It is hard to believe that I am enough, just as I am. I extort myself to be better, more, to be the best I can. There is an almost constant conversation happening on the inside asking for more, knowing I could be better, kinder, smarter, more…

019I was working today, completing an assignment, absorbed. Late in the afternoon I paused to make lunch, fresh sardines in the fry pan and bread in the toaster. Out of habit I looked at the floor around my feet, and no, there was no little dog looking up at me.

My house and particularly the kitchen is empty without my wee dog, Shortbread. She loved sardines, she would throw her head back and swallow the little fish in the style of a hungry seal. I miss her love of sardines, I miss sharing with her. I feel so alone, I miss her and wonder if I gave her enough, loved her enough.

That’s how a bereavement is, person or dog, somedays the loss catches you unprepared.

I find myself questioning if I am enough. Was I enough? Could I have loved more? Shared more? Been more devoted or attentive? Could I have been bigger, greater, more generous? Should I have given over more sardines? Did I love enough while she was here? I could have done more, I wish I had…

My questions are not only about my dog but about other roles, daughter, sister, friend, colleague or aunt. Am I ever enough? Not ever close enough to perfect- I sigh, resigned to not being enough. As good as I can be I could be more, regrets consume my best efforts – not always but tonight. Enough.

I do what I can knowing it’s never enough and what is just is. I am and it is.