2190 days

Six years.

It’s been six years since Hub and I had to let our Sweet Pea go to the Rainbow Bridge. I post about her every year, usually before the anniversary of our loss, but this year I didn’t. I’m writing this today, ON the day, 6 hours after we let her go. Today, as it happened on the first year anniversary, I am alone at home. Hub has been out since early this morning and will not be home until late tonight. I have not and will not bring up the anniversary to him…he deals in his own way and I deal in mine.

I was re-reading what I’ve written in the past on this day, and I cried. I cried for the pain of losing her, I cried for the pain of loss, I cried because it hurt me how much she was hurting in the last weeks. We never had a final, concrete prognosis of what would have happened if we had made her try to hold on…would it have been days, weeks, months? It didn’t matter in the end, because there was too much pain in her for us to even consider prolonging her life. There was no way…

In all I’ve written, this is what I would want to say again and again. I just don’t want to find new words this year.

In 2011, she started slowing down. Not surprising to us, because based on what we knew we adopted her, she would have been going on 12 years old. That’s old-age for a large dog. Then, in late July of that year, she developed a cough. It scared me. We took her to our vet, but he found no reason for the cough…but found an auto-immune disease that would explain her increased and pretty marked lethargy. And as the tests continued–along with medications–the news got worse. And so did Sweet Pea. She became unable to walk the stairs to our bedroom, so Hub began sleeping on the couch in the family room to be near her. She started having trouble walking down the three deck stairs to the yard, so Hub began helping her out to the front yard down only two concrete steps (one step out the door, then the concrete porch and one step off the porch) to do her business. Then she began having trouble getting up…and the medications made her pant heavily…and they made her painful. And every day, I died a little inside. Not only because we knew this was serious–likely fatal–but because she was suffering. Even though it was only a little at that point, there was no uphill from there. I prayed she would give up. I prayed G-d would take her in her sleep–though she only dozed during the day, she was restless at night. I prayed that we would get some kind of report saying there was no hope and that it was time. I got none of it. The tests were inconclusive, but experience from our vet said there was likely nothing we could do except extend her life a few weeks or a few months…maybe. But in the end, she was not going to last long…and it was not going to be an easy time for her. And letting her hang on and die “naturally”…our vet said it would be painful for her. Like drowning, or being unable to breathe…struggling, gasping. It was three weeks from the first vet visit for a cough to the day we took her in for her last visit. In between was medication, tests, an emergency drive two hours away to an ER vet for a transfusion (where she had to stay locked in a cage overnight without us) during a bad hurricane, there was a bad reaction to the infusion, more tests…and pain. My sweet, loving, gentle girl snapped at a vet tech who barely touched her, snapped at our vet when he tried to help her, and cried. She’d never done any of those things in the nine years we’d known and loved her. She’d never snapped at anyone, ever, over anything. Man or beast. And then there were the eyes. She watched us every day, with these big, sad eyes. Pain seemed to radiate from her gaze. We hesitated to touch her because we thought it caused her pain. I laid on the floor with her in our dining room…the softest carpet in the house, and I stroke her paw. I stroked the spot from between her eyes down to her nose, so lightly I barely felt her fur. I wanted to hold her and hug her close, but I couldn’t. I wanted her to make the decision for us, but she refused. She refused to stop caring for us. She refused to let go, because she knew it was her job to see to us first. We had no choice. We had no fucking choice.

We took her in to the vet. I talked to her from the moment they put her on the table until long after she was gone. I told her that we were letting her go, and that her job was over. That it was our turn to take care of her the way she had taken care of us for the last 9 years. I told her it was all right, that she could go, she could be free of her body that was betraying her. And I cried like I’d never cried before. I told her how much we loved her. I told her how thankful we were to have her in our lives. I told her how much we would miss her. I sobbed and I petted her and I held on to her. I smelled her fur and her feet and touched her ears. And I cried. And inside, a part of me curled up and died with her.

We took her to our property and laid her to rest in a pretty spot near my parents’ dog, who had died one year prior. It was incredibly hot and humid, but my family–my brothers and my parents and Hub–dug a hole. Deep and wide, so there would be no concerns about the animals in the area. And it was so hot out, but they did it. And they put her in the grave, wrapped in her two favorite bed covers, with a couple of her favorite toys and an unwashed shirt of mine that smelled like me.

