Grief and Joy

SUMMARY: Things change over time. But not quickly.

Two things happened Sunday that made me realize that the jagged wounds of losing Tika and Boost are scarring over:

• I took Chip and Zorro up Coyote Peak to my special Photo Spot where the Merle Girls and I had gone so many times, and although of course I thought about Boost and Tika, it was more of a reminiscence, not a tearing-out-my-guts experience. That had been one big reason why I hadn't even tried before: Couldn't bear the thought of going up without the girls and remembering all those good times.   But this time, I was completely present with these dogs, paying attention to them, enjoying them, incorporating their presence on this special peak into my life story.
• I again came across Team Small Dog's cartoon post about scaredy-cat young Border Collies from a while back, and it reminded me so much of Boost all over again, and it made me laugh all over again--and the laughter didn't end in sobs; it was all delight.

So, two and a half years is apparently how long it takes to where  I'm managing to have their memories in my life without immediately breaking down.  You know, it gets to where one thinks that will never happen.  Not to say that I don't miss them so much so often. But it's bearable now, most of the time.

Unlike this:

This evening, I had a little extra time and was in the neighborhood of my parents' former home. Thought I'd do a quick drive-by.  Oh, it hurt. From a mile away, the closer I got, the more it hurt and hurt. Grief is physical.  Both parents gone so recently, and the house where they lived for 49 years, and all those birthdays and Christmases and dinners and celebrations and all the books and the bookcases full of photo memories and all the family memorabilia and heirlooms and the things that my parents loved everywhere in the house.  All the things that made the house My Parents' Home.  It could never be reproduced anywhere again. And neither could Mom or Dad be.  It hurt so much.

So, 9 months since Mom died; 6 months since we sold the house; those are nowhere near long enough to distance the grief.

It'll be a long time before I try that again.

Gone

SUMMARY: On her own.

Who knew such perfect timing was needed? The appt wednesday was a day too early. The appt that I made yesterday evening for this afternoon, after a bad day yesterday, was a day too late. I stayed awake most of the night, downstairs, trying to keep an eye on her, but I fell asleep around 5 and when a phone call woke me up about 8:30, she was nowhere to be seen. Took me two passes around the house and yard to find her in a nook where they never rest or sleep. It had to have been right after I feel asleep--she's still warm but stiff.

Maybe too clinical. So. I am broken apart. I will go on, of course.

More photos to come. Many many many photos. How to choose?

Boost -- Jan 31, 2005 - April 24, 2015

Another Goodbye

SUMMARY: A very personal goodbye, indeed.

I've had the illness commonly known as depression about four times in my life. After my divorce in 2000 (and a whole slew of other things at the same time), I was lucky to find a woman in independent practice who walked me gently through my grief and pain.

But when I switched to Kaiser, I no longer had access to her.

Two and a half years ago, when I realized again that the darkness and immobility had crept in, I asked for an appointment with a counselor and they assigned me to Dan Tindle.

He worked with me for over two years, both individually and in a close-knit weekly group. Gradually, with me resisting and even kicking and screaming (mostly metaphorically) a good portion of the way, he educated, prodded, joked, listened, prodded more, asked hard questions, provided deeper insight into my approach to life, and supported me in so many ways. By May of this year, I realized one day that I just felt--happy and contented. And again the next day. And again later that week--happy and confident. I came to realize that, wow, I had completely exited the house of depression and moved into a healthy mental and emotional state. 

I retired from the group and our regular sessions at that time because I had found my firm footing and was ready to go it alone.

I went back to talk to him once in May when the young woman I knew in agility dropped dead suddenly of a heart attack and I was struggling with the grief of that and of the sudden loss of a friend's small dog. He helped me through that in a single visit; helped me to find a path for my sorrow and pain.  

