FEAST OF SAINT DYMPHNA, MAY 15, 2022

 

Saint Dymphna

Patroness of those suffering mental illness.

PATRON SAINT OF THE MENTALY ILL

If you have trouble with anxiety, depression, PTSD or any other mental illness, then Saint Dumphna is your gal. Her father was so crazy he agreed to marry his own daughter when his wife died and then became so obsessed with the idea that he chased her to where she had fled and killed her because she refused the preposterous (and revolting) idea.

When friends ask me how is it that I seem to have so much "bad luck," I remind them of all the saints like Dymphna who had TERRIBLE lives. Nearly every saint had an awful set of life circumstances. That is what is so inspiring about them. Despite the gross difficulties, they clung to The Lord with everything they had - their heart, soul and mind. In the process, there is much healing.

I myself have PTSD, so Saint Dymphna is a favorite of mine. The examples of saints like her are what keeps me buoyed up! I highly recommend a little meditation on the lives of the saints. Google Saint Dymphna to learn more about her.

SOME GOOD NEWS

I have noticed that my eyesight continues to improve and I am crediting it, partially, to being more disciplined with taking my vitamins and supplements, as well as eating better. Medical studies prove that these things improve a patient's chances of keeping some of their vision.  It is very expensive, though, and my Social Security is rather modest, so please consider helping me with a bit of food from my AMAZON WISH LIST

LOVING MY NEIGHBOR

One of my neighbors has Parkinson's Disease and has had it for 29 years. She is doing REMARKABLY well with it, considering how long she has had it, and she has gone even so far as to get electrodes placed in her brain to prevent the tremors from shaking her to bits.

I was coming back from the Walgreens with some Coca Cola for her, when I saw a young man drive his motorcycle up onto the grass where we are supposed to walk our dogs. I have seen his motorcycle parked there many times before, and I believe he is responsible for the deep grooves into which I have fallen and nearly broke my ankle several times. Also  he is responsible for the lamp getting pulled down, as I have seen his motorcycle chained to it many times.

LIGHT POLE ON DOG GRASS

PULLED DOWN

I was walking to my mailbox, using my wheeled walker with the nice big seat and stopped and asked him if he was one of my neighbors. He was about 6 feet tall with dark curly hair, wearing bright red plastic sunglasses.

He was very rude.

I explained that if he left his motorcycle in this spot he could have it towed away. He screamed and yelled at me, called me "dirty English," started complaining about Americans. His language was just filthy. His accent sounded Dutch or Germanic to me.

Although I was calm and restrained, fairly soft spoken, the man was just flipping out. Mostly he swore, in very vulgar language, calling me many names and making reference to my being "dirty English" or "f...ing American" and making a lot of statements about how awful Americans are.  I remember thinking that if he does not like Americans, he could go home - wherever home is, but of course I did not say that. Who knows what he would do?

I just told him, "look, I am just trying to help you." (This was not entirely true, since I was really more concerned about the ditches his motorcycle had been making in the grass for the last year or two.)

"Where the F...k am I supposed to park?" he screamed at me. I pointed out the visitor parking and then he really became incensed. More profane language ensued. He did not want to park in the visitor parking because he was convinced someone would steal his motorcycle because there was nothing to tie it to.

It is usually not a good idea to escalate this sort of thing, so I did not reciprocate, but as he continued to scream and swear at me, I did ask him, "do you talk to your grandmother like that?" He stopped for a moment. He must have had a nice grandma.

I went to my mailbox and then started back toward my apartment, walking slowly with my little wheeled walker. He apologized to me but then went right back to screaming and swearing at me. I don't know what made him become so unhinged.

So far, I had seen him park there only on Sunday in the late afternoon and at no other time. It was some kind of appointment, and perhaps he wasn't even visiting someone in this complex. It occurred to me that perhaps he works somewhere cloe by and he became unhinged because he was expected somewhere at a particular time and was pressed for time. Perhaps that was it.

