Complicated Grief & Goodbye Ryan Reynolds

To Be Honest I Love Dogs More Than Some People and I'm Over Ryan Reynolds

So this is my re-branded online space to journal my honest thoughts. Authenticity is sorely lacking in society and I’m just going to say it, the Body of Christ. I might not bring a lot to any table, but I’ll bring honesty. And that’s what my Substack is about.

This week, I want to share complicated grief. Six days ago, my 11-year-old Chow Lab, Tucker, passed away. He was my shadow and constant companion. When my family didn’t notice my bad day or grief, Tucker did. He was so loyal that I warned my family a couple of years ago that when Tucker passes, they will allow me whatever grief I need to process. This dog was a true friend.

Now that we have a new normal without Tucker tripping me because I’d turn and he was right there, I have confessed I feel bad. I have cried infinitely more over this dog than my parents. I’m stoic by nature but what does it say that I ugly cried over Tucker but not my mom or dad?

The reality is Tucker offered unconditional love. My family was incapable of that because they are human. We fail. I fail. My parents didn’t have anyone cheering them on or loving on them when they were growing on them, so it wasn’t natural for them to pass that on to me or my sister.

We were not a family that said we love you or offered hugs.

When my dad passed my mom gave us a death grip and whispered at the funeral that we were going to say I love you and hug. I knew. And we didn’t.

That’s not to say we didn’t love each other. There’s a meme I’ve scheduled to share on social media that when someone says “Watch out for deer” that’s the same as saying you love them. Funny, but true.

My dad showed love by fixing things and teaching my husband. Mom did with bringing groceries when she came for a visit. Attending events that were 300 miles away. Sewing clothes I’d bring when I came for a visit.

Still, it was complicated. Projecting wounds my or my sister’s way instead of to God or whoever dealt the hurt in the first place. Silent treatments or barbed comments. Do’t think for a moment I had a perfect track record. I was sassy and vindictive. One of my biggest blessings was have a relationship close enough with Dad that I was the last to speak to him before the medication took hold. I’m so, so grateful for that.

I also didn’t cry at our mom’s funeral because it didn’t look like her. It took years to figure out but she didn’t look like dad although their deaths had lung cancer in common. Mom had other issues that took her and I didn’t realize until much later she bled out. My guess is no one is going to look themselves in the casket. For that, I could not cry. I was looking at a stranger.

Tucker I saw every day, all day. Even when he made poor choices all I had to do was lock eyes and he was at my side. He wasn’t perfect. He was afraid of wind. Plastic bags. Fireworks. Thunder. I pretended I was so put out each July 4th (and the weekends before and after) to HAVE to go to the basement because Tucker was only at ease there, but truth? I loved it. We watched movies. It was cool down there. It wasn’t punishment. It was respite.

True to my lack of a filter, I’ve shared more than once I love dogs more than some people. I can’t fake that. There are people that outright exhaust me, drain me, suck me dry. If I had to choose an afternoon with them or dogs, I choose dogs. Every time.

So yes, I cried harder and more than I have for most things. Grief is complicated.

Then there’s Ryan Reynolds. I’d like to cry over the puzzle pieces coming together regarding his once carefully crafted public persona. I was a sucker for the quick wit and romantic lead he was in The Proposal and Just Friends. I have listened to Candace Owens. I’ve read up on the Lively/Baldoni lawsuit. And I believe Ryan created Nicepool with Justin in mind. I believe Ryan re wrote scene/s to the It Ends With Us movie, and did so during a writers strike. I believe he is jealous, insecure, petty and throws his A-List power around to silence threats.

What a shame. From what I’ve read, he grew up with a controlling father and their relationship was not good. I wonder how therapeutic or triggering filming The Proposal was given the dynamic between father and son there. But in the end, whatever control Ryan’s dad wielded, Ryan seemed to not only copy it, but that that mantle and run with it.

What a shame.

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The other part of my writing life is fiction. I write small-town romances that feature Christian surrender issues and chocolate mentions. Surrendering Hearts is my current series featuring the Hart multiples. They discover their identity while they try to find a love like their parents shared. I have a giveaway going with my newsletter. I would love for you to read it and have a shot of reading Anchored Hearts and Repairing Hearts.