It was Labor Day and I was in bed enjoying a lazy morning with a little more coffee than normal, writing. I had promised myself for months I was going to dedicate time to writing and the long Labor Day weekend had finally allowed it. Once I was sufficiently happy with my work, I closed my laptop and headed to the gym before I hit publish.
But the truth was, I hadn’t been happy with my work for some time. The overly critical and perfectionist in me judged everything I put to paper. And even if I came up with something worthwhile, I was too afraid to share it – who would read it? Who would care? But I knew I had to exercise the writing muscle – get it in shape. Or I’d soon be an old lady who’d still be dreaming of publishing that novel she wrote when she was 21. So, I resolved to start my blog, finally.
But that was Labor Day, you might be thinking, and it’s now January.
Well back to that day, I had been working out with a trainer for about a month and I felt great. As I walked back from the gym, I texted my parents to see what their ETA was – they were heading into town for the night and I was looking forward seeing them. I was especially looking forward to the delicious wine I knew my dad would bring. (Not that my trainer would approve, but…oh well).
When my parents finally did call, immediately, I knew something was off. My mind went to death or divorce, but I pushed that aside as crazy.
When I got to Kelsey’s apartment with Reilly, my dad was sitting on the couch Facetiming Delaney and Hailey, who were in Dallas.
My dad started, “Your mother and I have something to tell you…” Shortly thereafter I learned that our dogs, Gracie and Miss Gussie Sophia were gone. Gone. That was the word they’d used.
Suddenly then, my mom stepped out of the second bedroom, holding Gabby. Our sweet, sweet Gabby. She was all we had left.
Since that day, I’ve avoided writing, forgoing the resolve to start my blog.
I forwent a lot after that day.
Suddenly my diet and working out with my trainer was trivial – pointless.
Suddenly dating and all those shitty dates didn’t matter – I didn’t care about finding anyone anymore.
Suddenly that promotion I was working on didn’t appeal to me.
Suddenly all the goals that motivated me to keep going seemed all a waste.
What was the point of it all?
So I didn’t write. Instead, I avoided feeling anything because I was trying so god damn hard, pardon my French, Mom, to hold it together. I tried hard every single day to not be the broken shell of a person that I knew I was.
But of course, I felt their loss every day everywhere I went. And what kept rolling around in my head – what my mind kept coming back to was this one line:
Our capacity for pain and grief is really a reflection of our capacity to love and to be loved.
I felt so devastatingly empty and alone because of how gloriously and perfectly Gracie and Gussie had filled me with love. I was empty, only because I had been so fulfilled.
And, despite all my bitterness and sadness and anger, that was actually and honestly the most beautiful truth I could ever imagine existing in this life. That’s what made me decide to write. Not write about how much I’d cried, but how much I’d been loved.
Because, wasn’t that really the point of it all?
We loved Gracie and Miss Gussie Sophia. And they loved us. They loved us when we moved to Illinois. They loved us when things were pretty bleak in 2011. They loved us when our hearts were broken or when my sisters and I fought. They existed to love and be loved. They mimicked holiness in that way. Because a dog’s love is simply a droplet of the love and joy that God can give us.
So suddenly I’m writing again. And, my prose won’t be perfect, nor will my blog have an exact purpose or subject matter. But, I ought to at least try.
Thus, I hereby cordially invite you to read along if you so desire. You can expect musings of whatever happens to be on my mind. It may be what I’ve been reading, listening to, watching on the news, cooking or exploring. It may even include a little Bravo. I did meet the cast of Southern Charm for goodness sake. You CAN’T expect me to be quiet about that. But, more on that later.
It’s this blog where I’ll exercise my writing muscle and allow myself to fail every now and then. Here’s to reading and writing and drinking champagne and trying. We’ll see how it goes.
Mallory McDonald 