Sadness is not the same as clinical depression

I've been sad the last couple of days.  We are moving into town, have sold all the animals, and are wrapping things up out here in the country.  Not that we are moving to a New York City or anything.  Just down the road into a nearby small town.  But still, it is a huge change in lifestyle for us.  I was packing books yesterday and packed up all my books on farming, market gardening, homesteading, and animal husbandry.  I felt sad about the animals I had sold and about the goat I had to put down earlier this year.  Sad that I would not be there to watch my goats kid this Spring.  Sad that I was letting go of this chapter in my life.

But sadness is not the same as clinical depression.  It does not need to be avoided or treated.  I do not need to drink over it or use over it or even to go see my psychiatrist over it.  It's normal to feel sad when life presents you with saddening events.  It's OK.

I felt refreshed tonight at a meeting where a friend of mine celebrated 11 years of continuous clean time.  Life goes on and it is good.  It'll be a blessing to me to move into town and be closer to meetings.  Closer to my friends in recovery.  I'll be able to go out for a cup of tea with my NA sponsor without having to drive for an hour and a half.  We won't have to spend half the day driving kids into town.  And we won't spend half our income on gasoline.

As sad as it is to leave farming, it is the right thing to do.  It is the right time to do it.  I feared the change.  I feared it so much that I used it as an excuse to drink.  A pretty sorry excuse but there you go.  I'm not fearing the change as much now.  I'll find new avenues to channel my energies.  I'll certainly still be able to grow a garden.  Maybe I'll get back into soap making.  Maybe I'll make more sausage.  I'll have to buy pork in bulk rather than butchering my own, but I might have more time for crafts like that.

As much as I miss the goats, it is nice to not have to milk them every single day in sub-zero temperatures.  I've been milking goats and caring for animals every day for years.

Grieving is a part of life.  Things pass, things are lost, things change.  Yes, I am sad.  But I welcome the sadness.  At least I'm not numb.  At least I'm not sitting drunk and alone in a crappy motel room.  As sad as this change is, I still feel incredibly blessed.

Go gently...

I don't know how ready I am to write about this.

I've had a big Saanan wether for about five years now.  He's been a great goat.  He never had any economic value.  He's always just been kind of a pet.  A companion.  When I was having a rough day, or if I just needed to take some time to get grounded I would go out to the goat pasture and sit with him.  He had all kinds of funny expressions.  He would nuzzle up against my shoulders and try to eat the buttons off my favorite shirts.  We named him Caspian after Prince Caspian in the Narnia series.

 

Problem was, Caspian always had a genetic issue with his knees and legs.  It would come and go, and we would always wonder whether this was the time we should finally put him down.  He didn't seem to be in a great deal of pain, but it was hard to see a 200 pound goat crawling around on his knees.

 

When we decided to put him down, I sobbed.  It took a couple of more days to find the time to take care of it and I was overcome by emotion several more times.  I was a little frustrated with myself.  This is a farm after all.  Farm animals come and go.  It's probably best not to get too emotionally attached to them.  He's just a smelly, crippled, old goat after all.  How hard should this be?  But somehow this was different than sending a beef cow to the butcher.  He was my buddy.

 

And so the time came.  A few rough caresses.  A little treat in the grain bucket.  A quick goodbye.  And a .32 caliber bullet to the head.

 

Goodbye Caspian my old friend.  Go gently into that good night.