Sarah

Today is easier...but yesterday was just a continuation of a nightmare with all the "lights" on.

The week began with large swallows from multiple streams of hope and joy flowing with undercurrents of sadness and anticipated separation anxiety. My joy has been nurtured by Beth Moore's Bible study entitled, "Stepping Up." It's an examination of the Psalms of Ascent sung by God's people on pilgrimmage to Jerusalem for the feast days. They're short and packed with heartfelt passion and incredibly honest confessions of doubt and fear blanketed with faith and determination to endure and prevail...perfect for my life right now. In addition, I've been reading 2 books that are turning me upside down. My spiritual "antennae" are constantly up now with the dials turned toward "Discernment of Truth" and "Desire for More." One of the books is, "The Shack." The other is, "So You Don't Want to Go to Church Anymore." I got the second one for my son, but after reading the first chapter, I decided it was really for me first! Mondays are difficult at best...laundry, 2 complete dinners to last the next 3 days, grocery shopping if necessary, and a nap to prepare for my first 12 hr. night at work. The day has to begin with devoted time with the Lord; otherwise, I wouldn't have anything to give all those patients and the people with whom I work...but honing out the time is a battleground with scattered remnants of failure. This week, I won...the time was full and sweet. That would prove to be a life-saver.

Undercurrents of sadness...oh yes... We took Sarah our 13 1/2 yr. old Chocolate Lab to the vet Monday afternoon for a minor procedure the next morning. It was a simple, fast-growing cyst on her hind leg, and the anesthesia, they promised, would be minimal because of her age. It was so sad to see her go, knowing she wouldn't sleep well in such a loud and unfamiliar place and knowing the discomfort to come...for her own good...hmm. The other current was a son who doesn't answer calls, voicemails, or texts. Occasionally he'll respond to a Facebook message and often to an email, but we wait. We beg, plead, and threaten, then just let go...over and over and over again. It's a lesson in futility and forgiveness...and we love him from afar. Flowing over and under those currents was the knowledge that Michael is leaving next weekend and won't return until Thanksgiving, then there's Christmas, then...well, he's probably going to travel abroad next summer. This summer has been precious, but it is the last one like it with him in the house. There's also this girl...(who I love, by the way, but...).

Monday night was amazingly easy at work. That was a surprise...and a set up. Sarah returned home Tuesday afternoon in good shape after her surgery. I left her laying peacefully on the kitchen floor, sleeping off the rest of the anesthesia. The nightmare began at work. Before I even clocked in, I was transferring acutely ill patients to bed, and the safety of every patient on that unit was in jeopardy because of a sudden, simultaneous inflow of postoperative cases. At the same time, my phone began ringing...incessantly, urgently, and unusually. My family knows not to call between 6:00-9:00pm because of the intensity of my work load during those hours. When I angrily answered, noticing it was my husband, he was in a panic, pleading for help. Something was wrong with Sarah. Her stomach was huge, hard, and she wasn't breathing well, drooling constantly, unable to stand, and in pain. I was helpless. I was elbow deep in a mixture of life and death issues, so I urged him to call the Vet then carry her to the Vet Emergency Clinic. I never had a chance to call back, assuming all was well, until 10:00pm. Kevin and Michael were in the car on the way home...without Sarah. Kevin couldn't speak. It was Michael who told me she had to be euthanized because of a life-threatening condition called Gastric Torsion...and no one knew if it was the result of poor management at the Vet or a freak event. Internet research since that time has not helped.

We have grieved...and grieved. Undercurrents of sadness have threatened to drown me as waves of grief have pulled me under until I've not been able breathe without tears. Sometimes I think, "She was just a dog, it's just college, and he's just a kid...," but none of that has helped. It's been a process, and for the first time in a long time, I've been really honest with God. He already knows my heart, so who do I think I'm kidding?

This entry is to honor the passing of a sweet, devoted, unassuming, and loving member of the Porter family who has taught us about God on a daily basis. This week has been filled with lessons on the brevity of life, honesty, and the responsive faithfulness of a Father who loves through deep, darkness into light and hasn't let this daughter drown under the weight of grief without the buoy of a personal Lifesaver who has repetitively rescued me from the waves. Psalm 121 is my memory work and Psalm 122 is my hope.