The Emotionally Damaged Parent

Watching TV news, and working as an RN for years in the mental health and recovery fields, it’s so apparent why familial abuse is cyclical.  Nobody knows any better. Nobody ‘grew up’ in a normal manner and completed developmental stages. They all end up stuck, confused, and in pain.  They then traumatize any offspring they have-  sometimes very unintentionally, but leaving behind another generation of damaged adults and more confused kids.  While they do the best they can, they cause mass devastation. Others just become cruel.  I’ve seen some horrendous families.

These parents can’t see things through their child’s eyes since they never completed developmental stages themselves.  When a child enters the ‘terrible twos’, a very necessary developmental stage, the stuck parent can’t cope because they’re still functioning on an emotionally childish level themselves. So the actual toddler gets the brunt of it, and never learns how to get its own needs met, since the parent needs the kid to meet unmet needs of their own.  The child becomes the nurturer, in an incredibly dysfunctional manner.  The parent can’t identify their child’s needs since their own needs weren’t met.  And they don’t know any better.  Or that there’s even a problem  (they have no other frame of reference). And they certainly can’t fix it on their own.

The wounds continue as the children learn to live without a functional parent.  Life becomes a matter of surviving and just getting through it.  Any sources of perceived love and care (no matter how horrendous or dysfunctional) become like beacons for these kids as they grow up.  And the cycle continues, since the child ends up being used by those with an agenda, who seek them out.  The lucky ones actually have functional adults step in and help them learn what is and isn’t healthy.  Others become statistics, or abusers.  And ‘parents’.

The more dysfunction and desperation I see on the news, the more I wonder how and when people became so damaged.  I don’t think the majority of people strategically set out to screw up their kids, but they manage to do a good job of it none the less.  And I wonder who hurt them.  And so on.  I can trace some deficits (perceived or real) that  go back to the flu epidemic in 1917 or 1918.  Orphans are abandoned souls, no matter how loving their assigned parents are. They then are clueless about bonding and attachment, since being vulnerable has only meant pain and loss in their child’s view of life.  Their kids then have to learn to function with the only tools THEY have, and so on.  Nobody meant to cause pain. Nobody meant to leave  a legacy of abandonment and dysfunction…but it’s still there and very real for those who were left with the aftermath.

It’s easier for me to forgive pain caused by developmental neglect and  loss than abusive behavior with no cause, or outright cruelty.

Missing Mandy

My schnauzer, Mandy, died 3 days ago.  It feels like she’s been gone for months, yet there are little things that remind me of her so many times during the day- I expect to see her.  She had her little quirks and eerie understanding of what I told her.  I expect to look up and see her on her ‘TV bed’ (large dog pillow under the TV), watching me.  Every time I moved, she looked up. If I left the room and didn’t say “I’m coming back”, she’d follow me.  It was a relationship with a dog unlike others I’ve had.  Each was special and very loved (as I know the next one will be), but Mandy was smart in the way she understood what I said.  When I got up in the morning, she waited to see if I was getting my slippers on before she got up- she knew that if I was still barefoot, I was coming back- but if she saw the slippers hit my feet, she’d walk down her little dog stairs and be up for the day.

When I sneeze, there’s no little head popping up as she immediately got up and left the room. I couldn’t even say the word ‘sneeze’ or she’d leave the room!  But after I sneezed, she’d come back to see if I was still there!  When I was doing her laundry the other day, there was no little nose checking out the dryer. She especially loved the lint trap. I have no idea why- it’s not like she ever saw what I pulled off of that thing.  But she knew the sound of the dryer stopping, and would get up and look at me like “well, are you going to get the lint?”.   When I loaded the dishwasher, there’s no little face watching, or wildly bouncing around as I shut the dishwasher door.

At night, before bed, I’d tell her to ‘go potty’, and she would!  She would walk over to her pads, and pee.  IF she had ‘gone’ recently, she’d still walk over there, but sit down on the carpet and look at me.  I’d go check the pads, and sure enough- there was a ‘fresh’ pee on the pads.  She knew what I was asking her to do- and letting me know it was already done.