I can’t tell you the tears I’ve cried for my girl. I can’t tell you the hole in my heart from the loss of her. I can’t tell you how much I’ve changed because of her. I can’t explain how much I’ve changed with the loss of her.

I’ve written about her a lot. A lot in the first year she was gone. Not as much during the second year, though I’ve talked about her often in a professional and personal setting. I think about her every day. I’ve gone back and read the things I’ve written about her…and cried like it was the day that we let her go. I did it today in preparation for this post. It was incredibly painful. It IS incredibly painful.

I posted this on her six month anniversary, elsewhere. I re-read it earlier and every word is still the truth for me today.

I woke this morning early, looking directly at the clock by my bedside. The clock shows not only the time, but the date…and I almost felt my heart stop. I had been crying most of the night after I turned off all the lights. Images of the day we let SP go were running through my head, making me sob like it was the day it happened. I am crying now as I type. So when I woke this morning, I was fuzzy-headed, and I could swear the clock was telling me today’s date was 3-3-12. How could that be? I knew today was the six month anniversary, and that SP had left us on 9-2-11. I couldn’t believe I had missed the day, although I have been feeling the pain of this date for weeks.

I stayed in bed for hours, long past my husband let Le Moo out and went on his way to work. I stared at the clock, tears clogging my throat as I berated myself for missing the 2nd. It wasn’t until I was standing outside with Le Moo, staring at the trees in our back yard, when I realized that my clock must not have allowed for leap year. I KNEW today was the 2nd…I knew today was the day. I had spent hours thinking about it, not knowing how I could have been mistaken.

I feel whipped and beaten. I spent most of the hours crying last night and early this morning thinking that I desperately wanted to go to the basement and bury myself in the dog bed SP slept on in our old house in our bedroom. It’s an atrocious 70s orange color, something I found at overstock and bought merely because at the time it was the only memory-foam dog bed I could find big enough for her that we could afford. She loved the bed and we put up with it because of that. I mean that color would burn your retinas and I have no idea why it was ever made, but she loved laying on that thing. I suspect before the afternoon is over, I will be sitting with that bed, trying to find her smell and looking at the dog hair I hope it still clinging to it.

I cannot tell you how often I ache over the fact that I do not have a pawprint from her. I know there is one embedded in my heart, but I wish I had one to look at and touch. I have finally put one picture of her on my wall in addition to the polaroid picture I keep next to my bed. I want to put up so many that I fear it would cover the entire wall…but then I think it would kill me to see them.

I feel like I cannot get past this loss. I feel like I will never get past it. I still think of her every day. I still wish that she was here with us. I still look to step over her next to the bed. I cannot believe I have woken up without her every day for the last 180 days…how is it possible? How have I made it?

SP, I carry this pain of your loss every day. It is a part of me and will always be. I miss you so much that sometimes it hurts to breathe. And he misses you, too. I see it in his eyes and I feel it in his heart, even though he doesn’t show it the same way I do. You know how much he adored you, how he lived for those early morning and late night conversations with you. How he looked forward to coming home from work every day to see you waiting for him at the window, or at the top of the stairs, wagging that gorgeous tail of yours. How we both loved your big brown eyes and the “eyeliner” that Mom swore you woke up early every morning to put on. I miss touching your soft fur, feeling you snuffle my face and my eyes and my hair. I miss hugging you and calling you Sweet Pea. I miss singing to you when we went downstairs every day for lunch. I miss you, dammit. There isn’t a thing about you I don’t miss. The way you would eat your food, then come find one of us and burp right in our face like it was a “thank you”. The way it felt when you leaned against us, sharing your love with us. The way you used to run out into the yard to see neighbors walking by the fence…the way you used to run back to the house looking happy and “lighter” after you poo’d.

