Well, I just got back from the vet. Tough trip as it was to drop off the body of my little Cairn Terrier that died last night from cancer. I know, I know, it is just a dog, but it was my dog. The Sarge discovered a lump on our sweet little terrier shortly after our 12-year-old Greyhound had a stroke and died-just two months ago-so it kind of feels like "piling on." I know, I know, it was just a dog, but it was my dog. I am sad but I was sadder a few months ago when they found a tumor in my dad and he died. I know, I know, he was just a dad, but he was my dad.
Each of these events causes little or large wounds to our hearts and to our spirits, and we all face them, it is just part of life. But it seems we have become a society that spends a great deal of time thinking about how bad we feel instead of actually living. I remember when Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder first came into vogue in law enforcement, right after it was "discovered" in 1980. Folks were giving classes, writing articles, and generally worrying about how bad we are supposed to feel after this or that critical incident or traumatic event.









