Why?

Why? 

That’s the question to which I keep returning. That is the question that continues to haunt me.

A Facebook friend of several years took his own life last Friday after making a rather enigmatic post. In hindsight, we now understand what he was saying. But at the time, it just seemed a bit different than his usual upbeat and witty posts.

None of us, neither his Facebook friends nor his real life friends, knew that he was struggling. So the question becomes why? Why did he not confide in someone? Why did he not reach out for help? Why did he decide that this was the only way to escape the pain and hopelessness he was obviously feeling? I know this person had dozens of friends who would gladly have done anything they could to help him find the help he needed.  

But I suppose why is the question people always ask following a suicide.

We want to know why so we can better understand what drove this person to take his own life. We want to know why so we can hopefully be more aware of any signs of depression or hopelessness that might arise in other friends or family members. 

I suppose we will never know the why in this case. How could a person with so many friends, so beloved by so many people, a person so incredibly kind and generous, simply find a peaceful place and decide that that would be the place where he would end his life.

Why is the question that haunts us.

If you are having suicidal thoughts, or know someone who may be considering suicide, please reach out to a friend, your physician or to the Suicide and Crisis Lifeline. Just dial 988.

Live Like Pete

Yesterday I learned of the death by suicide of a long-time Facebook friend.

He was one of those people who always seemed upbeat. He had a great sense of humor and a wonderful sense of adventure. He loved to explore the trails and roads in the place he lived in Ohio. He was out bicycling long distances or hiking on the trails in the area where he lived, seemingly every day. He had a large group of cycling buddies. I recently wondered to myself how he found the energy to be so active. 

His death caught all of his Facebook friends and his local friends totally by surprise. He always seemed so happy and full of life. It appears that even his closest friends were unaware of the great emotional pain with which he was dealing.

I know that the isolation of the pandemic and the death of his beloved Scooter cat took a real toll on him. And I learned just yesterday that he was being forced to move out of the apartment in which he had happily lived for many years. I don’t know the story behind that, but it appears that after he lost his fight to stay in his apartment, he also lost the fight to continue living.

Pete and I shared a great love of photography and of the great outdoors. He always had something nice to say about the images I shared. I am a dog lover, and I cannot have cats because of my allergies. Pete was a great lover of cats. Scooter went with him on his out of town trips, and he frequently posted photos of her sitting in her royal bed and looking out the window of his hotel room.

He was a kind and thoughtful man, and made friends wherever he went. When one of my dogs died a few years ago, he sent me a condolence card with a photo of Bailey with her name written on it in gold ink. I still carry that small photo with me wherever I go.

Other people have said that in hindsight he didn’t seem himself lately, and he left some very subtle hints that all was not well with him. The thing I noticed was that after my beloved dog Benny died, I got condolences from Pete on Facebook, but no card or photo. I wasn’t expecting anything, but it seems strange in light of his previous kindness to me after the loss of my other dogs.

I am still struggling to come to grips with the loss of this wonderful man. But I have decided that I will try harder to live like Pete. I will find joy in exercise and in being outdoors. I will try to be kinder and more supportive as Pete was. And I hope that any of my friends, whether personal friends or Facebook friends, will reach out to me or to someone else when their emotional pain gets to be overwhelming.

Rest well, Pete, and enjoy your reunion with your beloved Scooter.

Stop Singling Out Adopted Children

 I read an online story recently about the horrendous fires, devastation and loss of life on the Hawaiian island of Maui.

Actually, I have read numerous stories about the fires on Maui. But one really hit me hard, and not in a good way. 

The article was about an almost-15year-old boy who died in his family‘s home, sitting in his bedroom and clutching his beloved dog. His name was Kenyero Fuentes. As a dog lover myself, I can’t imagine what this young boy went through, waiting for rescue and trying to save his dog.

But what bothered me most about the article was the emphasis on the fact that this teenager was adopted. Who cares if he was adopted? His family loved him, and that’s what matters. His family is grieving his loss. And that’s what matters. The fact that this boy was adopted is totally irrelevant to the story. A young life was lost in a tragic way. Whether he was the birth child of the family or the adopted child of the family doesn’t make any difference. This was blatant sensationalism in my opinion.

This is an extremely sensitive topic for me as the mother of an adopted child. When I talk about her, I don’t refer to her as my adopted daughter unless there’s a really good reason to do so. She is my daughter. I am her mother. Someone even asked her once why I didn’t adopt a child from America rather than from Russia, the country where my daughter was born.

Again I ask, what difference does it make where I adopted my daughter? She needed a home after growing up in a very dysfunctional and abusive family in Siberia. Shortly after we met in the US, we both knew that we were meant to be a family. I hadn’t even planned to adopt a child, as I was older and settled in my life in California. But fate had other ideas.

My daughter is now almost 30 years old. She has a beautiful son, my first grandchild. And frankly, I don’t care that she was born in Russia. It makes no difference.

Adopted people can be just as successful and as loved as birth children. Do people point out that Simone Biles, the worlds greatest gymnast, was adopted? How about Steve Jobs, cofounder of Apple computer? How about former President Gerald Ford? He was adopted. How about former first lady Eleanor Roosevelt, also adopted.

I just wish people would show some respect for adoptive families and their adopted children. Stop treating them as if they are some oddity or that they are less than birth children.

Wealth

 

I love this saying.

It makes me think about how we non-native Americans, or many of us, think about wealth. I believe this is particularly true today, when wealth is increasingly concentrated in the hands of a small number of extremely, some would say obscenely, wealthy individuals.