When she was a puppy, I took her to work with me (I had a ‘desk job’ as an RN at a  nursing home, doing assessments for care plans).  As she got older, I’d leave her in the kitchen with a baby gate, and when she was really consistent with using the pee pads, I let her have the run of the apartment when I was gone.  The first time I left her ‘loose’, I had some concerns about what she’d do to my realistic vinyl baby doll collection.  They were seated along the bottom shelves of some book cases.  I dreaded coming home to chewed toes.  Instead, I came home to a pile of baby socks by the back door, and a half-grown dog looking very proud of herself for getting about 20 baby socks off of the dolls and having them neatly piled up.  It was like some sort of offering- LOL.

When I moved from Texas to Illinois, Mandy rode in her travel crate for safety. She was always a good car-rider, lying down on the seat and being content to just be along for the ride (until she got where she was going- usually the vet or groomer).  Because I was driving a 17-foot U-haul for more than 1250 miles, she had to be in her crate, so before leaving Texas, I spent a few months incorporating the crate into her playing.  I’d toss her toys or a dog treat into the crate, and get her used to walking into it on her own. I didn’t want to have battles on the road stuffing her back into it after stopping to let her walk around and go potty.  She did well- and would walk right back into the crate after being out of it at a rest stop. BUT, she did not like when I got out to pump gas and she couldn’t see me.  The crying was horrific.  I was convinced that animal welfare people from many counties near where we were could hear her. I had to pop the gas pump into the tank and set it on ‘auto’, then move back to the truck door so she could see me. Instant quiet.  When I had the nerve to go get some breakfast at a truck stop- and leave her for about 15 minutes to get a TO-GO container (I didn’t even stay inside to eat !), I could hear her ‘screaming’ for me from about 20 yards away from the truck.  She was a ‘mama’s girl’.  I miss that.

At night, if she was ready for bed and I wasn’t, she would get up and sit in front of the hallway, and stare at the bedroom door.  Sometimes she’d go to the bedroom and just wait in the dark for me to find her.  She always had access to the bedroom and bed (and her full half of the double bed), but she wouldn’t go to bed without me.

When she got sicker, and would get cold from losing a fair amount of weight, she’d come over to where I was sitting, and shiver.  I’d get her sweater out, and she’d put her head down so I could slip it over her head.  She also knew to pick up her paws to have them put through the little sleeves.  When I’d take it off, she knew to pick her feet up only after I’d get the sleeve pulled down far enough for her to step out of it.   But she knew that the sweater did something to make her feel better- I’m not sure she understood the concept that a sweater equals ‘warmer’, but she knew enough to come over to me when she wanted it- and then go lie back down once I put it on her.

I cry many times a day when I think about her not being here any longer.  She was with me for eleven years and seven months- I got her when she was almost 2 months old. She would have turned twelve at the end of March.  I hope she knew how much I loved her. I hope she knew that she was my equivalent of a child, and I honestly can’t imagine loving an actual kid any more than I loved that dog.  I hope she knew how much I wanted the best for her- and while I hated watching her die in my arms, I would never want her to die alone and scared.

After the initial whimper that began the end, she was alert enough to look at me (and at that point was motionless, just standing on the floor looking at me with a ‘different’ look- sort of a confused inability to move) and know that I picked her up.  She lifted her head a few times before just collapsing on my lap- but knew I’d put her on her comforter (and a disposable bed pad), and let me shift it to get the ‘lumps’ out.  Then she just wilted and her breathing changed to an agonal pattern associated with imminent death.  I kept stroking her back and scratching her ears, and telling her how much I loved her, and how amazing she’d been as my best friend.  I let her know that it was OK to stop fighting (like I’d do as an RN to humans- I doubt Mandy had a clue what that meant, but I had to say those words as my way of letting her go).  I told her that I’d miss her, but knew she’d hung on as long as she could (and she’d done fairly well – it had been a rocky couple of weeks, but she’d been alert, eating- though more picky, and wanted to be near me).

That morning, she’d wanted Swedish meatballs, and her Charlee Bear treats.  It was a ‘normal’ day- until 2:30 p.m. when I heard the whimper.  By 2:45 p.m., she was gone.  My only form of living companionship was gone.  I know that my next dog won’t replace Mandy (just like she hadn’t replaced her predecessor), but that she will steal my heart in her own way.  And yet, Mandy was special.  Maybe it was the amount of time I’m home, and she just got used to my routines- but her understanding of what I’d say was uncanny. Dad could ask her to do the same things, and she’d just stare at him.  She was my baby.

