"These are the children God has given me. God has been good to me." - Genesis 33:5 (paraphrased)

"Nothing in the voice of the cicada intimates how soon it will die." - Basho

Goodbye to my dear friend, Roland...

"Truly great friends are hard to find, difficult to leave and impossible to forget." - G. Randolf

I lost a truly great friend this week. His name was Roland and he was one of the best dogs I've ever shared my life and love with. He came to me from a rescue group when he was over 10, which is old for a Rottweiller. He had been with the same man since he was a puppy and was turned over because his owner got a divorce and the new girlfriend was afraid of Roland.  

I got to know Roland by taking him on daily walks at Fort Yargo. He was a big dog - 130 pounds, overweight, hobbled by arthritis. He lumbered along like a tired old bear, barely lifting his head to smell the air, rarely making eye contact. He'd been at a kennel for some time, which while nice enough, was not what he needed. Rottweillers are a working breed. They need a job, which in Roland's case was people to be loyal to and a place to protect. Without those things, and broken by the loss of the only life he'd ever known, Roland had become depressed. His spirit had grown weak and the light in his eyes had almost flickered out.

He came to live with us in August and it took him awhile to settle in. He was guarded, quiet, cautious - like he didn't want to trust that he had a home again. Initially, he would barely take a dog treat and had to be coaxed onto his soft, new dog bed. But with time, weight loss, arthritis medicine, plenty of love and a consistent routine, Roland started feeling better. His spirit reawakened, the light came back to his eyes, his personality started shining through and he began to smile again.

Because Roland and my other old dog never got along, I kept them separate, which meant Roland had to be walked by himself first thing in the morning, late in the day, and right before bed. Those walks were time consuming and at times almost annoying, but they were also one of the best things that has happened to me in a very long time.

Because of Roland, for the past seven months, I've started each day breathing fresh morning air, looking up at the sky and listening to the birds. I've paused early in the evening to watch the sunset in the forest or on the lake at Fort Yargo. And, I've gone out to see the stars every night, just before bed. We did this rain or shine, no matter the temperature, and in face of whatever else was going on. My time with Roland on those walks gave me pause and perspective. They made me stop and breathe. They cleared my head and made me sleep better at night. They were powerful therapy.

Roland also made me feel safe. I'm a fearful person and Mr. Clark's work takes him away a lot. Our old house is rumored to be haunted and at times things do go bump in the night. But, with Roland near, all apprehension fell away. There was no problem, threat or fear bigger than that old boy was able and willing to face.  

Everywhere we went, people commented on how handsome Roland was, what a big dog he was, or how much he looked like a bear. His presence was even bigger than his body and he seemed to exude the essence of his personality, which was calm, courageous, loyal, loving, happy and just a little bit goofy. How we loved getting out with him and having him in our life.

Roland turned 11 at the beginning of February and while I knew, because of his breed's life span, he was living on borrowed time, he seemed so happy and healthy that I somehow believed he would last forever. And, up until the day he died, he did just keep getting better and better.  

A few days before he got sick, Roland had his best day ever. He started it by breaking into a full-out run, all fast and frisky, leaping and dancing towards me when I surprised him and Mr. Clark on their morning walk. Roland had a big smile on his face that he wore all day. That evening he set his personal best with pace and distance on his Fort Yargo walk. He just kept going and going, head held high, sniffing the breeze in the forest and enjoying all the scents in the wind over the lake. He had hamburger for dinner and licked the pan. Then, after setting another distance record on his nighttime walk, he fell asleep happily snoring, his big head in my lap.   

Roland went quickly, over the span of a day. The vet said she figured it was a kind of rapidly growing cancer specific to his breed. He didn't suffer long and I was with him as he died. Now, my house is empty and I am very, very sad.  

Expecting a death does not mean you are prepared for it, nor does it make dealing with it any easier. Even though I knew Roland was old, I loved him so much that when he died, it broke my heart. A good animal is the perfect companion and Roland was one of the best. He gave back more than he took, and even though I took very good care of him, he took even better care of me.