I most recently made an appointment to see him on August 5th because of the sudden and rather stunning developments with my spine. We talked and I brought him up to date on my back issues and how I'm doing, which, in fact, was very well. I'm functional and calm and, for the most part, avoiding the spinning-out-of-control "Why me" and "Life will be horrible" sorts of typhoons, which I doubt that I could have done a year ago, or even 5 or 6 years ago. 

Three days after that, he died of a heart attack. Very sudden. He's about 10 years younger than I am, a big health food guy, a runner. 

I feel lost. Grief stricken. Stunned.  And I feel for his other patients as well who are still in process. Shocked. 

I think the world of him. He shared of himself and his own journey to emotional well-being as well as bringing out our deepest fears and needs and angers and pains, and helping us to find a way through them. He was funny, smart, clever, intense, honest, direct, perceptive, determined, deeply caring, opinionated, oh so much fun to talk to (well, except when he was working hard at getting me to drag out the things that I didn't want to drag out, and even so, I found it fascinating at every step, how he just knew where to dig and what to say and when--to me and to others).

I -- am stuck at where to go from here. I had been comforted by the fact that he'd be there if I ever needed his skills again. I'm angry at the universe for taking such an amazing man who had so very much to contribute to the world.  I believe that he and others in the department gave me the skills to work through this. But--

I--

Goodbye, Dan. You were wonderful. I'll miss you. And thank you with all my heart for helping me to find my life again.

Heavy Heart

SUMMARY: This month has been rough on our local agility community.

Updated April 25: Links at end.

One of the things about knowing people in the agility community is that they are so active, mentally and physically, and young enough to be active and healthy, that we seldom lose anyone. Maybe every 2 or 3 years to cancer, say.

But now--

A month ago, Katy Silverman died suddenly "after a short illness." I knew her only from watching her run her dog Bindi occasionally at CPE trials, but she was young and healthy and several years younger than I am. Her obituary.

Three weeks ago, another local, Marge Ryder, died suddenly--not someone I knew but plenty of my agility friends did, and some friends have pups related to her dog Kefi.

Last week, Lisa Pomerance--also several years younger than I am--gone.

And now a dog-- found out just an hour ago--  One of the other things about knowing so many people in the agility community is that I also know so many dogs. And dogs get old so much quicker than people, and they die, and I grieve their passing. But this:

 Kinetic. Three and a half. Gone yesterday in little more than a blink of an eye from water intoxication. Her Human Mom, Susan, has been involved in the dog world and agility for many years but I've never seen her love a dog as much as she loved Kinetic. She's called Kinetic her heart dog, and it was so obviously right between them. They're another pair that go almost everywhere together.

They love hiking together--and I've been on so many hikes with them, and that little Pap can hike 10 miles with the best of them, never being carried. They could definitely hike faster than I could.


They love doing agility--she had world-team aspirations (they'd have been on their way to the AKC team try-outs next week), and this dog could do it. Just watching them stream around a course as fast as or faster than any of the border collies, both so graceful and focused and damned fast, was an experience that drew applause and cheers from the audience.

And Kinetic had a hundred aunts and uncles at agility trials or wherever else they went. You could pick Kinetic out of the crowd with her always-colorful plume of a tail.

I'm heartbroken all over again.

***  Read this about the dangers of water ***

*** Another tribute to Kinetic ***

Of Tika the Old Dog, and Food, and Walks, and Bully Sticks

SUMMARY: A general decline.

It is hard to write about Tika getting older and slower and less healthy. I meant to do so regularly, to track for my own purposes, but somehow don't have the heart for it most of the time.

She hasn't been in a steady decline, but more like descending waves: Some days or weeks almost like the same old Tika; other days or weeks I wonder whether she's going to make it to the next morning. I remember just before Thanksgiving, she was so bad, I was terrified that it would be all over during the holidays. And then she perked up again.

The worst part for both of us is the Cough. Vet had said that it might be pressure from the enlarged heart or just an old, weakened esophagus that doesn't stay open as well as it used to. Sometimes she'll hardly cough for days. Other times, as in the last 3 days, it's almost constant except during the short times when she can manage to fall asleep.

