Photo credit: spuddybuddies.com

When we are feeling rejected by someone or something, it’s easy to get down on ourselves and come up with all the reasons why it happened to us. It’s easy to try to rationalize someone else’s actions or decisions or find ways to defend them, even if they hurt us. It’s also common for us to settle for something less than great because we just want to feel accepted or appreciated, no matter the costs.

But we deserve better. You deserve better. I deserve better.

Think about it: a friend isn’t exactly being a good friend – they never call you back, they always have an excuse, maybe they failed to recognize some major moments in your life lately. You say, “Well, but they’re busy,” or “But they usually are a good friend.” Or perhaps you went on a few dates with someone, and started to get interested, and then they lie about something, or lead you on to think it’s something more. “Well, but they’re a nice guy/girl,” or “I should have known better.” Maybe a family member has continued to let you down over the years, but because they’re family, you let it slide.

We shouldn’t let it slide, anymore. What happened to honesty being the best policy? What happened to our friends being that – good friends? What about family who is supposed to be there for you instead of against you?

It’s in my blood to want closure when things don’t work out with people in my life, whether it’s friends, boyfriends, family members, or even coworkers. I want to get it all on the table, I want apologies said where necessary, I want to hug or shake hands and be able to move on. I hate just letting things go without clearing the air, but because of that, I also tend to give people a lot of second and third, maybe fourth and fifth chances. There are some people in my life I’ve given way too many passes, and it’s bitten me in the butt in return.

But then my lovely friend K reminds me that I deserve better. She says I’m too hard on myself. She tells me that when something doesn’t work with a guy, it’s because he’s not the guy for me, and that it’s not about me. She urges me to not deal with people who don’t want to put in the effort, who don’t appreciate me in the way I deserve to be appreciated. And it’s not because I’m more special than anyone else, or deserve more than anyone else, but it’s because I deserve the same things, really, that you deserve: respect, and honesty, and integrity, and love, and time. Because I’m a woman who lives and loves just like everyone else, with dreams, and goals, and good days and bad days, and because I should get something in return from my relationships, like we all want and need.

Remind yourself what you deserve. Remind others what you deserve and ask for it. It’s like I said before, if you want something, you have to go after it, and this is just as important as anything else. And don’t forget to give others what they deserve, too.

Such a sweet boy

This post was supposed to be about my trip to Costa Rica. That changed when I talked to my mom yesterday morning and I learned that Harrison, my ailing 13-year-old dog, had been put to sleep while I was away.

For months I had been dreading the news. Maybe I had been dreading it ever since I received the phone call about Casey a year and a half ago, also on a Sunday, also when I wasn’t expecting it. Maybe I had a feeling as I got on the plane to Costa Rica that I would come back and hear that my little boy, not so much a boy anymore, had lived all he could live. Maybe I knew that by booking my trip only hours before I would have instead booked a flight to San Diego, that it was fate that I wouldn’t be there to say goodbye to my brother in his last days. Maybe it was best that the internet was spotty, and that I last talked to my mom via email the night before she and my dad took Harrison to the vet.

Every time I got a call from my parents since Harrison started declining, a spinal tumor taking the sensation from his legs, his kidneys struggling to function, I thought it was time. But then Mom would say he had perked up and he was eating, he was fine, he was a trooper. Until yesterday, when she let me ramble on about my trip for a full 10 minutes. “So, what have you guys been up to?” I asked cheerfully. “It’s been a pretty rough week…” she started. And I knew it was more than Harrison being sick. He was gone.

Gone, another brother, another amazing, smart, adorable Corgi who led a full life and gave us every ounce of love he possibly could. We got him as a puppy. We picked him from the litter at the Heaths, just like we did again at Christmas in 2009 when we went back for McGee. We brought him home in the backseat next to me. We were still in pain from Rocky’s death just a couple of months earlier. Who knew that he, and then his brother Casey, would bring us such joy, such happiness?

On my trip last week, one of my new-found friends asked me and another girl what animal we would be if we could choose. I had always said a dog…they just top my list. But until that afternoon as we sat under the patio in the rain looking out at the beach, I hadn’t realized why: dogs only need food, sleep, and the love of their people. It’s that simple. Life doesn’t get much better.