I miss her deeply… and yet I know the only way through this is to move forward and look at how much I’ll love a new puppy.  Mandy will never be gone from my heart, but it is a deep pain knowing she’s not here ‘in person’.   RIP, my sweet little girl.  I hope you know how much you were loved ❤

Mandy- 20113/28/01 - 12/27/12

Mandy- 2011
3/28/01 – 12/27/12

Friends Who Cross the Line: Suicidal vs. Drama Junkie

I had a coworker one time who initially seemed to be a ‘normal’ everyday person and LVN (licensed vocational nurse).  I got to know her family, and we worked well together.  She was supportive of me when I had been going through some of the eating disorder stuff.  For several years, the friendship was close and the boundaries weren’t dysfunctional.  We were friends- not mutual ‘therapists’.

Then she started going through some things that I was in no way equipped to deal with. It’s one thing to be supportive, but it’s quite another to be asked to participate in the chaos.  I’d visited her in the hospital when she decided she was going to have an eating disorder and was being tube fed (she had never had a history of eating disorders until her late 30s- possible, but not the usual age for first onset).  I encouraged her during ‘recovery’.  There was an awful lot of work she put into having an eating disorder that was unlike anybody else I’d ever seen in my years of eating disorder treatment; I probably saw a few dozen ED patients during those times…’P’ made it her life’s work.  Not something that was controlling her thoughts. It’s hard to explain- but it was different.  She recovered when she got tired of Slim Fast.  She sort of stablized out, and resumed her life as a nurse, mom, and wife.

Then one day, she called me and asked if she could come over to my apartment.  I told her it was fine, though I was rather preoccupied taking care of a nine day old baby- he’d been adopted by a coworker at my then current place of employment, and I was the designated babysitter while she was working. I wanted to be fully attentive to him, as well as knowing that his mom would be calling to see how he was doing. Because he was adopted she didn’t have the maternity leave of several weeks.  Anyway, ‘P’ came over. She walked in and asked me if I’d tell her kids that she loved them; she was going to kill herself.  I was instantly livid.

I’d dealt with suicidal coworkers and patients before.  Professionally, I knew the resources that were available, and who I needed to contact.  On a friendship level, I was outraged that she even thought that what she was asking was OK.  I had a newborn in my arms, and a crazy person in my living room.  There was no question whose best interest I was looking after. I told ‘P’ “sure, I’ll tell them”, and I escorted her to her car, got her license plate number, and called the police.  I then called her psychiatrist who told me I was the third or fourth person to let him know she was running around telling people she was suicidal.  That made me even more angry- but I’d notified the proper people. She was their problem.

I’m not insensitive to suicidality- not at all.  I’ve been there.  I’ve overdosed to the point of being comatose for three days, waking up in ICU and not knowing what was going on. I still don’t remember wanting to die.  I remember being overwhelmed, but not wanting death to be the outcome.  I know the internal struggle to find some way out of intense emotional pain. But this was different.  I don’t think that the vast majority of suicidal people are ‘crazy’…not by a long shot. This was behavior that is SO indicative of borderline personality disorder, which is an extremely difficult disorder to deal with.  The hot-cold, sick-well, black-white thinking and actions are exhausting.  The person is in legitimate psychological pain- and they spread it around whether they mean to or not.

There is no healthy relationship with someone who is a borderline…other than to back away and leave that part of their life to the professionals.  Folks with BPD create crises in their lives, and involve whoever they deem to be on their ‘good list’ (that week).  If there is some sort of perception of that person not seeing things their way, then they’re on the ‘bad list’.  And it flip-flops all the time.  Working with borderlines was tiring enough when I was getting paid for it; having one outside of work involved in my life wasn’t going to happen when it got to the point of her ‘playing’ with suicidal comments.

I got a message on my answering machine later that night saying that she was sorry to have upset me, and that the police were there when she got home from my apartment.  I never had voluntary contact with her again. She did surface at a nursing home I worked at, but quit after a couple of weeks: no call-no show. I was asked by my employer what I thought about ‘P’… she was a good nurse, but her personal life was a train wreck (she had a LOT of unresolved childhood trauma issues- which I did hope she got help for, but she didn’t need to be responsible for nursing home residents)…. I just said that I’d always thought her penmanship was really good.  I wasn’t going to tell them about the psychological issues   since she wasn’t still working there.  Had she continued to be in charge of elderly patients, I’m not sure I would have had a choice but to report her instability due to the rules of the Texas Board of Nurses. And yet, she had never let her patients suffer… she was a good nurse. It was iffy territory.   It wasn’t fair for her to put me in that position.  I’m a loyal friend until someone plays with crisis situations as if they were games.

