enemyofperfect: a spray of orange leaves against a muted background (Default)
[personal profile] enemyofperfect
A few years ago we had our dog put down, and for a while afterwards I worried that maybe there had been some horrible mistake and he hadn't actually died, just fallen so deeply asleep that even the vet couldn't tell the difference, and that later he'd woken up again, so that when he actually did die, it wasn't peacefully, with his pain well-medicated and in the presence of someone who loved him, but afraid and in pain and entirely alone: what if at the last, and in spite of our best efforts, we had failed him?

I didn't think this scenario was actually likely; I just couldn't stop thinking about it until more time had passed. The instinct to worry about him and try to protect him lasted well past the point where there was anything left for me to do.

I've lost touch with any number of people over the years, but I'd never lost a friendship to an argument before this summer, and it hurts about as much as I would have expected -- which is to say, lots, though not more than other things I've survived. But there's one thought I keep coming back to, and that is: what if the other person is as unhappy as I am, and wishes that things could be different as much as I do, and what if by failing to find the magic words that could fix this, I'm causing them pain?

I don't think that's a likely scenario, either, and even if there's a grain of truth to it, I'm pretty sure I've already used up my chances.

But even though there's nothing left to do, it's going to take a while for the worry to fade.
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enemyofperfect: a spray of orange leaves against a muted background (Default)

March 2017

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