Anyway, he put the chain into a little case on the side of the motorcycle and drove off the property. It occurred to me that, considering he had such an inappropriate response to my mild-mannered approach, perhaps he also has some mental illness.

Dear Saint Dymphna, please protect, soothe and heal everyone with mental illnesses that is either temporary or a permanent feature of their psyche!

Silver Rose

Copyright(c) 2022
All rights reserved.

P.S. Please do not forget my Amazon wish list that incorporates the many things that are prescribed for the various illnesses that assail me! CLICK HERE

If you prefer not to have to choose which items are purchased, then go to my PAYPAL link, that says "DONATE" above right of this blog post.

SHOWERED WITH SMALL MIRACLES

SAINT LUCY

Martyr

Patron Saint of the Eyes

THAT FUNNY FEELING

I haven't wanted to mention something, because i didn't want to presume upon the grace of God, nor to "jinx" it, but for the last couple weeks I have experienced two unusual streams of awareness. The first was the distinct impression that I was being lifted on the wings of the prayers of my friends and the saints upon whom they were calling for intercession. My macular degeneration sprang a leak some weeks ago, and we have been storming heaven for a cure.

The second was the impression - a very strong impression - that my eyesight had improved since the injection that I was administered in my left eye a few weeks ago. (Thank you, Saint Lucy!) I was unsure, at first, since my vision in that eye was really bad for the first few days after the injection...but then it seemed to become better than before the shot and I began to entertain the possibility that perhaps the shot had jarred my body into getting rid of that blood leak in my eye.

MY EYE SPECIALIST IS ALSO A VETERINARIAN....APPARENTLY!

Today when I went to the eye doctor's office, ostensibly to have another shot in my left eye, the technician took photographs of the interior of my eye and we discovered that, aside from the primary damage (which is permanent, I am told), the secondary damage from the blood leakage into the eye had simply disappeared. There was no trace of the pool of blood that had shown up in the previous test.

I wasn't surprised. I had this feeling. I just KNEW.

One reason I was not surprised is because I know my body and I know how sensitive it is - especially to drugs and chemicals of any kind. This plays two ways. First, this sensitivity sometimes causes allergic reactions, anaphylaxis and asthma attacks, especially if the dose is large. On the other side of that coin is that my body will often respond very well to a very small dose of medication, because it takes less to get an organic response from my system.

The primary cause of my lack of surprise is rooted in my connection with the Lord. I KNOW He is with me at times, and this week is one of those times.

But not only do I host the Lord in my heart, but I feel a deep connection with many of the saints who observe all from heaven, particularly Saint Lucy, to whom I have directed many pleas for her intercession.

SAINT LUCY

Saint Lucy, originally known as Saint Lucia of Syracuse, is the patron saint of the blind. The oldest record of her is in the Acts of the Martyrs from the fifth century, but most accounts agree that a rejected admirer reported her for being a Christian and she was martyred in Sicily in 304 a.d., when Diocletian was rabidly persecuting Christians. It is in the medieval stories that we first learn that her eyes were gouged out before being murdered.

I have been asking for her intercession regularly during the last few months when I have been struggling with my vision and other issues, as have many of my friends. Some day I hope to write a blog post specifically and only about her.

Coincidentally, her feast day is fast approaching on December 13th.

I had asked my Facebook community to pray for me and also my friends "in real life" for a cure and to buck up my bravery factor. Injections into my eyeball is a tough one for me. Needles have always been a challenge.

THE EYE DOCTOR REFUSED TO ANSWER ANY QUESTIONS OR SPEAK TO ME:

I told the technician that I wanted to speak to the eye doctor before I got another shot in my eye. My idea was to regularly go to the office for checkups and, if this blood leakage happens again, to then begin a series of shots at that time. It hardly seemed necessary now. There wasn't a trace of the previous problem!

The doctor refused to see me, UNLESS I would agree to mutely sit there while he would just sweep in and give me a shot and then sweep out of the room.

HE REFUSED TO SEE ME. HE REFUSED TO TALK TO ME.