I’ve thought about ‘P’ over the years, and hope she found some peace and was able to work through the things in her early life that were genuinely horrible.  She was in a lot of pain, and had some tragic things happen with one of her three kids.  I’ve wished the best for her and her family. The last I heard, she and her husband that I knew divorced (a borderline wife would have been really hard), and she’d remarried.  That was at least 20 years ago.  I hope she found some sort of calm in her life, and a realization that she didn’t need to create chaos for people to care about her. She had some wonderful qualities.  But she was in so much pain…it was more than a friend could handle with any sort of healthy boundaries.

America’s Shameful Truth

To other countries, especially those we send financial aid to, it may seem unbelievable that ANY American lives in poverty, or has any problem getting enough food.  Looking at our obesity rates, it looks like we need to be sending more food overseas, and subsidizing treadmills here.  But it’s much more complex and complicated than what the surface image shows.  Malnutrition isn’t just about inadequate food, it’s also about inferior and altered foods.  Poverty isn’t just about living in recessed or depressed areas, but a result of the trashed economy.

Per the 2011 statistics from a hunger statistic website, 15% of Americans were living at or below the poverty limits.  (Roughly one in six Americans is poor). Those limits are low enough to make basic expenses impossible to meet. Poverty limits are, however, above minimum wage if someone has one full-time job. (Our minimum wage supports poverty).  The standard set by the government to define poverty is ridiculously low. And people are out there living below that limit.  I’ve visited areas in this country, with our tourist brochures of amazingly beautiful parks and tourist sites, and maps of the movie stars’ homes  in Hollywood, that consider a cinder block house with a tin roof to be a sturdy- and enviable – home.  I’ve seen them.  I’ve seen the barefoot kids with the hollow eyes. I was only 16 myself at the time, and it’s an image I won’t forget.

According to those same statistics, 50+million people in America don’t have enough food.  Often the foods that are affordable are nutritionally bankrupt. Fresh produce is a luxury and at the bottom of the grocery list, as it’s more important to get calorically dense items for each dollar spent. Much of that is junk food, so it’s very  possible to have someone who is visibly obese, yet deficient in many nutrients.  Over 16 million children in this country know hunger as a daily part of their existence.  How that will affect their physical development and well-being is better known than how it will affect the country as a whole, as their generation will be compromised in their ability to learn. That will result in kids who never fill their potential, or maximize their earning potential- and ability to get out of the cycle of poverty and hunger.

Americans are often portrayed as relatively wealthy and lacking nothing. When it comes to food, our obesity rates are horrible and getting worse.  With the economy being as bad as it’s been in the last several years, the effects of ‘not enough’ are hitting socioeconomic groups that had been very comfortable and stable.  Homeless shelters are getting more families with educated parents who simply can’t get work, and who have lost their homes.  Americans need help here ‘at home’, and all of the financial aid sent to other countries is frustrating when the statistics here are so unacceptable.  There are many who are very hesitant to ‘give handouts’ as it perpetuates a cycle of dependency in those of a mindset of entitlement.  That is different than people who legitimately can’t get adequate nutritious food.  Yes, there are Americans whose greed and inability to deny themselves nearly everything they want makes them look rich (but in debt up to their eyeballs). There are those who are successful, and doing well.  But there are far too many who actually have very basic needs that aren’t met. 

There are wonderful private charities that do what they can. There are rescue and homeless shelters. There are food banks and soup kitchens run by non-profit organizations. There are thrift stores that benefit programs for the homeless and poor. They all work very hard, and do a wonderful job- but the job is too big. Our own citizens are still in a world of hurt.  NO child in this country should leave home for school without a nutritious breakfast. No child should come home after school to the bleak fact that they won’t have anything for dinner.  More than sixteen million kids live in that pain. They don’t just have poor quality food, there isn’t enough of it.

I think it’s great that we help other countries. I think it’s important that we continue to do so- and yet we need to get our own house in order.  We need to walk the walk, and quit with the cheap talk.  If other countries sent people to document areas in the Appalachian mountains,  depressed rural communities, inner city school kids who are falling asleep because they don’t have the energy to stay awake,  or the people who would do anything for a job, but can’t find one- and see the reality of this country right now, they’d be sending us aid.