Harrison put every fiber of his being into those three principles. When it was time to eat, he came running, inhaled it, and then ran outside. When he wasn’t eating, he was sleeping — on the couch, on our laps, in my parents’ bed, on the cool floor, on the carpet, in the sun outside. And all the rest of the time, he was loving us and absorbing our love. You could massage his back for hours. He would cuddle up right next to you to take a nap — he loved being the little spoon. If we were outside and he was nosing around smelling and breathing in the fresh air, all you had to do was crouch down and call his name, and he would come bounding, sprinting even, over to you, a grin on his face and his long tongue flapping around. When he was disciplined, he cried. Real tears, this boy. Eyes blinking, ears back, he was either a really good actor, or he just got that emotional.

We had a million nicknames for Casey but the only one that really stuck was Heedy, our variation of Harry. Heedy Beeby, our little baby.

Saying goodbye to Casey was a shock. And as before, because I’m not home with my parents, it hasn’t quite hit me yet. I’m still thinking I’ll walk in the door in August and not just see McGee, but Harrison too, even if I have to go to him. I haven’t absorbed that for real this time, “da boys” are no more…it’s just one. McGee is amazing and he and I have a special connection, but Harrison was my puppy that I watched grow up. He and Casey were my companions through my teenage years, the years when you really need someone there, not judging you, just loving you. They were really good listeners. They gave really good hugs. They let me sing to them. They greeted me everyday after school. They let me tell them my secrets, and my fears. Harrison’s long coat was wet with many of my tears.

I knew this day would come, when both of my boys would be gone. But as tough as it is to say goodbye, I know that they are now together, brothers again, looking down on their people with love.

Our beloved Casey: Reindeer Dog

Just three days before Christmas, everything is about peace and love and family and the true meaning of this holiday that has become so commercialized and in many instances, has lost its true meaning. Over the years, my family has slowly moved from all the traditional pieces of celebrating Christmas: we stopped putting out the manger display, we don’t go to church, and we don’t go all out on the decorations anymore.

Even though there are a few traditions that I miss (seeing A Christmas Carol every year at the Playhouse, going to Louisiana to do a gift exchange with my mom’s family), being home for the two weeks at the end of the year with my family has begun to take on a significance in a new way that I cherish and value so much more than eggnog and playing Christmas music throughout the house.

It’s things like the entire family sitting squeezing together on a loveseat in front of the tv day after day, drinking our coffee, playing on our iPads, watching Law & Order, and giving some TLC to the dogs. It’s things like all of us making gelato together, going through old boxes of memories and photographs as my parents pack for California, and taking a walk around the neighborhood in the freezing cold together.

To us, Christmas has become less about the trimmings and the presents (although we still give them of course!) and the madness that comes with the holidays, and really has become more about what it was meant for — to show each other love and support, to be there for each other as family and friends. We’re excited for Mom’s new job, and the move across the country, we’re cherishing what may be our last year or so with Harrison as he grows older, and enjoying a rascal of a puppy that has brought us so much joy since Casey’s passing. We’re looking for new opportunities together, and reminding each other of what’s important – to love, be loved, and to be happy and healthy, doing what we love, and not letting others dictate our lives.

And of course, making sure we get a big ol’ Honey Baked ham for Christmas dinner!

Always finding the crook

One year ago today, my sweet little Casey had to be put down because lung cancer had suddenly filled his chest, robbing him of breath and comfort. One year ago (and it was on a Sunday), I was milling around the arts booths at Adam’s Morgan Day with some friends, enjoying the weather, the sights, the sounds, the happiness — when life changed, and instead of being happy, I was devastated.

Yesterday was Adam’s Morgan Day. Every mention of the festival, every time I hear the words, I cringe inside. I think of that moment, that exact moment my mom’s voice on the other end of the line told me Casey was gone. Every time I hang out in Adam’s Morgan, which is not that often given I live and work near it, I get a funny feeling. I immediately remember that day, I remember the pain ripping through me, the world spinning away, numbly being put into a cab and sent home alone, to cradle my stuffed corgi instead of the real one who was like a brother.

Two months after Casey died, I came into the house back in Ohio for Thanksgiving and only Harrison was there to greet me. It was like a shock to my system, and I held Harrison with everything I had, sobbing into his hair right there on the laundry room floor, where once Casey would have been jumping up and down, begging for attention.

How do you ignore that face?

Three months later, when I came home again, for Christmas, my parents and I were headed for an afternoon at a friend’s farm – which turned out to be the home of our breeders, Cheryl and Ed, who had first given us the wonderful gifts of Harrison and Casey. And then we found McGee. McGee is the best possible combination of Harrison and Casey — sweet and loveable but rowdy and a little pest all at once. An adorable pest to be sure. He rips apart his toys and contently chews on them for hours as Casey did. Every day, there are so many little things he does that make us think of Casey. McGee is a new (if not annoying) little brother to Harrison, and certainly for me. He is comfort and silliness and laughter when we needed it. Casey is carried on through McGee, yet he is his own little doggie personality, too.