And it's not so much of a cough any more--just a harsh exhale with a rattle in the throat, with every. single. breath.

Some days she's perfectly happy to eat any choice of kibble that I offer. On other days, it's the same story that I think I've mentioned before: Might or might not eat any of the different kinds of kibble. Or might eat it if I give it to her by hand a few pieces at a time. Or, not that, but only if I put a few on the carpet in front of her a few pieces at a time.

Canned food, she usually eats. But no matter what it is, she's eating less and less of it and leaves some or lots uneaten (from the dog who inhaled anything you gave her). I think that eating adds to the discomfort in her throat or whatever's causing the problem. She still looks pretty good--the advantage to a nice fluffy coat--but underneath, she feels like skin and bones.  (I haven't weighed her lately... I should... but have always done so by lifting her and stepping onto the bathrooms scale, and my back is so painful lately that I'm not eager to do it. But I should...)

She usually is happy to lick my plate, however, or eat any doggie snacks/treats or human food that I offer. Haven't tried to make a full meal of that sort of thing yet, but this week I am at the point where I really need to make the effort to cook for her and see whether that helps.

Pleez can haz more charlie bears?

She still wants to play, but the urge doesn't last very long, and she doesn't shake very hard at all when shaking the toy. She can still sometimes pull pretty darned hard with tug-of-war, but sometimes now she doesn't want to.

She pretty much never runs any more for any reason. She'll still sometimes chase a thrown frisbee or toy, a couple of times, but only at half speed, and she no longer makes an attempt to grab it off the ground, which she always excelled at, like a shortstop scooping up a ground ball.

In the last week, I've been out in the park taking her for a walk almost every day, but just for a short, slow walk.

You know, she used to be untiring; could "hike" 10 miles with me, which meant that she ran back and forth and acted as scout the entire time, so probably more like 15 or 20 miles for her, and then still wanted to play when she got home. She used to fly over jumps and through tunnels at a phenomenal speed with great joy. So this is hard for both of us to take. Yet, going for a walk is still her favorite thing in the world, even on days when she doesn't want to eat or play.

But, this week in particular, she doesn't seem to have the energy to walk very far or very fast, and she's coughing a lot, and she's not eating very much.

When she lies down or sleeps, now, she almost never lies on her side like she did her whole life; she just puts her chin down. Vet person at the seminar I did yesterday with Boost said that fluid and pressure can become worse when lying on their side, so that's probably why.

I gave The Merle Girls bully sticks about an hour ago. Tika sniffed at hers and then put her chin back down. It hurts me to see that. But, after about 15 minutes, she picked it up and started gnawing. Set it down for a bit and went out into the yard to cool down, I think (can't believe it hit almost 80F today!). I rescued it from Boost, the little thief, and gave it back to Tika when she returned.

Then Tika took it out to the back lawn--to her exact favorite spot for chewing chews, working on stuffed Kongs, and the like.

Boost will typically follow and lie a couple of feet away, hoping that Tika will give up chewing and leave it, and this evening, same thing. So all of that is normal. But Tika isn't doing much chewing, just lying there with the rawhide between her feet, panting/gasping, poor girlie.

Another agility friend's dog died suddenly today, not even 11 years old. A frequent hiking companion of ours. I cried, not just for him and his humans, but for Tika, too, after the slow walk and her eating only half a can of food, and for myself, feeling the pain of loss in advance.

Then I just now heard an odd noise in the garage and went out to look. Because of some things going on here lately, I have a couple of interesting stacks that aren't usually there of boxes and dog mats and canopies and such, and there was Boost on top of one of the piles, eagerly checking out a couple of the storage shelves that are normally way out of her reach. Her look of alert surprise when I turned on the light and saw her there made me laugh out loud, and she came bounding back into the house.

My girls.

Life and Death

SUMMARY: Contemplating both.

