we live in the both/and.

I arrived in Fargo in late July expecting my usual greetings from two overly-excited pups: face-licking and arm-nudging and attention-seeking and invasion-of-personal-space. Instead, I was greeted by one still-excited pup (Cali, the one attacking my face in this photo) and one very not-himself pup (Gunnar, hidden by my legs). Gunnar was too tired to get up when I came in the house late on Wednesday night, and barely acknowledged my existence -- or anyone else's -- on Thursday. He’s usually a little zenned out, but this wasn’t normal. So my mom and I brought him to the vet on Friday, and shortly after, dropped him at the hospital. He’d gotten into rat poisoning. He was bleeding. There were fluids in his lungs. 

This was unexpected, of course, but even more so, it deeply contrasted with my reason for returning to Fargo during this particular weekend: my best friend from high school was getting married. I had planned to spend most of the week with her and our other dear friend getting ready for the happiest day of her life thus far: errands and nails and the groom's dinner and picking up the dress and the day itself.

The three of us had deemed ourselves a trio of sisters a decade earlier, a la Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants. We had created our own Sisterhood, but of the Traveling Purse, a canvas bag penned with our favorite quotes, the initials of boys we loved, and our own declaration to love each other, always. My weekend was supposed to be filled solely with this love, this sense of deep home and belonging and happiness that comes from being reunited with the ones who knew you when your hair was bleached blonde and you couldn’t stop taking Photobooth photos.

But then, on Saturday, thirty minutes before Em walked down the aisle, I got a call: Gunnar’s red blood cells had dropped, were dropping still. The plasma transfusion wasn’t working. The blood transfusion wasn’t taking either. They were trying one more time, one more test, but I should check in later to see how it was going. Maybe I could sneak out for 45 minutes after dinner to say goodbye to him? 

What do you do with that? Thirty minutes before one of the happiest moments of your life, receiving information that’s some of the saddest? How do we hold both in our hands, allowing them to take up the space in our hearts that those conflicting emotions deserve -- at the same time?

It would be nice if we could control these life circumstances. “Please, Gunnar, could you kindly wait a few more days before your health fails?” or “Hey, can we hold off on this whole ceremony until I know that my dog is going to make it?” Or maybe we’d just like to have control over our emotions about these circumstances that come hurtling toward us all at once: “I’m going to pretend this isn’t happening until the wedding dance is over at 12:01.” But -- surprise! -- we cannot. Our hearts will (usually) not let us. Life is bound to throw a number of competing scenarios, mixed emotions, and confusing circumstances at us -- in one big, messy, looks-like-it-was-wrapped-by-a-child package.

Because, as I am slowly learning, that is how life always comes at us -- all at once. We don’t get to choose or pause or compartmentalize, even though we try. The joy and the sorrow, the anger and the grace, the loneliness and the gratitude, all mixed together, calling us -- forcing us -- to pay equal attention to both. To all of it. So you sit through the ceremony and tear up over the vows, and maybe one of those tears is for your sick pup who might not make it. You sit and stare like the real-life version of the heart-eye emoji at the bride and groom and are so truly, unbelievably happy, and your internal self is more like the crying kitty emoji as you think about your dog. We are not either/or humans. We live deeply and fully in the both/and. We have no choice. And thank goodness for that.

Later that night, I got a text: Gunnar’s blood cells jumped to 19. It wasn’t great at all, but it was something. It was hope. I read this just as the DJ started playing -- I kid you not -- Whitney Houston’s “I Wanna Dance with Somebody.” If that’s not confirmation that Whitney and that song are magical, at least to me, I’m not sure what is.