And as I sit here, I remember your last days, and I sob for the pain. I remember sitting on the floor in the dining room, on that atrocious pink carpet you loved to use as a scratching post for your toenails…I was already in pain as I considered what lay ahead of us. That we would have no other option but to let you go, to take away the pain of your disease. I remember posting here, asking for guidance and support, knowing that we had to do the right thing. I remember laying there with the laptop nearby, wishing I could hold you close and never let you go, but knowing even the smallest of caresses could cause you physical pain. I remember touching your paws, hoping it would not be too much for you. I remember using one finger to stroke the spot between your eyes and down your snout, praying it would not bring you pain but give you comfort and show you my love for you. I remember sitting in the family room, begging him to take a picture of the two of us because we had NONE….but only hovering over you because I was afraid to touch you. I hate those pictures. I remember taking you to the vet hospital, and sitting in the car with him, both of us dreading the moments because they were our last with you. Your beautiful gorgeous face, watching us, looking so tired and old and sad…the pain from the meds and the disease having beaten the life from you. And when we arrived, how you tried so hard to get out of the car on your own, but we wouldn’t let you. We were so afraid you would hurt more. The moments when we stood with you in the exam room, as the vet gave you treats to say his goodbye to you. The way you laid there on the table, so trusting and loving, but so tired. I hated every second of it. I hated that we had to do it. I hated that it had to happen. I hated that we had to let you go. It was so bittersweet to see the pain lift from your body as your life ended.

I am literally doubled over in pain, sobbing with the pain of this all. Of the memories. Of the loss. Of the regrets.

I love you, Sweet Pea. I love you, Sweet Pea. I love you my precious beautiful Sweet Pea.

It’s been so many years without my Sweet Pea. 2,190 days…the Polaroid picture of her is still in the exact same place next to my bed, on the corner of my dresser. Every now and then I go look at pictures (other than the one that is the background on my laptop) and a few videos we have of her. On the landing going upstairs, there’s a picture of her front and center on a console table…I never want to forget her smile, or what she brought to my life.

I miss her so much.

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On borrowed (big dog) time

Hub and I have an evening wedding to go to in a few weeks. It’s a formal occasion, which I talked about briefly before when I bitched about having to find a gown and shoes. Hub had to buy a new suit, too, because the pants on his old suit were messed up…even after taking them to the tailor for the last big event we had. Anyway, I digress (already, jeez, I’m only in the first paragraph), because this isn’t about the wedding.

It’s about the dogs.

Who, me?

 

Technically, not so much Butthead, but more about Le Moo.

You can’t see me hiding back here, can you?

 

We’re hiring someone to come dog-sit while we’re at the wedding, mostly because we’re over-protective and we have to be forty minutes away just before dinnertime and who is going to feed our pups? The wedding is a family affair, so anyone who might be able to feed the dogs are all going to be with us at the wedding. So we’re going to hire someone to come to the house, feed the dogs, and hang out for a while to let them out and stuff. This means finding someone to hire, which means telling people about our dogs.

In theory, this is no big deal because we talk about Le Moo and Butthead all the time. You think your friends with new babies are bad? Yeah, they’re amateurs. We love our dogs, we spoil our dogs, we talk about them all the time and will happily explain how cute, adorbs, and completely disobedient they are (which they really aren’t most of the time). So it should have been a cinch to fill out the online profiles for the dogs when searching for a dog-sitter. Until Hub had to fill out their ages. Then he had to try really hard not to cry.

Both our dogs are large. Butthead is a svelte 76lbs…I wish she’d gain weight but she just doesn’t seem to be able to keep it on. I think she’s on the thin side but our vet says she’s a perfect weight. So at least I know she’s not sickly, since he’s happy with her physicality. Le Moo, on the other hand, is always on the…um, chunky side. She vacillates between 84-95lbs. At her highest, it was 95, now on a moderately strict diet she’s probably around 85lbs. She’s a big girl, but her (suggested) breed does indicate a bit of rotundness, so we’re all good with her size (except the vet, of course).

