Where Are You, God?

How Do You Choose When There's No Right Choice?

I don’t want answers right now. I want relief. I want mercy. I want someone to stop the piling on.

And if I’m honest, I want God—if He’s out there—to leave my kids alone.

Right now, my daughter (already bereft from her husband leaving her) is now dealing with her dying dog. When your daughter sobs in your arms, “First he leaves me, now Luna is…”, it’s just beyond awful.

We’ve made the gut-wrenching plan to bring the vet to the house when it’s time and that moment is coming fast.

And on the other side of the country, I learned on Friday that my son is about to bring his own dog in for cancer surgery.

His name is Kaituna, Tuna for short. He’s young, vibrant, goofy—and facing something we don’t even fully understand yet. There was a needle biopsy done on a tumor, a diagnosis of cancer and this coming Wednesday, there’s surgery to determine the extent of what’s happening.

That dog means everything to my son—just like Luna means everything to my daughter.

Both of my children are grieving in real time at the same time. And I am being pulled apart.

For me, this is a Sophie’s Choice scenario: Stay here and be present with my daughter as she prepares to say goodbye. Or fly out to my son who is trying to stay brave in his own crisis with his dog.

There’s no “right” decision here. There’s just pain.

And yes—I know other people have it worse. I know there are bigger tragedies in the world. Hell, Trump just bombed Iran and the world feels like it’s on the verge of splitting open.

But pain isn’t comparative. It’s personal. And this is mine right now and it’s choking me.

The Question That Haunts Me: Why?

Why? Why them?

Why dogs—creatures that only ever give 100% unconditional love? Why does it feel like God has vacated the premises just when we need Him most?

I don’t have an answer to that and I wish I could leave the whole why thing alone. I sure don’t need a theological TED Talk right now, nor a bunch of platitudes dressed up in Bible verses.

I need a break, a deep breath if I could catch it and a day without crying.

Stretched Too Thin

If you’re a mother, you know this ache. When your children suffer, you suffer twice. Once for them, and again for your inability to fix it.

And when both of your kids are hurting at the same time, in totally separate ways, (2600 miles apart) with no clear resolution, you’re stuck inside a nightmare of love and helplessness.

There’s no playbook for this. There’s no self-care tip, no mindset mantra that makes this doable.

And yet, life doesn’t stop. Dishes still need washing. Emails still pile up. There’s work to do. You still have to function.

So what can I do?

What to Do When You Can’t Do Everything

Here’s where I’m trying to land today—not with faith, not with answers, just the tiniest thread of sanity I’m trying to hold onto:

1. Feel what’s real.

Grieve. Rage. Weep. Don’t spiritual bypass the sorrow or try to “reframe” any of this too soon. I am trying to let it move through me. Pretending is emotional procrastination and leads to poor decisions and belated pain. I know this because I’ve done it.

2. Do what’s in front of you.

I can’t be in two places at once. But I can wash the sheets, cook dinner and take my own dog for a walk. I can talk to both my kids and tell them I love them and their dogs and remind them that I’m just a text or a call away if they need me.

3. Name the no-win nature of it all.

Sometimes there are no good choices, just hard ones. I had to talk it/sob it out with my husband. Believe it or not, I felt shame for not being able to do the impossible. Talking about it helped me to see it for what it really is.

4. Be still with the ache.

Not everything is fixable. But presence matters. Sitting with the ache and not trying to escape it, has helped me accept what’s happening. Another step in this ugly process I suppose.

5. Where is my center?

If I can’t fix anything, maybe I can be something. This came to me earlier today. A grounding force, a voice of calm, a safe landing. Even if my own heart is breaking, maybe I can still be love in the room. My meditation practice has helped me connect to my center so I know this is possible.

6. Don’t make meaning yet.

Everyone wants to tell you that everything happens for a reason. But I can’t say that about cancer. Not in humans and not in dogs. There is no good meaning for something that takes away our loved ones. Maybe way down the road, at some later time, the good memories will fill that meaning void.

7. Protect what’s left of your peace.

I stopped kicking myself for not being “productive” and just took a nap today. I know the world will rage without me for a hot minute. That doesn’t mean I don’t care or I’m selfish, it means I chose my own sanity.

I don't know where God is today. And I’m done pretending that I always do.

But I do know this: Love shows up in hospital waiting rooms, in loving text messages, in the gift of homemade soup, and on tear-streaked journal pages.

Sometimes love shows up in a GoFundMe page for Tuna and yes, I’m going to share it with you if you would like to help: https://www.gofundme.com/f/help-tuna-beat-cancer-support-peters-pup

Love makes hard choices when no one’s looking. And when love breaks your heart, and you decide to keep showing up anyway?

Maybe that’s the only miracle I can hope for.

And maybe, at least for today, that’s enough.