

If they weren't human, what was I? Sometimes when I was little I had actual normal needs and they were more often than not ignored. This seemed to do a number of things: made me undervalue my own needs (which I still struggle with), and brought on a feeling of anger and despair.

The only person who paid attention to my needs was a Great Aunt who lived nearby. She not only acknowledged needs, she encouraged them and nurtured them as a "normal" part of life. She provided "the Other" experience for me. Although she couldn't change the situation I was in at home, she gave me another template that I have adopted more and more as I have matured.

Now I have created a network of friends who are my "chosen family". They accept my humanness and give me lots of room to make mistakes, have needs and celebrate my courage and victories in life. We take each other, "as we are".

This allows for a wonderful give and take in all aspects of our relationships. The resoprocity does not need to be direct. If I need something they can give to me freely and without question and I can return the gesture to someone else or to them at another time and situation. The exchange seems to me to be the way life is supposed to be.

Paying forward is more than a concept to me in my life now. When I invest energy into someone, it comes back a thousand fold. When someone invests in me, I am motivated to give to whoever needs my help and it helps me believe more in myself.

I believe this is the way the Universe works. There is a growing gratitude in me every time I can acknowledge my needs and ask for help or help someone else in need. I appreciate so much the belief other people have in me and are willing to support me and allow me to give to and support them.

I have deep sadness for my 'little girl self" who had to grow up in such a distorted, stifling and diminishing way. I take good care of her now, acknowledging and supporting her needs, nurturing her and looking her in the eye and saying "I love you!" And I mean it...

Death Of My Friend

Champion Arty Come Lately
April 24, 1994 - April 2, 2009

After Abracadabra died Mid-November, Ladybug seemed to skip over grief and never turned back to miss her sister. She hung out contentedly with Arty--through his failing health, as he visibly weakened daily from not eating. She didn't seem to notice when he couldn't walk anymore.

Earlier that day I had called the veterinarian to bring Arty in to put him down to sleep. "You'll have to wait until tomorrow morning at 7:45", met my request. I knew, with only a Mother's knowing, that the time was NOW and tomorrow would be too late. As it turned out it was not only too late but too long.

Mid-afternoon, I came around the corner of the bedroom and found Arty sprawled on the floor with each of his feet going in one of the four directions. He had taken his last steps. I gently lifted him and laid him in his dog bed. Shortly after, as I lay on the floor, rolled on my side petting him, he had his first convulsion.

I immediately jumped into "HELP" mode, totally ignoring my feelings of inadequacy and my ignorance of what to do. The convulsions were mild at first, although I didn't know that at the time. It was only later, after I had stayed up with him all night, I realized that those early ones had been mild.

Arty had my heart. He was the "most beautiful dog I have ever seen", my sister would say. I leaned that way in my own biased thinking. He had been my dear friend from the moment I first laid eyes on him and our friendship grew stronger each year of the twelve we spent together. We understood and respected each others' need for unconditional love. I don't feel he was ever once disappointed in my humanness and I felt deep pride in watching him become more and more of a dog. In his later years, he actually became a full-fledged canine and he was happy.

I can still see him running full-out across the wide green expanse of the park we frequented in our early years together. He was a picture of Grace. Balance. Joy. Even then, Hobbit's vision blurred and Arty stepped right in to guide her, even on their park runs. After a long-enough run he gently brought her back to me. He was by her side day and night and when she died, he sank into a deep grief that lasted a good four years. Her absence broke his heart.

It was when we moved across the country that he began come out of himself and notice his Tibbie sisters and me. The introverted perspective gave way to the world again and he began to enjoy life again. Like the sunshine part of the country we now call "home" he warmed up from the inside out. It was like having the old Arty back, new and better than ever.

I wonder, even now, if it was our strong attachment to each other that created our last awful night together so we could let go? It made the break clean. Necessary. Final. We acted out our entire relationship in that one last precious, tedious, nightmare night.

Ladybug, who I believe always thought wanted to be an only dog, mirrors my grieving now. I see it in her eyes and in her wandering aimlessly through the house looking for something that is no longer here. Arty's absence is more difficult that his death was, for me. So, we wait for our hearts to heal, knowing another Tibetan Spaniel is waiting for us to be swooped up into our lives. Into our hearts. Into our forever home.