If you know dogs, you know that big dogs don’t live very long, generally speaking. Le Moo supposedly is part Great Pyrenees, and in looking up their life span it says 10-12 years. Le Moo is going to be 10 this fall. Although she’s not really slowing down too much (any slower than her norm and she’d be asleep all the time), we do see a moderate change in her personality. When my Mom’s English Lab got to a certain age, she changed from being completely ball-obsessed and independent to clingy. Le Moo is getting more and more clingy with every passing week. For her, that means she’s seeking our attention much more than she used to, and I find that she’s seeking out Butthead’s companionship more. At night, Le Moo used to sleep far away from Butthead, usually the complete opposite end of the room and sometimes hiding in the closet. Now, she will actively go and sleep right next to Butthead. And when we wake up in the morning, there are more days when she’s still there, rather than on her own bed or in the closet…or somewhere else away from Butthead.

Hub was incredibly upset to realize Le Moo’s age. I guess I’m more obsessive about these things, so I know her age and it’s difficult for me to forget it. I often find myself hugging Le Moo and whispering in her ear that she better not ever leave me. But it’s going to come and I am going to be devastated. I cried for months after we adopted her because I wasn’t over Sweet Pea’s death less than two months prior. As much as I wanted to love Le Moo–I’d picked her out and I’d made the decision with Hub to adopt her–I resented her because she wasn’t Sweet Pea. And she didn’t seem to need or want me in her life. She was so aloof and so independent and I was accustomed to Sweet Pea who was clingy and shadowed me everywhere.

When I realized what was happening and I began working through my grief over Sweet Pea, I came to understand that Le Moo was a different dog. And that she was the dog I needed at that time…and I had to be the owner she needed. Obviously I’ve become incredibly attached to Le Moo, although it is in a different way than SP, and I am terrified of the day she leaves this earth.

I’ll just sleep here so you can’t put the recliner foot rest up or even put your feet on the floor.

 

I watch her when she’s out in the yard, because despite her weight and size, she can move like nobody’s business. If there’s something to be chased, she’s fast and light on her feet. If there’s something REALLY good to chase and bark at, she’ll actually pogo up in the air like she’s on a pogo stick or a trampoline. It’s outstanding and amazing to watch! People who have met her and know her–she mostly acts like a lump–have actually stared in shock when they’ve seen her run or pogo out in the yard. No one understands how she can do it and most won’t believe it until they see it, but it’s true. And so far, she’s still chasing and pogo’ing, so I am happy about that.

I don’t know how she dares even consider leaving this earth, but inevitably it will happen. Hub and I will be devastated. Until then, we continue to love her (and tolerate Butthead) for every moment we have together. Borrowed time or not, she’s still my Ladybug, and I’m going to celebrate all that she is until and then some.

Why yes, this is my ball full of Kix cereal, thanks!

 

Jet plane, night 3, day 4

Yesterday’s blather.

My brother (#2 with the cray-cray ex) called me last evening to see how I was doing. I was kind of surprised but pleased, because I didn’t expect it from him. My father has been checking on me by phone, too.

I did okay last night, though I stayed up late again. I didn’t have any snake nightmares that I remember, but I was so damn exhausted when I turned off the lights and TV that I probably didn’t have the energy to dream. I was up on time to feed the dogs this morning and take them out. No sign of the snake, but I didn’t hang around looking for it either!

After that, I went back to bed, hoping that I could waste some hours by sleeping. I dozed on and off for a couple of hours, but Butthead decided I needed to get my ass out of bed (bark bark bark bark bark bark), so I gave up. Today was the slowest and least active day of the four. I didn’t cook anything or bake anything or clean anything. I ate soup for lunch and leftover takeout food for dinner. And I had gelato as a snack this afternoon because I wanted it.

The snake repellent showed up via Amazon one day delivery. I immediately took it out and sprinkled the smelly crap all over the garden and bushes up against the house. I think the smell kind of freaked out Butthead, but that doesn’t take much. I have no clue if it’ll work, but I guess it makes me feel slightly better to try doing something.

I went to visit my father (which I’ve done every day over these past four days) and spent a little time chatting with him. I talked to Hub a few times, but he’s been busy site-seeing and hanging out with his father and sister. Soon he’ll be on the plane heading home…and I couldn’t be happier. I hope the flight is swift and easy and he can rest as he wings his way home.

Took the dogs out at 10pm and saw no snakes. That was good news. Of course, I let them pee and hurried them back into the house. When Hub is home, he allows Le Moo to lounge on the patio for a while at 10ish, but I wasn’t letting her get away with that. Especially with the potential for snake-lurking.

