Finding out I had a raccoon in my garage and trapping it was one thing. But putting the poor thing down in my back yard was another. Apparently it had gotten into fertilizer or insecticide because it was paralyzed.
After I cleaned up the destruction in my garage, chipped at the ice in the driveway, and dug out gutters from heaps of snow, I was exhausted. So I did what I do when I've pushed myself. I cried. None of this is my job. I'm not angry at Steve for dying, or God, just frustrated at the situation. I know I can ask for help, but didn't.
What happened to just being a girl?