The quality of American crops/food products is also an issue. GMOs- or genetically modified organisms- are what make up the vast majority of corn, soy, and canola crops in the US.  Few processed foods don’t include one or more of those crops. A lot of rice is also genetically modified. This is done to increase the yield per acre, so for financial gain, even though the studies on rats have shown tumor growth and organ failure, and human studies were never done. Monsanto (a pesticide corporation) is the manufacturer of these seeds used in our food supply. A bug killer company makes  the building blocks of our food.  Any product made from their corn, soy, or canola crops are also genetically modified, so high fructose corn syrup, corn starch, soybean oil, soy protein, etc are also ‘contaminated’ by the GMO process.  Many countries will not let GMO products into their borders, or ban the growth of them there.  The US government doesn’t care about the human effects of GMOs.  Bovine growth hormones, used to increase milk production in dairy cows, is also of questionable safety.  Artificial sweeteners also have links to Monsanto.  There are ‘organic’ options- but unless a product is labelled ‘USDA Certified Organic’, it’s possible that a GMO seed was used, but grown without added chemicals.

So, we continue to send billions of dollars to countries that aren’t solid allies. We cut back on nutrition programs here. People (and the politicians) fight about ‘handouts’ while kids go to school hungry, and don’t see dinner. Our obesity rates soar, partly because of disordered relationships with food – but also because nutritious food can be inaccessible financially. Junk is cheap.  Families are in shelters because jobs aren’t there to make rent or mortgage payments possible. It’s sad.  The ‘new’ American dream has been greatly altered from the post-WWII dreams of owning a home and living with minimal debt (and that debt was for needs– not wants).  It’s a new definition of survival.  Yes- the vast majority of people in the US are making it- however well or poorly. But there are millions…MILLIONS… of US citizens who are malnourished from hunger.  I don’t have any solid answers…but I do think that our priorities need to shift from such a ‘fix your neighbor’ mentality, to ‘save our skin’ outlook.  Maybe not permanently, but until we get a handle on our own horrible social and economic issues here.

America is hurting. Add to that the divisiveness of our politicians,  the more extreme members of political parties (to the point of hatred and absolute repulsion for the other ‘side’), and the relationships between ordinary citizens based on the same hatred, and the idea that anything will be solved seems unreachable.  I know that people from 23 countries have read my blog posts.  I wonder how many of those countries know how crazy things are here, and how many of OUR citizens are in need of help.

My Crazy, Amazing Schnauzer Mandy

Since my  11 1/2 year old miniature schnauzer was diagnosed with heart failure about six months ago, I find myself looking at her and thinking how blessed I am to have gotten her. As in the very specific and individual her. When I got her, my previous schnauzer had been gone a relatively short period of time. She too had heart failure, and had been put to sleep while in my arms, after a good year of treatment. But her time had come, and the decision was ‘easy’. She couldn’t go on; she was actively dying and struggling. I had already decided to get another dog; being single, I loved the companionship.  I finally found a breeder a couple of hundred miles away in Houston, TX, and contacted her. The arrangements were made that I’d get a female salt and pepper puppy with her next litter, that was due soon. But she needed to be seven weeks old before the breeder would send any puppies to their new homes. I didn’t get to see Mandy before I made the 9-hour round trip to get her, so had to rely on the breeder to pick out my new ‘baby’.

When I first saw her, the breeder was in her front yard, holding Mandy and talking to some guys working on her roof.  Mandy had a bright pink bandana around her neck, and weighed less than three pounds. She was about 6-7 inches tall when she was sitting.  I was instantly in love 🙂  I had to drive through Houston traffic to get home, and during most of that time while still in Houston, I was trying to keep Mandy in the clothes basket lined with a quilted cat bed. She wanted to be in my lap, but I didn’t want to take the chance of her getting hurt, or deciding to explore the car while on I-10, and in 5 lanes of cars.  Finally, somewhere near Katy, TX she settled down and fell asleep.  The drive home was otherwise uneventful.