Some people may not understand how a dog can bring so much to someone’s life, even a year later. You don’t know until you have it. Casey was as much a part of our lives as any human – even more so in some ways. And he still lives, just in our hearts now.

Photo credit: http://dumais.us

In my job, we’re always thinking about how to serve our constituents, our supporters, our donors, our followers, and fans, partners, and

champions. That means we frequently “engage with our supporters” which means wonky non-profit type stuff like “creating a dialogue,” “providing a platform for community-building,” “raising awareness,” and “reporting back.”

We tell our people that they THEY are the reason why our organization is successful, or that malaria deaths are down, or that more lives are saved. We run the operations and the behind-the-scenes show, but it’s the supporters who really make it happen, right?

I realized today that all of the things we online communications and non-profit people work on everyday also fits into the relationships in our lives. When you think about it, our supporters, constituents, and donors are our parents, boyfriends or girlfriends, husbands, wives, aunts, grandparents, and friends. And in the same way that those turns of phrase above are part of our daily professional to-do lists and goals, they are also, or should be, a part of our daily personal lives.

• Creating a dialogue. Our loved ones want to hear from us, but they don’t want us to talk at them – they want to say something back. If we have a problem we’re trying to solve, we’re venting about a rough day, or we want to share exciting news, our “supporters” want to join the conversation, and provide feedback. Part of facilitating a successful dialogue means listening really well to what our people want or need from us – and in turn, telling them what we need or want from them.

• Providing a platform for community-building. This doesn’t mean building a social network, website, or even a physical building to hang out in. It means that we need a place to have the dialogues above, a place to collaborate, inspire each other, tackle life’s challenges, and celebrate life’s special moments. It’s a safe space, where there are rules of respect, privacy, and trust, but not so many barriers that it’s uncomfortable and you can’t accomplish anything. So whether it’s keeping weekly date nights, monthly family game nights, or doing an activity you like with grandma, make it easy to support each other.
• Raising awareness. If we want our “supporters” to care about us and take action on our behalf, we need to let them know what’s going on in our lives. We can’t expect mom and dad to know what’s bothering us if we don’t tell them, or our boyfriend or girlfriend to get us the cooking class we want if we don’t give a hint. We have to educate our family and friends on what’s important to us and let them know what we need them to help us with. It’s like those commercials – “the more you know…”
• Report back. Donors love hearing where their money went and to hear success stories. Our own supporters are the same way. Parents want to know what happened after you took their advice, friends want to hear if you’re doing okay, and grandma wants to know what you bought with her birthday check. So tell them. Call people, email them, write letters, whatever you need to do, to keep your loved ones updated. In the non-profit world, if donors don’t hear back, they don’t donate again. Share how your family and friends made an impact and how they too, are awesome — so they keep coming back.

Relationship-building takes work — in the office, and at home. And these “best practices” are just that – practice. You test things, you analyze, and you optimize (yes, another non-profit thing). Your results aren’t quite donations, retweets, or email signups, but I think what you get instead is worth a lot more.

But how to start is the dilemma in so many cases. Should you wait for them to bring it up, should you bring it up, when do you bring it up, how do you bring it up? Do you rehearse it, do you wing it, do you plan an escape route if it doesn’t go well?

Sometimes, you don’t have time to think about any of that – and sometimes, that’s exactly the way it should be.

I recently reached a major breakthrough with someone in my life that was years in the making. 20 to be exact. And no, all the walls didn’t come crashing down, and puppies and cupcakes and unicorns did not start flying everywhere in the room. But the elephant, the giant, ugly elephant that had been standing among us for so long, shrunk to a size that made us breathe easier, that made us love harder, made us know each other better.

And I didn’t need to escape. I didn’t want to escape. I wanted to stay right there, in that moment, forever. We both did.

Sometimes, it takes one of you just asking “what’s going on?” for it to all come out. And that doesn’t mean it’s over, it just means whoo, at least we got that sort of out of the way. And now, it’s kinda like a second date. First one went really well, you made plans to hang out again, and now it’s like, ok…what’s going to happen? You get nervous, you get excited, you know it’s going to be 10 times better, or maybe much harder this time.

But you know why it’s good? Because it’s the Things You Need to Hear. It’s the words you need to say. It’s the time to make things right, and real. It’s time to get rid of the elephant, once and for all.

