The Resurrection of Faith...a Story of Serendipity

For about 5 or 6 years now my children have been asking for a dog. Well, first they asked for a sibling…right after I got divorced. I don’t think they were quite grasping how that works. Since no baby was happening, they harped on getting a dog and I have consistently said no. I enjoy dogs, but I didn’t want the responsibility that comes with them. 

Fast forward to two months ago. I asked myself what I was really scared of when thinking about getting a dog. The answer came quickly. Loss of my freedom. I have two independent and responsible teenagers, which means my freedom in many ways, has returned. My daughter is turning 17 and has a car. She does errands for us and even gets her brother around. Why would I want to give up any more of my time and energy?

I then realized…wait…I have two responsible and independent teenagers…who would likely do a fantastic job with the responsibility of a dog. I then gave them a month to show me they were ready by keeping their rooms and the house clean without me asking. I didn’t actually think they would do it. They did. Then I asked them to draw up a contract outlining my responsibility versus theirs. They would have 85% of the responsibility and I would hold 15%. This I could commit to. Plus, dogs are cool. I’ve always secretly wanted one. 

I told the kids if we are meant to get a puppy it would find its way to us. I believe in Serendipity. I believe whatever we are meant to have will show up in our life. And yet, during a pandemic when all the regular rules of life have changed, it seemed that we would be doing more of the searching and seeking than letting much in. 

We searched for weeks. If you’ve ever attempted to rescue and adopt a puppy you know it’s an interesting process. And for a feeler like me, I found it odd to be looking for my future family member on what felt like a dating app. A few dogs were available to us, but none that quite felt right. 

Last week, as we prepared to virtually meet another dog who was cute, (aren’t they all?) my daugher’s friend reached out and asked if we were still looking for a puppy because her mom was friends with someone who had a local rescue. She sent us some pictures and one puppy in particular struck me. It’s energy was beautiful and it’s markings drew me in. I wanted to meet this dog and it would be in the state on Sunday. We could meet it then.

Later in the day my daughter told me the pup was a boy and his name was Phoenix. “That’s cool,” I said. “I like that name but not sure if we’ll keep it if we get the dog.”

An hour or two later I was outside sitting in the sun and the puppy’s name popped in my head. 

Phoenix. Wait a minute…Phoenix? That’s some powerful symbolism.  The Pheonix is a sign of deep transformation and renewal. It is known for bursting into flames when it dies and rising from the ashes after death. Wow. That’s a powerful dog.

Then it hit me, we are meeting him on Sunday…Easter Sunday. The day when Jesus rose from the dead and resurrected to prove eternal life, and rebirthing faith and hope. 

Serendipitous.

This dog came to us and was meant to be ours. When we met him this morning, he was calm in our arms and gave us plenty of kisses. His tail wagged and my kids fell in love.  He’s spent the day with us seeming pretty comfortable in our presence and even in his crate. It is clear, he is home. Rebirthed into our hearts in a way that will transform our family. No doubt. This is Serendipity. This is the way Love always makes it’s presence known. Welcome Leo Phoenix Reilly.

I do not subscribe to a particular organized religion, but I do subscribe to Faith. My faith was strengthened today and my heart cracked open just a little bit more. When you’re ready, love finds it’s way. 

Happy Rebirth and Transformation from my family to yours!

Why Living is Always Worth It

My 12 year old son came home from school recently and mentioned he wrote a poem for class that had two of his teachers in tears. I asked what it was about and he said, “After your mother’s death.” 

My mother, who had committed suicide.

“Really?” I asked, “what about it?”

“Oh nothing,” he squirmed and then no longer wanted to talk about it.

That always drives me nuts. Reel me in to push me out. Frustrating.

But what I’ve learned is that IS him letting me in. He is only willing or able to so in small doses for heavier subjects and the only thing I can do is wait until he is ready to share.

With that said, I keep asking. Also in small doses. But to let him know I’m paying attention. A couple days later, he brought home his poem….and quite frankly, it blew me away.

“Did she have to go?

Could she have stayed?

What would it be like on this day?

Did she think she wouldn’t be missed?

After all that is what she thought?

Some have overcome this death,

When others mourn in thought.

Some have never met her.

And never will.

So maybe just maybe she could have stayed.

Did she have to take her life?

Just throw everything away?

What about the people to come?

Her family that was so big,

Did she not know we would love her anyway?

So why throw it all away?

The one action, the one thought,

That changed so many lives to this day.

Only if one thought changed, one thought shifted,

But it didn’t and it took her life away.”

He expected tears from me and they came. They always come. Even easier now as I see the gift of their arrival rather than the shame of being so sensitive.

“That was amazing. Your perspective is inspiring to me. It reminds me why I do what I do. Thank you for sharing.” I said to him.

Still squirmy, he was unsure if I’d be upset. He was looking for reassurance that his words, his voice, had value. At that moment, I could only give him half of my own thoughts. I had to sit with the feeling that came with them.

Being the child of a parent who committed suicide is not really a category I live in. I wear no badge of ongoing pain, or talk about the experience of how damaged I am because of it.