How do we define wealth? Is it having $1 million? $2 million? $100 million? Or should we define wealth not in terms of money and possessions, but in terms of other things? 

 

Compared with most of the world’s population, I am a wealthy person. I have my own house. I have a car. I have enough to eat. I have clothes to wear to keep me warm in the winter and cool during the summer. I have good shoes. I have good medical care. For a person of my age, I’m in pretty good health, with no major medical issues. I have money in the bank. I can afford to take overseas vacations. Although our democracy is under a great threat, and women in this country are still oppressed, compared with much of the world, life in the US is pretty good for most of us.

There certainly is a large proportion of people in the US that is anything but financially wealthy. Far too many people live in poverty in this country, and around the world.

But what if we took the attitude of our Native brethren and considered ourselves wealthy if we have enough to give away? Would that attitude stop the relentless drive for more money, a bigger house, a nicer car? 

I have always said that if I win the lottery, which I won't because I don't play, I would not make any major lifestyle changes. I would have some work done on my house and yard. I would buy a new car for myself and for my daughter. I would set aside funds for my toddler grandson's future. I would pay off my daughter's debts. I would save a portion of winnings for my retirement. And I would donate the overwhelming majority of my winnings to my dozen or so favorite charities, today and in the future.

I believe those actions would make me wealthy beyond measure.

Jett’s Journey

Three weeks ago I adopted a beautiful 16-month-old male golden retriever named Jett.

When my beloved dog Benny died in June, I knew that I would adopt another golden retriever at some point. I love golden retrievers, having had 5 1/2 goldens over the years. Benny was 1/2 golden and 1/2 corgi. Not only do I love the breed and really wanted another one, but I also wanted a companion for my other dog, Jenny.

Unfortunately, finding an adoptable golden retriever in the state of New Mexico where I live is nearly impossible. I thought I had found a dog that met all my requirements as to gender, personality and age, but the day before I was to go meet him, the rug was pulled out from under me and I was told that he was not available. No explanation. Just that he’s not available.

I was disappointed, of course, but more than that, I was furious. Why the sudden change in his status? Why the lack of a feasible explanation? Why was I treated this way?

A friend in North Carolina had mentioned that her neighbor had a young male golden retriever that she was trying to find a new home for. Although the neighbor really cared about the dog, named Jets, she was either unwilling or unable to properly care for him. So eventually, the neighbor agreed to rehome him. I was on a photography trip in Alaska and not really in a position to ponder whether I wanted to take on a 16-month-old dog, when I had hoped to adopt one between the ages of three and seven years.

But when the neighbor threatened to advertise the dog in a local newspaper, the decision was made for me. I agreed to adopt him. I changed his name to Jett. Then the scramble to arrange for him to be transported across the country during record-breaking heat and in time to meet the deadline for his owner to vacate her house, began in earnest. My friend did so much work to make these arrangements, checking in with me when I had cell service and the time to talk. I was on a photography trip with long days and simply didn't have the time to do the necessary research myself.

She found a small company in Tennessee that sounded perfect. Arrangements were made. She drove Jett to Ashville, NC, to meet Derek, the transport guy. Just two days later, I met the happy travelers nearby and met Jett for the first time. Then I introduced him to Jenny, my 2-year-old dog who really doesn't care for other dogs. 

To my amazement, she liked Jett! After the dogs completed their sniffing ritual, I said goodbye to Derek and his son, loaded the dogs into my vehicle, and headed home. Then the play began.

The dogs played in the living room. They played in the yard. They had so much fun, playing, wrestling and jumping on each other. I was shocked, but so very happy.

Jett has been home for three weeks. He is a big (66 pounds), happy dog who sadly has had very little training. He is housetrained and knows the Sit command. We are now working on doggy manners every morning when we go for a walk. First up is leash training, so he doesn't pull or knock me down. 

I have discovered some bad habits in this happy-go-lucky dog: counter surfing, digging in the yard, chewing clothes, and barking when I take my other dog for a walk. So Jett is a work in progress.

He is young. He is intelligent. He is a golden retriever, which means he is eager to please. I am looking forward to helping him become the best golden he can be. And I am happy to make him my seventh golden retriever.

Welcome home, Jett!

Now Do You Believe?

I have to wonder what it will take for people, businesses and governments to accept that climate change is real.

Canada is on fire. Hawaii is on fire. The city of Lahaina has been wired out. Dozens of people have died, with many more unaccounted for. Much of the United States continues to suffer under record-setting, unrelenting heat and drought. Glaciers are melting. Sea levels are rising, threatening the very existence of coastal villages and cities everywhere.

What will it take before we get serious about climate change and human activities that add to the problem? What will it take for us to realize that we are approaching the point of no return, after which nothing we do will change things?

But our governments and businesses go merrily along in their never-ending quest for still more income, more profit, more money. I live in a desert, yet the major city in this state continues to approve the building of still more houses and apartment buildings, despite the fact our water sources are already under serious threat. And of course more apartments mean more people, more children, which leads to demands to build more schools, roads and hospitals. And who pays for the schools? Homeowners, not renters.

The world's climate is changing, probably due to natural changes in weather patterns, but also greatly exacerbated by human impact. We cannot continue to cut down trees, pollute our water sources, pave everything, exterminate wildlife and spew pollutants into the air, without expecting to face significant consequences.

Mother Nature is not happy. Last year saw unprecedented fires and flooding in California, record snowfall in the Northeast, and worsening wildfires. Parts of Hawaii, considered a paradise by many, are now a scene from hell.

As the saying goes, There is no planet B. If we don't start taking care of Planet Earth. we all will perish. Think about that.