First, Casey's turn...

So goes a verse in the Carpenters’ Christmas classic, “Sleigh Ride.” This song will be playing while my parents and I drag up the big plastic containers with red and green lids from the basement that snugly hold our universe of Christmas decorations. We’ll pick and choose from the bins which knicknacks we want to place around the house and which ones we don’t feel like dealing with, and slowly begin to unwrap each of the dozens of ornaments from their boxes and paper towel wrappings and bubble wrap. We’ll marvel over the ornaments that have made it 20 years or more, over the handmade pieces I created in school as a child, and the still wonderful, potent smell from the clove ball all these years later.

Harrison will circle around us, sniffing everything. We’ll remember when Casey used to try to distract us with a toy. Dad will come at the very end, to hang his favorite ornaments and to lift me on his shoulders to place the angel on top of the tree. Then we’ll switch on the string of lights… and all will be well and wonderful in the world.

I could go on with so many more details just about this very activity in our family. I could explain in detail every single ornament by its looks, its origins and its sentiment. But I think I’ve shared enough for you to imagine the rest. Now with that image in my head, I want to share some of my favorite memories of Christmases through the years. And then, I want to hear some of yours!

• 

  Now, Harrion's turn!

  Our very first Christmas together as a family, in the trailer in Louisiana. I wore plaid pajamas. I don’t remember what presents I unwrapped and squealed in delight over, but I do know that the best gift of all was a new dad.

• My first Christmas in Ohio, in 1992. It was the second time I had ever seen snow, and the first white Christmas I had experienced.
• Christmas Eve in Lutcher, walking on the levee next to the Mississippi River and seeing how close I could get to the glowing, red-hot bonfires before being yanked back. Laughing at the Santa being pulled by alligators instead of reindeer.  Inhaling the sights, smells, sounds, and tastes of the open house at my aunt’s, where my family would cook gumbo, jambalaya and pralines for hundreds, maybe thousands of people. (This EatLikeANative video perfectly captures the night. See minute 6:22 for the alligators!)
• For nearly 13 years going to see the Cincinnati Playhouse production of A Christmas Carol. We saw it so many times we could recite the entire script and name all the changes in cast and tweaks in dialogue.
• Some favorite gifts over the years: Barbie bike, 64 box of crayons, My Pretty little Ballerina, stereo, digital camera, books & more books, a leather jacket…the list goes on. My parents never ever disappointed – and always surprised me.
• Coffee first, then presents. Then pancakes.
• Watching A Muppet Christmas Carol.
• Doing stockings last. It’s our thing.
• Christmas gift exchange and gathering with my mom’s family in Louisiana. Dozens of people, lots of food, alcohol, and everyone talking at once. Simply put, a madhouse, but also “wonderfully great” at times.
• Watching It’s a Wonderful Life with my parents for years, and then continuing the tradition with friends in college.
• Building a gingerbread house.
• Year after year, my dad and I reminding my mom that she must get the HoneyBaked Ham for the rest of her life to make up for the year that he and I stood in line outside for 3 hours in the freezing cold and snow. The year? Somewhere around 1994.
• Putting the reindog antlers on Rocky, then Harrison and Casey.
• Simply basking in the pleasure of each other’s company, and relishing health and happiness.

The first couple of days of this past week were rough. But little by little, day by day, it became easier to continue on with life, as it always does. I went to a farewell happy hour for a colleague, and laughed and enjoyed bar food and beer. I talked to my dad night after night on the phone, reliving memories of Casey, sharing pictures we had collected over the years. I talked to my mom, assuring her that her trip to Miraval was the right thing to have done, that it will help her in the end, no matter how hard it was to leave my dad and Harrison at home again so soon. Friends and family had many words of kindness for me, as well as people I don’t know so well, and people I hadn’t seen in years. I went to another colleague’s farewell dinner, and laughed and bonded and ate some more, enjoying every moment of being with my team, loving what we do while at our desks during the day and knowing that any of us would do anything for the each other. And then on Friday, my boyfriend arrived for the weekend, the last bit of comfort I needed to make me realize that even with this loss, there is still life to live.

I know still that when I go home at Thanksgiving, I probably will be sad again, when I don’t hear Casey’s bark in the laundry room or his nails skidding across the floor to greet me. I know we will all be taking turns holding Harrison in our laps, because it will be one dog to three people instead of two to three.