Although, in truth, I am. Damaged is not a fair statement, but touched…changed…strong because of it. 

For me, I made a decision long ago that I would use the experience to enhance my life, not ruin it and use it as an excuse to keep screwing up and saying that life owes me because I’ve been hurt…by the will of someone else.

The victim mentality makes me edgy. And feel powerless. Its not a place I’ll let myself live.

Instead, I’ve used my scars as motivation to prevent someone else, like me or my mother, sensitive and imperfect beings, from feeling stuck in misery and worry. The kind that allows fear and frustration to rule the days.

I used to. I had to try it on first. But even during that time period, I knew it would not last for me. I couldn’t live like that. Being miserable bores me. I become impatient with my woes. I get lost in my symptoms of depression and anxiety and I am dedicated to finding my way out of the maze to make it easier for the next time I enter.

And I will. Its part of my human experience. I’m not immune.

I’m filled with dysfunctional patterns of protection I’ve had to unravel and re-wire in my brain and in my choices. Those come with the experience. My inner optimist wants to ignore them, but the realist in me says, you’ve still got shit to work on. And I do.

But I also won’t be held back.

My little boy’s beautifully expressed thoughts reminded me that life does go on. That we continue to grow and thrive after great loss, but we don’t forget and we don’t move on unchanged.

He never met my mother, his grandmother, but he has seen the way her life and death changed mine and in turn his.  Had I not been so motivated to change, he would have a very different mother. Had I not been so vulnerable to face my demons, he would be experiencing them by default.

I knew when I had children I would have to teach myself to mother them. I knew I had to dig into myself and find the courage to learn to love without limits and not protect myself from the fear of loss or pain by holding them too close.

When you lose someone you are attached to suddenly, it has a lasting impact on your ability to trust. And yet…I’ve chosen a life where my purpose is not only to learn to trust more, but to teach and inspire others to do the same.

I have been surrounded by suicide for the majority of life. Mostly the loved ones left in the wake. From friends to close connections to clients, I’m well versed in the feelings and understanding of what it’s like to experience the guilt and sorrow and anger and confusion, after someone ends what we find to be so precious.

I know what its like to be lost while trying to make sense of it all.

As a Licensed Professional Counselor, I’ve also worked with many who let the obsession of not wanting to be here take over their lives. Those who have attempted to die and those who just wish it would happen so they could move out of their internal hell hole.

My question of the why’s have been answered. I can see how and why people get to the brink of wanting to end the pain. Its heavy and its real.

But I’ve also seen and felt what its like when the corner turns. When the one thought changes to a new one of hope. Of opportunity. Of light in a very, very dark tunnel.

Anything is possible. I don’t just believe this, I live it.

I laid down with my son that night before he went to sleep and told him, again, how much his poem had touched me. 

I told him how I could hear his own “what if’s” in his words and feel the questioning that life often brings…and that I will always walk with him to help him find the answers he seeks. Its what we do for those we love.

I reminded him that Hope is the driving force behind my life’s work and Trust has changed me. And that Support is available to all of us. We just have to ask. 

He hugged me close and said, “I love you, Mom.”

And once again, I knew, its always worth it. Life, the work that comes with Living…always, always worth it. 

How To Climb Up When You've Hit Financial Rock Bottom

I was on hold for over an hour…no one was picking up.  I had the phone on speaker so I could work on other things, but I was a little taken back by how much effort it took to get someone to help me.  I was applying for the Snaps program, ‘Food Stamps’, state aid to feed my children.  It was awkward enough as it was and I just wanted to get it over with, but instead I had to wait. Was it this difficult for everyone?

I had just resigned from my job and had next to no income while I took a couple more classes to be eligible for a license in professional counseling.  My father suggested I apply a few weeks prior and I nearly scoffed at the idea. I didn’t see how I could apply for aid, I made a choice to leave my job. I chose to reduce my income temporarily.  I chose to take a risk in hopes it would give me a greater gain.  I didn’t think I earned the right to ask for help.

His view was that that was what the program was for...temporary help to get by. And more importantly, it wasn’t just about me. I had two children I had also made a choice for.  They had to live with my risk and decision.  For that reason alone, I decided to apply.  I made a decision to live without, but they had not.

Lots of paperwork, several more hour long phone calls, an interview and escorting my pride out the door awarded my children a monthly allowance of financial food aid.  I was not personally awarded aid initially since I had made a choice to leave my job, but my children were not penalized for my choice.  Somehow, that made me feel better.

As my bills rolled in and my income did not, I was incredibly grateful for the help we were given.  And yet, I found myself uncomfortable every time I was at the grocery store checking out.  Because of that, I swear, my card didn’t work and the cashier would have to override and punch in the numbers several times often asking if I was sure there were enough funds available. I was sure. I kept careful track. And I was embarrassed, every single time. 

I reminded myself that it was me judging myself. It was me who didn’t feel deserving. I wasn’t doing anything wrong and asking for help is more than okay.  But I still squirmed. I still questioned what they thought of me.  Keep reading...