4/28/09 Tuesday
I guess we must presume that Ben is dead. I just wish we knew what happened. This morning I will post the flyers Cherie made at work with the hope we can get Ben back or learn what happened. I’ve got to fight this depression. Don’t believe in the medications they put out for it. They do some people a lot of good but I’m not keen on playing with the chemistry of this damaged brain. It took eight years for me to get where I am now and I’m not about to play with the delicate balance this brain has achieved. Severe depression was a big factor in my fall into madness before the accident and has been an issue since. It’s a common problem with traumatic brain injuries and just doesn’t go away because you want it to. There was a time that I was the champion of a positive mental attitude and worked to instill that in my employees. I had a confidence and “can do” attitude that inspired others. It’s hard to do that now when I daily see what I didn’t do the day before.

Gretchen hasn’t wandered at all since she came back. Whatever happened traumatized her. She spends a lot of time in the safety of the garage now. Rascal and Trixie must sense that because they’ve been nicer to her. Trixie has always been jealous and regularly would pick on Gretchen and prove her dominance.

I don’t know what I’ll do today. It’s a poop scoop day and Cherie brought some more plants home that need to be put in the ground. I asked her to not bring any more home. Still haven’t gotten a single seed planted for the farm. The weeds are going to seed now so I must do something about that. If I had a disc set up for the tractor I could disc it all under in a few hours. Without that my options are to use the tiller or mow them down. If I mow them they will just keep growing so that’s an exercise in futility. It took six weeks or something like that for me to till everything before.

Losing Ben is a lot harder because we don’t know what happened to him. He’s died a thousand times in a thousand different ways in my mind as I picture what could have gone on. Then there’s the guilt that goes with it. Was he somewhere hurt and slowly dying because I didn’t go out and find him? It’s a kind of self torture that is hard to stop. Every time the dogs alert to something I jump up hoping they saw Ben. I look out across the fields hoping to glimpse his yellow fur often. Yes, this will fade but till then…