But – I know as well that my parents and I will be closer than ever before, and we are already pretty damn close. And I know that all I can do is give Harrison all the love that I have and he will give it in return. And I know that I have friends and family and a boyfriend who are there for me, through good and bad, happiness and grief, success, failure, all of it.

Because of some of the struggles I’ve had with my biological father and other family in my life before, I’ve always found it hard to trust that those around me truly love me, need me, want to be around me. And over the last six months, I’ve felt that feeling diminishing thanks to the support of those exact people, and the support of a therapist who has helped me realize that even though this one person wasn’t there for me, I’ve got all of these other people who are there, have been there, will always be there.

With Casey’s death, I know this now more than ever. I know that my friends and colleagues are looking out for me, and appreciate me. I know that my boyfriend is there in a second if I needed him. And most of all, my parents are there in more ways than I can explain. Since I left for college in 2003 and the moved to DC in 2007, my mom and I have talked almost every day on the phone, or at least online. It may be five minutes some days, or half an hour when we have a lot going on. I’ve always loved that, and now, I appreciate it even more. My dad and I haven’t had the same history – he’s not a big phone person, which I respect, so when we do talk by phone, it’s maybe once every few weeks, but we get a lot covered in that one phone call. But this past week, talking to my dad every night for half hour or an hour, about Casey, about work, about our lives, it has done more for me – and I think for him – than I would have expected. We owe that to Casey – our dogs have always brought our family such happiness – and Casey continues to, even in death.

It’s one week later, and life goes on. Football games, dinners with friends, and my daily workouts, which I had dropped over the last few days. Life may not have Casey in it anymore, but I know that because of him, all of life’s little peaceful moments and the relationships I have mean that much more.

But then, all the people in my life reminded me that things aren’t so bad. That I can’t sweat the small stuff. That it’s not that traumatic, but that they’re there for me. These people were my boyfriend (after the fight), a friend and colleague here in DC, my best friend Molly of almost 12 years who spent a weekend with me to cheer me up, eat chili pies and look at photos from our “ugly years,” and of course, my parents. There were no lectures, no sage advice, but just reminders. Reminders that it will be ok, that life is manageable, that things get better and can be worked out.

It’s nice to have those people, and to have that day when things start looking up again. Because, they are right, I have a great job, a place to live, and loving family and friends. And then I come home, have a great workout, make a delicious dinner, talk to my dad for half an hour and think about devouring another book or two this long weekend and taking a long run in the beautiful weather. Because they’re all right, life is good.

Thank you for reminding me of that.

So many things in life seem silly when we look back on it years later. Recently, I was reading through old journal entries to see what I was writing around some particularly challenging times as a teen. Those were interesting enough, but what stopped and made me laugh were all the hours I spent going on and on about boys – oh my gosh, what a wasted effort that seems now, haha. I know all girls go through it, and it’s a part of growing up, but it’s just really interesting to see what took up my energy and emotions back then compared to now – and how dramatic I thought things really were. Crush after crush, conversation after conversation analyzed – nothing compared to paying rent, performing in your job, working through a three-year long distance relationship, and all the other things that come along when you become an adult.

This past week, I was able to step out of life for a few days when I returned home to Ohio. Although I’m almost 25 now, going home makes me feel like a teenager again. Not because I’m grounded or have bedtimes or can’t drink wine with my parents, but because I feel protected by them again, because I get to ride in the backseat again, because they pay for my movie tickets, go to Dewey’s and Graeter’s with them, and Dad makes me pancakes and coffee. This week, Dad got Mom a Wii for her birthday, and playing games with them felt like the old days of Mouse Trap and goofing around in the backyard. And of course, we made the beloved trip to Barnes & Noble to kill some time before dinner – one of my favorite excursions.

Part of the week was spent hiking in the Daniel Boone National Forest & Red River Gorge with Mom. After the first day’s hike, we spent the evening on the cabin’s porch swing, drinking beer and remiscing about the old days with her family, and yearning for some good homecooked Cajun food. The next day’s hike was chattier than the first, as I peppered her with questions about some of those abovementioned “challenging” times in my life. I apologized for the hard questions, but she answered what she could, and I really felt that it was necessary to talk about some of those things in conjunction with what I’m working through now. There are so many things that I don’t remember how it went, or why something happened, and I’m at that point where I want to know more, to help me move on.

Today, I came back to DC and back to life. It was cleaning, grocery shopping, and tomorrow is work. Tomorrow is reality- the adult stuff that has to be done. I thank my parents for giving me this week with them to be a kid again, and to forget about the realities of adulthood for just a little while.