This past week has felt like the universe handed me a script and said, “Let’s see if you can juggle grief, physical pain, logistics, and emotional whiplash all at once.” And I, like the overachiever I apparently remain, said, “Sure, why not? Let’s add a torn muscle for flair.” I know, you can’t make this up!

It started with Lou.

Tom’s service dog. Our sweet, gentle, loyal, steady-hearted Lou-bear. A living tie to the life before, a connection to Tom. He was struggling, and I knew something was wrong. The kind of wrong you feel deep in your chest. He needed medical treatment, now! Trey picked up this giant of a dog and placed him in the car, and as I was helping Trey move Lou, the unimaginable happened.

There was a pop.
Then the nausea and pain.
Then the “oh no” realization.

Trey had my keys to the car and he helped me to the stairs in the garage. There was no time to get me in the house, and it would have taken forever as my left leg didn’t want to work. So, I threw my credit card to my son and told him to go…because saving Lou came first.
Trey left to get Lou to the vet ER.

As I tried to absorb this incredible pain, I also had to figure out what I needed to do next. Call 911? Call Cyrus? Yes, I decided to call Cy as she lives less than 5 minutes away. No answer. Okay, call Grant. While we live about 30 minutes apart, he made it to my home in record time. In the 20 minutes I lay there in my cold, dark garage, so many really weird things went through my head. One of which was, well, this is how I go out…on the concrete of my car-hole (Simpson’s reference and one Tom would totally be laughing at). But as I heard Grant’s big ole truck come up the street… absolute relief! Grant, my amazing boyfriend, who was also a caregiver to his wife through ALS, took charge, got me loaded in his truck, and took me to the human ER. Because apparently, we were doing the two-ER special that day.

But the part that still gets me right in the feels…

When he knew I was safe, he didn’t stay.
He drove across the city to be with my son.
Because he knew what was coming.
He knew what losing Lou would do to Trey.
He knew I would want someone there with him if I couldn’t be.

Lou crossed the rainbow bridge that night. Trey and I believe Tom whispered to Lou, “come” which was a command Lou followed, and so he listened to his person, and Lou went to Tom. And just like that, a living connection to the caregiving chapter, to the life between life and death, slipped out of our hands.

The house feels unfamiliar without him. Quieter. Hollow in a way grief knows too well.

And here I am, injured. Torn calf muscle. Deep bruising. Pain that hits in waves with every movement of my leg, but luckily, no surgery is needed…just time to heal.

I am lying in bed in the exact spot where Tom’s hospital bed sat.
Same window.
Same angle.
Same ceiling.
Same view that once held vigil over a life ending.

Except this time… it’s my body that needs care.

The pain has been relentless. The kind that makes the days smear together into one long, pulsing throb. I’ve been doing the ice-elevate-compression routine like an Olympic event and stubbornly avoiding, but not doing a great job at it, the prescription pain meds. That’s muscle memory from the caregiving years, when I didn’t get the luxury of being foggy or slow or “out of it.” I had to be sharp. I had to be on. I had to keep a whole world from collapsing.

But here’s the truth I’ve had to choke down this week:
I don’t have to white-knuckle my way through everything anymore.
I am not in the trenches of caregiving now.
I don’t have to be the granite wall that doesn’t crumble.
I am hurt. I am exhausted from the pain, both physical and emotional. I am human.
And it’s actually okay to let myself be cared for now.

I could ask “why,” but I already know the answer lives in my faith.
This is part of my journey.
The chapter I never would’ve chosen, but the one I was handed…again!!!!

We are devastated that Lou is gone.
But there is peace in knowing exactly where he went.

When Lou’s paws left this earth, I know exactly whose arms he ran to. And so Lou is home, and just as my torn calf needs time to heal, so does my heart.