We let animals into our hearts and the best ones stay forever. So, rest in peace, dear old Bear, knowing you will remain well-loved, much missed, fondly remembered and in my heart, which turned out to be your forever home.  

Rest in Peace, dear Roland, dear friend.

Lacking resilience, who me?

"You can get sympathy or you can get better but you can't get both." - Mario Cortes

How does adversity effect you? Do you have solid coping skills? How quickly do you bounce back after something upsets, angers or disappoints you? Are you easily hurt? Do you have trouble letting things go? Do you stew and obsess? These are the kinds of questions you'll find if you Google resilience tests and take one or two.  

I did that the other day on a dare from my daughter-in-law; she'd just taken a test in the latest edition of Newsweek and found out she is not resilient. My results indicate I'm not resilient either; no surprise there. I consider myself to be a strong person, yet the smallest of things can ruin my day. Example: Mr. Clark and I went for brunch. I wanted to go to our favorite spot; he wanted to try something new. We ate at a place we've never been to before and it was the WORST dining experience of our lives. (He agreed.) He blew it off as a live and learn. My day was shattered. At one point I actually fought back tears, which thankfully I was able to do. Even someone as un-resilient as me knows it's unacceptable to cry over a bad brunch.

Resilience is the quality that allows us to survive and even gain strength from hardship. Obviously, it's a good trait to have, so why do some of us lack it? One website said having a clear sense of identity and purpose makes us more resilient because that helps us hold fast to our vision of the future. Since J.R. Tolkien's "All who wander are not lost," has been my life theme, lack of identity and purpose might explain lack of resilience for me...  

The Newsweek article said it has to do with the way our brains are wired. Resilient people have more activity on the left side of their prefrontal cortex, which is the part of the brain that handles thinking and decision making. It also sends calming signals to the amygdala, which is the equivalent of our brain as a petulant two-year-old. The more "white matter" you have connecting the prefrontal cortex to the amygdala, the quicker those calming messages get through, which means the more resilient you are. I suppose being lean on "white matter" could explain my lack of resilience, too.  

I'm not sure I buy these test results completely, though. My daughter-in-law teaches severely autistic pre-schoolers. That is a rough environment laden with minute to minute challenges that must be recovered from or all hell breaks lose in her classroom. Not only has she continued to show up for work each day, but over the years, she has become a strong, focused, gifted teacher of those special children. That seems pretty resilient to me.

For years, I was an emergency room social worker. Talk about a challenging environment - a day when I didn't help a family in extreme distress or hold someone's hand while they watched a loved one die was considered a good day. Not only did I do that work willingly, I found it to be extremely rewarding. And, was I resilient? Yes.

My daughter-in-law and I decided there must be two resilience monitors - one for the little stuff that breaks us both down so easily and one for the big stuff that demands we be at our best. Something happens at work that bends us out of shape and we are stung by it for hours; a profound challenge comes our way, and you're looking at the Rocks of Gibraltar.    

Since I've already found out that I am HSP (a hyper-sensitive person) and an introvert, adding this un-resilient diagnosis to my colorful personality portfolio doesn't bother me. As Popeye said, "I yam what I yam." But, for those who wish to live in a less fragile state more of the time, the good news is the brain can be retrained and exercised into becoming more resilient.

Mediation and practicing "mindfulness" can help your brain learn to calm itself more effectively. Being generous and upbeat in a conscious manner, more of the time will also help keep your brain calm. Doing activities that soothe, please and interest us can help strengthen those connections that make up our "white matter." And, as with all things, perspective is the key. One can look at being resilience-challenged as something that needs to be fixed or, as Greta Crosby put it, something that "makes artists of us as we weave new patterns in the fabric of our lives." Come to think of it, I've always wanted to try weaving...

"Everything changed the day she figured out there was exactly enough time for the important things in her life." - the Story People