Magic

“Dying on your couch while watching TV by yourself is a tragedy. Dying while doing something you love with every part of your body is magic. I wish you magic.”*

The entire premise of my New Leaf Parenting blog is that “Every Day is a Fresh Start”. There’s a lesson to be found in every great or minute facet of life. 

But sometimes there is tragedy.

As humans, I believe we are built to persevere, to overcome, even in the darkest of times. Surely survivors of The Holocaust and modern atrocities have taught us that. If they survived, we must. 

The truth is, the wind was knocked out of my lungs when my friend called to tell me she had discovered that our pet died the morning after we had left for our longest-ever 10 day vacation. 

He was “just a rabbit”. Not a human, not a dog or cat. Just a rabbit that happened to be my first pet since losing my precious dog to a rattlesnake bite when I was 12 years old. 

He was our first family pet, purchased at the beginning of the pandemic when we decided to homeschool our four daughters then ages, 2, 4, 6 and 8. 

We called him our “therapy rabbit” because he was forever patient- if the girls were loud, he would form into a “loaf”, blocking out the obnoxious sound. When the girls were sad, he would recline next to them, offering unlimited pets. They would nuzzle their face into his and he accepted their grief without question. 

He was my morning coffee buddy and my late-night snuggler. 

He died because he escaped his enclosure, unnoticed before we left town. Our last security video shows me and my husband ensuring his safe keeping but unbeknownst to us, he made his escape and met his end by another animal that night. 

I lie awake, thinking about his tragic, painful, lonely end. Was he scared? Did he feel betrayed by us for leaving town? 

He was so good to us, he deserved better. 

But then I read fiction to escape reality and come across quotes like the one above and I wonder, did he know we were leaving? 

Did he leave before he was left? Not knowing the dangers that lurked in the darkness?

Sometimes there is tragedy and no good lesson to be found. 

But I think I’ll sleep better if I believe Oreo died rebelling, refusing to be domesticated a day longer.

I think I’ll sleep better if I believe in magic. 

I wish you magic. 

* Napolitano, Anne. Dear Edward. New York. Random House. 2020.

Rising

Drowning.  Funneling.  Spiraling out of control.  Down the tubes I go.

This is something that happens to other people, not me.

I’m highly self-aware.  I go to counseling.  I write about my feelings.  I am immune.

Or am I?

How far down must we go before we reach out for help?

I hit my lowest point a few weeks ago, when at 1 AM, I looked out to the water and wondered what would happen if I just slipped in quietly, and disappeared.

It’s hard to admit, even harder to type, but that thought went through my sleep-deprived brain.  Followed immediately by the remaining tiny fragments of my healthy mind reminding me that by doing so, I was only transferring my hurt and pain to my loved ones.

So instead, I wrote.  I typed out my deep, dark thoughts on a sticky note in my phone as I entered the fifth hour of non-existent sleep and waited for morning to come and save me.

How far must we go before we set aside our pride and shame and liberate ourselves by calling it what it is?

I’ve suffered in silence but now, I am reaching out.  Recognizing I cannot do this alone.  Holding the hands of others who suffer and holding onto those who lift me up as I sink.

Making it through breakfast.  Making it to lunch.  Making it to dinner.  Through bedtime. Until Midnight.  Repeating until I rise again, from my bed, from this darkness.  Reclaiming my stride, my identity and my purpose as a writer, wife and mother.

I Rise.  I Rise.  I Rise.

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Camille Vaughan Photography