The technician says that monthly shots are what he does. He does it for everyone and he won't do anything in any other way for me....and he won't discuss it with me. When i asked the technician why I would have to have more shots if the eye is no longer bleeding, he said something something something something about "just in case" it starts again!

The message I received, loud and clear was this: STOP TALKING, STOP ASKING INCONVENIENT QUESTIONS AND TAKE THE SHOT OR GET OUT OF THE OFFICE!

I chose to leave, but did make a future appointment which I am not sure I will keep.

UNIVERSITY OF NEW MEXICO HOSPITAL OFTEN TREATS PATIENTS LIKE CATTLE

Being treated like a cow being forced through a metal chute with a string of other cows,, in a living assembly line of sorts, is not how I envision the conditions of my personal medical care, and I am going to have to decide what to do about this state of affairs. I am getting awfully tired of fighting with the University of New Mexico to be treated like a human being instead of a test subject or an excuse upon which someone creates their medical career.

GRATITUDE TO GOD

Putting aside the dilemma with this doctor who refuses to address my personal needs in favor of his assembly line approach, my heart is full of love and gratitude to the Lord for cutting me some slack - even if only for a little while - and letting me retain my vision for a bit longer, without having the screaming emergency of having to have injections in my eyeball. Who knows what the future will bring? I could well be back there in short order, submitting to those horrifying shots, if the bleeding in the eye resumes. In the meantime, however, I am given at least a small reprieve.

I want to thank all of you who have prayed for me in this difficult situation. I DID feel your prayers, and I love you for them! Thanks so much.

CHRISTMAS FAST APPROACHES AND THE CUPBOARDS ARE MOSTLY BARE

On another topic - this month is Christmas, and I would dearly love to treat the other disabled, elderly and poor residents in this apartment complex, at the very least to provide some snacks and drinks. Many of them do not have any Christmas "programs" at all. They spend most of their lives alone and they are left out of family events, either through geography or estrangement.

Food is always a headache, especially for those of us who are intent on eating healthy foods in order to combat serious health worriments. I have lost 90 of the 100 pounds I gained when I stopped smoking tobacco, and I intend to keep it off, but it would be lovely to be able to celebrate the Christmas season with some special FOOD, especially to offer to my neighbors and others who are alone during this glorious season.

In that line, I offer you the following link to my Amazon Christmas food list. I would be most grateful for anything you may be able to contribute. On the other hand, if you would like to contribute FRESH food items, you could donate for that purpose on the paypal link, above-right, just below my photograph.

Here is the link to the Christmas food wish list on Amazon. They have my address and will ship to me direct:

CLICK HERE FOR THE AMAZON CHRISTMAS WISH LIST FOR FOOD

Thank you again, most of all, for your prayers.

God bless us all, and have a very merry Christmas!

COVER THE NAKED

"Naked, and you covered me: sick, and you

visited me: I was in prison, and you came to me.

Matthew 25:36

I have great sympathy for those who lack proper clothing, decent clothing, appropriate clothing that fits well, serves the appropriate function for the appropriate body part, and all that entails.

My mother was insane, and when I was a little girl, she announced that she would not buy me any clothing until I "lost weight." I was 7 years old and had no idea what this meant. The only food to which I had access was whatever she gave us when she remembered to feed us. She would leave us alone for days at a time with nothing but a sack of potatoes in the refrigerator. Once, her sister came to visit us from thousands of miles away and, even though she was expected, my mother did not bother to meet her when she arrived. My aunt found us half naked, hungry and filthy.

I remember laying on my bed when I was 7, staring into my empty closet, save for one sweet little blue plaid dress with a built-in apron and puffy short sleeves. It was 2 sizes too small for me and I could no longer wear it, but I loved that dress. It was the only one I had. Other than that, I had one pair of shorts and a few ratty tops. I prayed every night that I would wake up the next morning and "be thin."