I’ve got half a book to read, so once it’s done I’ll turn out the lights and try to sleep for a couple of hours. I have my alarm set to get up in the morning and to call my father to wake him. He’ll drive to the airport with me to pick up Hub, since I don’t like to drive the interstate to get to the airport. I mean, I could do it, but I don’t like to and my father likes to help when he can.

I’ll feed the mutts before we head out in the morning, so once Hub gets home he’ll be able to crash and try to get some rest and hopefully ward off too much jet lag. I can’t wait for this night to be over.

Thanks for sticking with me, ya’ll. I really blogged this week so I can remind myself that I was able to do this if I ever have to look back. But honestly, it did help to know you all were rooting for me, too!

Onward with night 4. It leads to a homecoming.

 

Jet plane, night 1 day 2

Day 1 recap.

Last night could have been worse, I guess. I stayed up later than usual–about 1am–but by then I was so tired from being up at 3am and on the going mostly since then that I was able to doze off for a couple of hours at 1. Then I slept fitfully after that, waking up just before my alarm time to feed the dogs. I hit snooze and laid in bed a bit longer…until Butthead woke up and went over to Hub’s side of the bed and began poking at the comforter. I had to try to explain to her that he wasn’t there (did she think he snuck in overnight sometime and she didn’t notice??), but she didn’t seem convinced. It took me a few minutes to get her to follow me downstairs so I could feed her and Le Moo breakfast. After their breakfast and a trip outside, I went back upstairs to bed and dozed for another hour or so.

Today I pretty much distracted myself by chopping and sauteeing a ton of mushrooms to add to my soup when I nuke it for lunch. Then I ate lunch and read a book. I found a Gidget marathon on television, which I pretty much left on all day and only turned off about ten minutes ago and only because it ENDED. At some point after lunch I tried to make my (in)famous peanut butter cookies for the brother who installed my floodlight cam, but I used low fat peanut butter (at his request) instead of regular peanut butter and the cookies came out flat. I have no idea what the issue was, but my brother said they still tasted good, they were just flat instead of puffy. When I took the bags of cookies over to my father’s house for my brother, I stayed for a while to talk about some stuff with Dad. Then we took pictures of some junk he wanted to try to sell on Craigslist (I hate CL) and I came home and listed them. Then I sent some curse-filled email responses to some spammers who responded almost immediately to one of the listings. So that was fun.

Then I read another book and half-watched/half-listened to more episodes of Gidget until it was time for dinner. Fed the dogs, outed the dogs, cleaned up after the dogs’ outing, then made myself some dinner. Half leftovers, half food I cooked myself. While I was eating, my brother sent me a text with a picture of a teeny tiny baby deer that was curled up next to his house. He spotted it while he was mowing and was concerned it was injured.

By the time Dad and Brother went inside to find a phone number for animal control and then returned outside, the little booger had disappeared. I suspect it was hiding there in the “tall” grass waiting until the riding mower stopped and the stupid people disappeared. We have a pretty big herd of deer living in our back property, so I assume this little baby got separated and was waiting for mama to return for it.

At this point, I’m tucked in upstairs after taking the dogs out a couple of more times during the evening. The hall lights are on, the bedroom door is locked, the dogs have finally settled in. I’m pretty sure both dogs are confused as to where Hub is, but no matter how much I explain they just give me the same look. Right now I’m tired and in some pain from all the extra activity, but I’m managing.

I’ve heard from Hub a couple of times today. He didn’t sleep well last night–he never does away from home–and his schedule today with his father seemed…odd. They “ran errands” and did a little bit of touristy site-seeing of some beaches. His father was SO hyped to have Hub out there to visit, but they don’t seem to be doing much. And Hub is counting the days to getting back home more than I am. Tomorrow evening is the wedding, so they won’t be doing much else other than that.

I’ve got another book here with me and I’ve got the nightly news on TV. I might rent or catch a movie on TV after the news until I’m too tired to stay awake anymore. Last night I caught the tail end/hour of YaYa Sisiterhood because I couldn’t find anything else. Tonight…well who knows? Tomorrow I go to see my massage therapist in the morning, but I’m getting a RELAXING massage instead of trigger point. Something to look forward to.

