The Things We Long to Do and Don't

 This morning I am particularly sick with sorrow, and I know why; it's autumn, my first without Danny;  I'm doing some Ancestral Work (which always takes me back to Rupert, which I never really left) and, I played that Justin Hayward song, which breaks my heart in a million pieces as it expresses my sadness and loss so eloquently.

This is the journey, I know it is. I have to live through the pain. I have to allow the jumble of emotions to coexist (Gabriel  became very excited at the sound of coyotes earlier, ran around making little grunting noises and looking so so serious, and then decided the safest place for him was to sit on my foot, as Danny always did. It was...adorable). Then for some reason the cascade of sorrow descended - I had done the dishes, tackled a bit of the email, made my morning offerings and lit the candles, and then there it was. Now that I think of it, I suspect the trigger was a sweet image one of my herbal colleagues posted, of a huge chair he had purchased, to share with his dog. He and the dog looked so happy in it.  The thing is, I had always planned to buy something like that for Dan, at the end, so he could sleep with me. So we could have a wee cuddle outside of bedtime, where he really liked to sprawl, or crawl under the covers to snuggle, which would have been a really, really bad idea with GOLPP (they must not get overheated). In my Danny Folder, I have many images like this:

..which I planned to buy for his final days. Sure,  many are expensive, but I was looking for simple comfort and hey, I spent half my income on food, supplements, vets etc anyway. 
So why didn't  I get this thing?

Or the "better Bark Box" - there is a Canadian company that includes more natural treats, I stopped the Bark Box because we never used the treats and the boys stopped caring about the squeaky toys.
I didn't get the better version, because, well, I knew he was going to die.

And I didn't get the Big Chair thing because I am always scrambling to make ends meet, I'm tired, have to fight disorganization daily (hourly) and so on.
I mean, Dan already had a ton of toys, he slept on the sofa beside me - and let's not forget, the only reason he wasn't in bed beside me at the end was, I fractured 4 vertebra and have to have a special mattress and my bed elevated WAY too high for him. If he'd jumped off he'd have surely hurt himself.

I was trying to take care of him, me, the cats, everything. While battling the pain that is called Anticipatory Grief and the insufferable misery that is called Regret.
I try to cut myself some slack and remember all the things I did do. But I'm hard wired to berate myself, find fault. It's been a lifelong battle to feel even marginally "ok", and now with the trauma of Dan's death, and my health challenges, all the old crap comes flooding back - great the way that happens, isn't it.

So I find a thousand things I wanted to do, planned to do, longed to do, but didn't. And then I have to walk myself through the reasons why - some valid and sensible, like trying to work all the time and pay for everything - others represent stuff I need to look into....some magical thinking, for example, and managing my anxiety/depression with shopping.

I look at Gabriel and think, I'm going to make sure I don't make the same mistakes.

But then I feel guilty.

Every day is a struggle. But I'm walking the walk here, trying to do it all as always, with some more grace extended to myself.
I loved Danny with all my heart and I was a pretty good Mom, even without the chair thing and the new Bark Box.

I hope the hurt eases up soon.
And that I have the strength to make the real changes I need to for this journey ahead.