Christmas has always been one of my favorite times of year. I notice that I--and my posts--are a little on the down side. Sick. Ticks. Credit card problems. Furthermore, it has been wet and muddy and rainy in the yard all week and will be for the foreseeable future. Dogs are antsy and bored and I've been sore, tired, and grumpy with them. My second disk drive in as many months has failed. (Thank goodness for frequent backups.) Haven't done any Christmas shopping. None. The stress builds. I have ideas, but haven't gotten it together.

Still--last weekend I put up the tree and all except one string of lights. Last night for the first time since then, I had the energy to add the last string and a few ornaments. I can see it from my office. Or even--gasp--go to the living room and enjoy it.

But I have yet one more sad topic, as it's been on my mind lately.

Death.

I've thought about this post for a long time, and in fact I've repeatedly come to the conclusion that I don't really know what to say about it. I know how I feel, but (oddly for me), I'm not articulating it.

So, instead, I'll start by counting those whom I've known well enough to attend their memorial services [of the lot, three from agility]: Two with blood clots in bad places (both in their early 40s). Two from motorcycle accidents (40s and 50s). One from heart disease (80s). One from a brain aneurysm (early 60s). One from falling down while drunk and hitting his head (60s). And four from cancer (all in their 50s). On the other side, people I've known who've had cancer that seems to be in long-term remission: 3. And one who has just now been given a very close upcoming estimated closing date on her run with life by her doctor. I am so not liking the odds with cancer, and so not happy with it even existing in our universe.

My Friday Walkies partner has been fighting hers now for what seems, at times, an eternity, but has been only a couple of years.  She has continued to face life and cancer full-on and with perfectly directed humor in the face of the ongoing process of Getting Her Affairs In Order (although, as she notes, no one's around with her at 4 in the morning...):


But, as of yesterday, she knows specifically that it is only with great luck that she'll meet 2012 face to face, and even less likely that she'll need a 2013 calendar. So, she says: "Bucket list!" She has been planning and saving for her retirement and old age. Through her cancer, she has been unable to work most of the time, and when she was able, with this 11% unemployment rate, there've been no jobs. So she's been living with extreme frugality for these years--which, at times, seem like an eternity, too.

No more, she says. Sell the stocks! Empty the IRAs! Visit Hawaii, which she's always wanted to do. Replace the 20-year old carpets and the windows that have gaps where the wind blows through! Buy a tiny RV and tour as far and as fast as she can! So, yeah, OK, maybe everything will go amazingly right with the next type of chemo and she'll have such a boost to her immune system from having such a great time that it will go into remission and then she'll live for years and yet have emptied her cash reserves. She thinks it unlikely, and so does her doc. But, really, if she *doesn't* do it, then she doesn't have that chance to have those extra boosts to her sense of well being, enjoyment of life, and comfort. So she's gotta do it. She earned it! Cram that retirement into as few months as possible!

I'm thrilled about it. I'm scared about it. I'm happy for her to be able to try this. I'm more than sad about the reason for it. [As she says: "SUX!!!"] And I'm not her; I'm me. I can barely imagine what she's been going through, physically and emotionally, although she has shared a lot of it.

So here's the reason I'm doing this post--because of her determination, every step of the way, to get the most from life, to take some risks, to engage with others others around her, to continue taking care of the people who are important to her rather than focusing on her own situation, and finally to just say Wheeeee! This is it, I am going to have the time of my life while I still have a life with which to have it!

I think that's all that one can hope for in the inevitable face of death. Good for you, friend of many years!

Reminds me once again to not take things for granted, to stop focusing on colds and ticks and rain and stolen credit cards and dogs with cabin fever, and to work harder at crossing things off that Bucket List. So--

The stockings are hung by the chimney with care. Renter's bah humbug Scrooge, my wool stocking with my initial hand-knit with love by my mom when I was a mere babe, and those for my four most recent dogs, two still here and two gone but often remembered.

And try to remember more often this reminder, which sits at my computer terminal week in and week out:

Seize the day: Live. Love. Laugh.