When I was about 10 or 11, my mother was having clothes tailor made for herself, but she forced me to wear either one of two old cocktail dresses to school, along with a pair of oxfords she had painted pea green. I was blind as a bat and wore glasses. She refused to let my hair grow and, instead, took scissors to it now and then and chopped at it until it was short enough to comb without any trouble. I looked like a horror show. I was routinely picked on and beaten up. Once an entire gang surrounded me on my way home from school. Two girls beat me while the crowd hooted and hollered and contributed kicks and fists when I tried to escape that diabolical circle.

To this day, I am extremely picky about my clothes. I will not wear used clothing, and I have learned how to assemble a nice looking wardrobe on a tight budget. Except on those days when I am physically unable to get out of my pajamas, I dress, even though I will not leave my apartment, except to walk my dog and no one but the neighbors will probably see me. It isn't for them. It is for my own sense of personal dignity. It helps mitigate the damage of my brutal childhood that gave me post traumatic stress disorder.  It is a coping mechanism.

I have seen the looks on people's faces when the homeless come begging, with their long ratty hair and their dirty and ill-fitting clothing. It reminds me of the stares and hostility of the other kids, when I came walking onto the playground in an old pink polyester cocktail dress and pea green oxfords. I didn't have a friend in the world.

Except for other homeless people, I imagine the homeless have no one either. I have this feeling that I desperately want them to have some nice things to wear, at the very least a warm hat to help preserve their health and their comfort. I don't want to give them some hand-me-down or some machine made, flimsy thing from China, as if they only deserve to have the cast-offs of other people or the very cheapest of goods.  I want to give them something made with love and prayers, from good yarn, made well, and attractive, because these are things I want for myself and I am to love my neighbor as much as I love myself.  These people ARE my neighbors. I live in an apartment in an area that is saturated with the homeless and the poor, and I can't leave the apartment without encountering at least one such person.

The only way I can produce hats and scarves for the homeless is to ask for donations of yarn vis-a-vis my Amazon wish list. I currently have enough yarn to make another 2 or 3 hats, and that's it.

A typical hat made from super chunky yarn,

knit for the homeless. (The color is MUCH

prettier than what you see here, but I had

trouble with the camera. I am no photographer!)

If you have the wherewithal to donate some yarn, you can contribute by ordering from my Amazon wish list for this purpose. Please remember that it is very difficult to make anything from only one skein of yarn, so please pick one color and purchase as many skeins of that color as you feel you can afford. The web site will require you to enter that number before checkout.  Amazon has my address and will ship directly to me.

You can find the Amazon wish list HERE.

THANK YOU for your generosity.

[PLEASE NOTE: Since writing this post, my carpal tunnel and arthritis have ramped up and I am having a hard time knitting the hats. Thus, I have plenty of yarn for this purpose, and it will take me some time to use it all up.

On the Amazon list you will find some different colored CROCHET THREADS that I could use for my lace making. I donate hand-made lace Bible markers to my parish for special occasions, and I also make chapel veils.  Sometimes I make ribbons of lace to attach to the bottom of skirts or the tops of blouses to convert them into more modest attire.]

Silver Rose Parnell
(c) 2015, all rights reserved.

GOD BRINGS ALL THINGS TO THE GOOD

February snow in my garden

There are times when something will happen that completely throws all plans to the wind in an unexpected and unpleasant way, and we have to discern God's will amid the mess.   It is like a large snowfall in a city that doesn't customarily get much, if any, snow at all.  Everyone scrambles to accommodate the slippery roads.  Time tables are drastically altered, and some planned-for destinations have to be scrapped entirely.

Last Saturday, I went to confession, as I always try to do during Lent, and, for the first time, I walked away feeling relief, hopefulness, and peace.  So, there I was, all shiny and freshly washed and feeling good, and for the next two days I was assaulted by some harassment at church that finally got so bad I had to leave.  The harassment was completely undeserved and, looking back on it now, I see Satan's hand in it.  He hates it when you make a good confession, you see, and he wanted to force me to lose my temper and take the shine off my soul.  Thanks be to God, I did not lose my temper, though I did feel a tremendous amount of stress.