From the get-go, she was a mama’s girl.  I’d taken vacation time from work when I got her, so had a week home to get her used to being with me. She slept under a clothes basket, on a waterproofed cloth pad, next to me on my bed. Initially, the clothes basket had been right-side up, but the 3rd morning, I heard a little bark next to the bed. She had jumped off of my bed, and was on the floor looking at me. I was scared she’d get hurt. So, I flipped the basket over, and she’d crawl under it every night. If she needed to use her papers in the middle of the night, she’d cry a little, waking me up.  During the day, she slept between my left shoulder and collarbone, curled up.  She’d suck on my earlobe at times, making weird little puppy noises.

I had a desk job as an RN, so I was able to bring her to the nursing home where I worked for several weeks. She stayed in her crate under my desk, and visited with the residents periodically.  The socialization was good for her, most of the residents loved her,  and I loved knowing she was nearby. The first time I left her home in the kitchen I was so sad. I knew she’d be fine with her bed, toys, pee pads, and food and water bowls, but I hated leaving her. The first time I left her home with the run of the place (after she’d shown consistency with using the pee pads), I wasn’t sure what I’d find when I got home. I have a realistic baby doll collection, and they were on shelves where their feet were very accessible. I feared coming home to toeless dolls. What I found was a pile of baby socks by the back door, and all toes intact. She hadn’t hurt them- just removed ALL of their socks. 🙂

Over the years, I realized that Mandy has some odd quirks.  She loves appliances, especially the dishwasher and clothes dryer. When I remove lint from the lint trap she gets so excited!  She actually pays attention to when the dryer turns off, and gets up to trot on over to where it is, looking at me as if to say “Well, get moving! We have lint!”. She also hates when I sneeze, and if I say I’m going to sneeze, she leaves the room.  She understands an eerie number of words. It freaks my dad out a bit. When he tells her the same things, she blows him off. If I tell her to do something, she’s amazing. She does not like the digital camera at all, and leaves the room if I take it off of the charger.  Taking photos of her is a nightmare. She wasn’t like that with my old 35mm SLR, and I can only think that the little noises the digital camera makes must be what bugs her.

Mandy, age 11
Nothing like some good cataracts !

As she’s gotten older, she’s not as good with ‘hygiene’, so I’ve started getting her groomed in a very short cut, leaving only a schnauzer face. It’s either that or use baby wipes on her girly parts to keep her clean.  She also leaks a bit if she doesn’t use her pee pads before bed, so I tell her to ‘go potty’ before turning in for the night, and she will.  She’s rather private about the whole thing, and it’s good that the linoleum entry way is behind a partial wall, or she’d sulk.  She also farts more as she’s gotten older, and I find it all very amusing. She can be in a nice sleep on one of her many places to nap, and suddenly be airborne, landing on her butt and staring at it as if something must be there violating her back door. Then she looks at me in a somewhat accusatory way.  She is fond of simethicone gas pills (for people), and if I ask her if she needs a gas pill, she very eagerly comes over and gets one. I saw the same ingredient  in dog gas pills at a pet store, so I know it’s safe.

Over the past six months, she’s had some fainting episodes that break my heart. When Mandy gets overly excited, and hyperventilates, she tips over- out cold- and lets out some deep cries that sound just agonizing.  Yet, she recovers quickly and goes on about her day.  Last Friday, she had one of these episodes while moving around in bed, so no activity preceded it. That bothers me a lot.  This week, she went to the vet to get some blood work done to check to see how her kidneys are handling the diuretic (water pills) she needs to keep her lungs less congested.  That came back normal, so there’s a good chance she will do well for many months to years.  Her heart failure was caught earlier than her predecessor, so that is good.  She likes taking her pills, as I stuff them in pieces of freeze dried mandarin oranges. If I ask if she needs her pills, she heads for the kitchen where I keep them.

But I know what’s coming. I know the time will come when her breathing takes too much effort to make it humane to keep her with me, and that breaks my heart. Each of my three dogs (starting when I was an 8 year old kid) has been special in her own way, and I missed the last two terribly when they died. But being home 24/7 because of various disabilities has created a different bond with this one. Mandy is THE living thing I see the most.  She’s the one I communicate with more than any human.  She understands a lot of what I tell her to do, and has the goofy quirks that have endeared her to me very deeply.  I have been making a mental list of things that signal that it’s no longer right or fair to make her keep going.  So far, she’s nowhere close to any of them.  But when the time comes, I must do what is best for her, as much as it will hurt. And I’ll get another schnauzer. NO dog could ever replace Mandy (or the ones before her), but each has soothed the wound of grief a bit, and quickly made her own way into my heart.