Loss.

 What a fun topic of discussion. 

I think this last week I've felt loss more than I have in my entire life. As aforementioned in my last post, my dog was nearing the end of his life. On Sunday, my parents and I made the executive decision to call the vet Monday morning if things had not taken care of themselves. Come Monday at 10:00 a.m., my momma drove my beloved furry friend off in my Telly-bop to the vet, never to be seen here in my home again. I don't believe I've ever had that many earnest tears at once before. Not even when Derek Shepherd died. 

And life just feels so strange. I told a friend the other day that I know there are worse things going on in the world...World War III is breaking out right now, babies are being murdered, women are being trafficked, fathers unable to provide food for their families...this world is BROKEN. However, my teeny tiny world, right here in Wallace, feels so much more broken that all of that combined. My pup of 13 years is gone, and I feel his loss deeply. 

For any of you that had the (probably not) pleasure of meeting Wilbur, you know he was quite the emotional doggo. My parents got him from the pound for my 7th birthday, and the vet at the pound was pretty sure he was abused by men before coming into our home. The poor two year old yorkie, who had days, if not hours, left to live at the pound, had been traumatized beyond words and was coming to our home to live. Since he was traumatized by men, he gravitated more so towards the women of the Shoaf house - mainly Momma Shoaf. He loved her and fiercely protected her until he physically could not anymore. When mom wasn't around, he devoted himself to me. The one person in our day-to-day lives he didn't love as much was dad. He didn't like dad's sudden movements, or anytime he put the recliner up or down. Over time, he became much more comfortable around dad, but still protected Mom and I the most. 

As I got older, I appreciated being protected more and more. The older I got, the more I liked my peace and quiet away from mom and dad...or maybe just humans in general. One of the reasons I felt so safe being home by myself, either napping or reading or having one of my many impromptu dance/karaoke parties, was because I knew he was there, listening and watching for whatever harm might come my way. Nothing or no one got passed him. He knew exactly when someone pulled in our drive, knocked on the door, or was walking past our house. I'm not sure how he knew, but he always heard and saw...I never needed to because he always did. As much as I feel like a bit of a sissy, I'm now nervous to shower home by myself. Before his passing, I would shower at home and always make sure he was nearby when I did so. Just in case. 

With all that said, his loss is felt. It is felt deeply in my heart and in my mind. Not having him here is constantly roaming in my head. When I leave the house, I anticipate the bark agonizing over his human(s) leaving. When I drop food on the floor by accident, I await hearing his little paws on the hardwood floor coming to clean up after me. Each morning, I wake up and look for him to say good morning and to put him outside to do his business. Even though I've already removed his pillow from the end of my bed, I still walk around it in case he's laying there. So, while there is a lot of loss happening outside of my home and heart, this is the loss that's been felt the most. 

And that would not be my only loss in this season of life. Also as aforementioned, I've been told through chemo I will lose my hair. I believe this week that process has started. While it was supposedly going to come out in chunks, it's coming out in strands. I'm finding it in my hairbrush, thickly lain on the shower floor when washing it, all over my clothes, and some on my pillow every morning. If I sit here now and lightly run my fingers through my locks, five to ten strands will come out. 

Before it even started to come out, I made the decision once it was noticeable or once clumps started coming out, I was going to shave it off. I wasn't going to deal with it. It probably is a vain decision, but it was mine to make and I made it. I'm sticking to it. However, I think I'm just now understanding why so many other men and women make the decision to shave their hair once it starts coming out, or even the day they get told it'll go. You guys...the anxiety of it all. Holy guacamole. I've come to terms with losing it, I'm okay with that -- the anxiety is free from me. But I wake up each day and think, "is today the day it's going to become noticeable?" Every time I run a hairbrush through it, I check obsessively to see if it's came out in clumps or just strands. Once I take the time to wash it, I clean the shower drain and hair stopper that's full of my hair and question why I'm even trying to keep it. And I wish I was free enough of my vanity to free myself of this anxiety and just cut it off, but I'm not. So, instead, I wait until it's noticeable or until I feel it's coming out more clumpy than it is now. Time will tell. 

It has been a long week, and I'm ready for anew. We went for blood work and chemo round 2 this week. All went well and according to plan. I was able to go to work this weekend and be outside in this nice weather. My time with God has been fruitful and peace-filled. I've gotten to see friends and family and love on them. Regardless, I'm just ready to keep moving forward, to keep checking things off the list. Next is a appointment on Monday with Dr. Gupta, my dearly loved oncologist.