Sadly, I have to find another church community, since no one is going to rectify the situation at my now-former church, and my post traumatic stress has been aggravated to a degree that makes it impossible for me to continue on as I have been

Confidence in Jesus gives me great comfort at the moment. I know that he brings everything to the good for those that love him, for those that believe in him.  I look forward to discovering what is his will for me and where I will end up.

In the meantime, I am renewing my zeal for community life and investigating membership in the Lay Dominicans.  I had previously considered the Carmelites, but could not drum up the requisite enthusiasm for their programs.  Two of my very favorite people were lay Dominicans: St. Rose of Lima and Blessed Margaret of Castello, and I would be grateful to be in their company.

The dream of a convent for disabled and elderly women is still alive, though somewhat dimmed by recent events and lack of resources.  I give my will to the Lord in this matter and in all things, to the best of my ability, and wait for his instruction.

In the meantime, I am recuperating from a nasty fall on melted snow in my garage.  I landed hard on the cold, wet concrete and injured quite a few body parts.  As previously mentioned, plans have suddenly changed as a result of the snow storm.  I wait for the snow to melt and for my body to heal.

Please pray for me as I pray for you.

Silver Rose Parnell

INTERPRETIVE DANCE OF THE MIND

Saint Joseph of Cupertino, rising during prayer

Recently, a good friend has betrayed me, lied, and gossiped about me.  An acquaintance I had been helping became so abusive, my PTSD couldn't handle it, and I had to back away from her.  A neighbor screamed at me and called me vulgar names when I asked him to move his car from in front of my garage so I could go shopping.  I am still grieving from the loss of my dog, and now I have a fine virus which has inflamed my throat to the point that I can barely speak.  It all seems a bit much, and, oddly, most of it has happened after I finally was able to get my son's ashes interred in a holy space.  I had been very happy about that when I was deluged with evil.  How do I come to grips with this melange?

When I am overwhelmed with life's traumas, especially when they come in multiples, I have to carefully dissect my self-talk and discard what the PTSD would say in favor of what my Catholic faith says.

The PTSD would say, "I'm at war!  The world is out to get me!  I am not safe! Everything is dangerous!  I shouldn't leave the house or someone will get me!"

Fortunately, although the PTSD has a very loud and strident voice, urging me to flee or to fight,  I have a Catholic perspective that has been gradually taking over.

What I tell myself are varying versions of the following ideas, depending on the circumstance:

1. God allows evil to exist in the world because we have free will.  Some people choose evil and abuse others with it.  I just happened to get in the way.  Pray for my persecutors.  They need it.
2. Satan hates Christians and sends his demons out to torment them, as any good saint will say.
3. In the case of the interment of my son's ashes in a holy place, Satan is infuriated because my son had given voice to the idea that he did not believe in God, and Satan was sure that he would have him in hell.  With the bodily remains in a holy space and with me praying for him in reparation for his sins, Satan may not get his wish.
4. For some of us, life is very difficult, but it is also temporary.  Heaven, however, is permanent and eternal, and I look forward to it.
5. In one sense, I AM at war, but it is a holy war that has been going on for a very long time.  It is the war between good and evil and, although it is distressing in a temporal sense, I have to remember the big picture.  Jesus did not promise us sunshine and daisies.  He told us we would suffer for his name.
6. I am not alone.  Many saints suffered from depression, PTSD, and all manner of illnesses, physical and mental.
7. Traumas are a good incentive to pray, and are therefore a blessing.

Some of the saints literally rose above the traumas of the world during prayer.  Saint Joseph of Cupertino is well known for this.  Lesser known is one of my favorites, Blessed Margaret of Castello, whose personal condition and tragedies are far worse than I could ever imagine mine to be, yet she still dedicated herself to God by worshiping Him through the care of the poor and the sick.

By allowing this levitation during prayer to occur in view of others, I believe God was giving us stark visual instruction.  Prayer elevates the mind above the world.

Don't get me wrong.  I still avail myself of modern medicine and therapies to keep the PTSD in its cage, but good self-talk with a Christian slant is a crucial piece of my treatment, and I wanted to share it with you because, whether or not you have PTSD or you're just having a crappy week, it might be helpful.

God bless you all.

Silver Rose Parnell

URGENT NEED

Standard poodle service dog from

Heritage Service Dogs

Thousands of people in America have post traumatic stress disorder, and most of them have not seen military service.  They have experienced a different type of life-altering, traumatic event.  Most of the sufferers are women who have endured kidnapping, imprisonment, beatings, rape, torture, threats, verbal and emotional abuse, and stalking.  Service dogs have proven to make normal life possible for sufferers of post traumatic stress disorder (PTSD).

In addition to PTSD, I suffer from chronic physical issues that affect my mobility and my balance, both of which are helped by having a service dog to improve stability, especially when walking in public, on uneven sidewalks and pavement, and over rough ground.  The service dog will act as a complement to my cane and/or walker, walking on the other side of the cane and alerting to rough ground ahead.

I also have allergy-induced asthma, which is growing worse as time goes on, therefore, I need a dog that has hair that grows rather than fur that sheds.  The most hypoallergenic dog that also has the brains, temperament and size necessary for the job is the standard poodle.

With regard to the PTSD issues (and real life protection) a service dog can be trained to enter the home prior to the owner and check every room of the apartment to make sure there is no one lurking there.  There have been 6 attempted break ins of my apartment, so there is an actual threat, rather than an imaginary one.  Police officers who have responded to reports of attempted break-ins have advised me that the best deterrent is a watch dog.  They can also be trained to provide me extra space if my claustrophobia kicks in during shopping or other errands by circling me.

In addition, the service dog can sense when my body chemistry becomes unbalanced from the PTSD or my chronic low blood sugar.  The dog can easily sense/smell the chemical changes and alert me to take my medicine.  Dogs are a natural calming element, as well.   At night, I will be able to sleep in peace, knowing that the dog will alert me to the presence of any prowler outside the apartment.

My doctor has written me a prescription for a service dog.  Unfortunately, there are no agencies that supply these dogs without a fee.  I have researched this matter thoroughly and reached out to everyone I know who may have been able to help me get the right dog, to no avail.  I scoured the local shelters and found that this type of dog is just not available in the shelters in Albuquerque.  Plenty of pit bulls and chihuahuas and all kinds of little mutts, but no standard poodles.  I have inquired of breeders whether or not they will adopt out dogs that have exceeded the breeding age.  Basically, I have begged for a free dog everywhere, and that is just not happening.

After extensive research, I have found the least expensive option, which is a company that breeds and raises the poodles, places them with the patient, and then coaches them through the training steps.  The name of the company is Heritage Service Dogs.

Their fee is $3600.  It will cost about $400 to ship the puppy, and we anticipate needing another $500 in expenses, such as veterinary bills, a crate, a bed, harnesses for various sizes of a growing puppy, etc.  (The typical cost for a standard poodle puppy is $2,000.  The local agency that trains dogs charges $6,000.  That is DOUBLE what it would cost using Heritage Service dogs, so we feel we have made a good decision about the provider.)

PLEASE HELP me obtain the necessary service animal.  There is no government assistance for this.  There are no organizations that give away service dogs.  My income is very low, and I am unable to create more income (though I have tried!)

Please click the link to go to my fundraising site.


SILVER'S FUNDRAISING SITE FOR A SERVICE DOG

If you are not able to help, then please spread the word and pray for me.



God bless you,

Silver Rose Parnell

GOOD BYE COCO

Coco Chanel Parnell

2004-2014

For the last 6 years, I have had a service dog and, although I was allergic to her and she blew her coat all over my apartment so much that I could have made a sweater every week from her fur, I loved her dearly.  A few months ago, I had to take her to the veterinarian for the removal of a tooth.  It turned out that she had cancer in her mouth.  They removed as much as they could, but the cancer returned within a couple months.

Finally, when her energy waned and she was no longer able to eat easily, it was time to take her back to the vet for the final time.  I couldn't find anyone to go with me who wasn't going to fall apart and make it more difficult for me.  This is one of the MANY difficulties of being a solitary who really IS a solitary and does not live in community and is not supported by any institution.  There is no one to share the burdens or the joys.

I didn't want Coco to realize that something "bad" was going to happen, so I behaved as if everything was normal, except that the day before I took her in I made sure that she had some of her favorite things: A couple hours of cuddles and tummy scratches in my lap, some pieces of chicken from my dinner plate, a car ride, a short leisurely walk around the apartment complex, etc.

At the vet's office, I held her in my lap like a baby on her back and petted her while I sang her little lullabies that I made up on the spot.  She kept looking into my eyes with a mixture of emotions that I couldn't quite make out, except that I could tell she was worn out from pain and fatigue.  Eventually, my arms couldn't hold her any more and I sat her on the chair next to mine.  There was white fur everywhere: on my lap, my chair, the floor, and Coco's chair.  She hung her head in exhaustion.

The vet and her technician were very kind and gentle.  The technician was going to pick up Coco from the chair and place her on the exam table, but I wouldn't let them.  I had to do it.  I pulled my back out and put it into spasm for the next 4 or 5 days, but I had to do it.

Coco was on her tummy, facing me.  The vet shaved a small portion of fur from one leg.  I kept telling Coco, "Good dog.  Coco is a good dog."  I wanted to cry so badly, but I had to hold it together for Coco's sake.  I didn't want her to know that something was terribly terribly wrong.  I kept telling her what a good dog she was and smiling.

She didn't struggle until they gave her the shot.  I imagine it stung a little bit.  It was over so fast.  I told her she was a good dog.  She kept looking me in the eyes, and then there was a flicker of recognition that something was happening.  The pain was lifting.  She relaxed.  She died.  Her eyes were open.  Her tongue came out of her mouth.  They laid her on her side.

I fell apart completely.  We were all weeping.  Me.  The vet.  The technician.  The vet, a compassionate Christian woman, hugged me and said, "I love you."  I told her, "I love you too."

I couldn't stop petting Coco and asked several times, "Is she gone?"  I could not believe it.  Could not stop petting her, even though she couldn't feel it.  I tried to close her eyes but couldn't.  Eventually, I draped the end of the blanket over her body so I would not have to see her eyes.

Some time passed.  The technician left the room.  The vet asked me if I would be getting another service dog.  The queen is dead.   Long live the queen.  She recommended I get a standard poodle, the largest size, a smart dog that is easy to train and would accommodate all my needs.  I should get a puppy and train it from the beginning.

It is hard to jump right onto the next project of obtaining another service dog, but life does go on, despite the emotionally searing pain.  As with all projects, I do not have the resources to obtain a pure bred poodle puppy and pay for training, vet bills, a crate, food, toys, but somehow it will work out.  The Lord takes care of me, as he takes care of the sparrows in the field.

Spending so much of my day in contemplation of the Divine has given me a strength I never had before.  It has given me the confidence that everything I need will be provided.  The Lord knows what I really need in the ultimate, best sense, and I trust His judgment.  Trust is a remarkable gift for someone who suffers from PTSD, which generally destroys all of one's trust.  Without the contemplative life I am privileged to live, I doubt I would have been able to handle this fresh trauma with any sort of poise.  Without having become disabled, without being mostly house-bound, the contemplative life I now enjoy would have been impossible.  Consequently, I am grateful for my disabilities.  The disabilities, the chronic pain, and the poverty have all been gifts, in the highest sense.

I just have to continue to hold onto Him with all my might, rest in His reassuring embrace and be at peace in the confidence that He is now taking care of Miss Coco Puff also.

Please pray for me, that I am able to continue in faith.

God bless you all.

Silver Rose Parnell