Day 2 completed, night 1 completed. I’m almost halfway through. I can do this.

Tomorrow’s low-down.

 

Jet plane, day 1

We dropped Hub off this morning at 4:15am for his flight. After I got home and let the dogs out, I instant messaged with Hub until he boarded the plane at 5:45. By then I’d already fed the dogs and gotten back into bed. I dozed for a few hours, then got up and went about my day. For the most part I felt like Hub was at work and I allowed myself to just be that way. I’ve almost read two books and I pretty much had movies on the TV all day, although mostly they were movies I’d already seen. I had Mama Mia! on the TV maybe three times at random points through the movie, because I like singing those songs and they passed the time more easily. Hairspray was on at least once, too.

I’ve done okay for most of the day. Unfortunately, around 9:30pm tonight, Butthead freaked out and had her tail tucked under and was barking hysterically while backing her way into the bedroom where I was reading and watching TV. I went out into the hallway and checked all the rooms up here (she refused to follow me and instead ran down the stairs), but I have no idea what her major malfunction was. I took them out in the darkness, but luckily it was a little rainy, so both dogs ran out and peed and ran right back to the door to go in. So we kind of settled into the bedroom at that point and after some treats and wandering around, they both have settled in. I suspect they are also exhausted from starting their day at 3am.

I’ve talked to Hub twice on the phone and a few more times on instant messenger. He seems to be okay but the last we talked about an hour ago, he was sounding just exhausted. I hope he’s going to sack out soon, even though it’s pretty early in the evening out there. He said he kept moving his legs around on the plane, even though first class wasn’t as roomy as he’d hoped, and that he felt okay when he deboarded. Is that a word? Deboarded? What else do they call it? Anyway, he says he felt okay and when I talked to him later he said he was feeling okay just tired from the long day.

I was happy to hear from my SIL by phone (I couldn’t figure out the damn facetime thing through FB’s messenger) after she opened my gift to her for her wedding. I crocheted her a blanket that turned out to be about queen size (the pic below is spread out on a king size guest bed) in these amazing colors that made me think of her. Hub’s father said she has walls in her house painted in yellow and orange, so I found this awesome yarn and went to town. Took me several months (and a lot of pain) to get the blanket done, but apparently she loved it a lot. Made me feel like the work was worth it.

I saw my father earlier when I took the dogs out this afternoon and he reminded me that I could stay at his house overnight or whatever. I said I was going to try to stay home, but if I had any issue I would just hike over there with the dogs and stay there. Around 8:30pm tonight he called to see how I was doing and how my day had gone. Then he reminded me that if I had any trouble I should just let myself into his house no matter what time it was. Then he gave me his late-night schedule so I would know how late he would be awake, but then he told me again to just come over whenever I need to.

I’m not sure if I’ll be able to sleep tonight or not. I still have some reading left in my second book of the day and a youtube video to watch for a channel I subscribe to. I dunno…I’m locked in the bedroom with the dogs and I’m sure I’m safe (even though I’m kind of worried that I locked the bedroom door and if someone needs to get in here to rescue me for some reason the locked door will be an issue), but it’s still weird. I kind of hope I’ll be tired enough to fall asleep at some point.

I had my regular soup for lunch and leftover takeout for dinner, so eating wasn’t a major issue today. I have more takeout again for tomorrow night’s dinner if I want it, and I (pressure) cooked up a fresh pot of my lunch-soup this morning so I have enough for the rest of the week. It’s boring, but I eat soup most days of the week for lunch because it means I don’t have to think about it. I dump it in a bowl, add some sauteed mushrooms, and nuke it…easy-peasy no thinking. Also, the soup is bean soup, so it’s pretty healthy…protein and fiber and veggies and carbs, all-in-one.

That’s pretty much it for today. One down, three more to go.

Next installment…

 

He’s leaving on a jet plane

Fortunately, I know when he’ll be back again.

But right now, that doesn’t really help. Tomorrow morning we’ll be driving Hub to the airport at 4am so he can catch a 6am flight to California for his sister’s wedding. And then I’ll come home and it’ll be me here with the dogs.

I had my appointment with T today and we talked all about this. I’ve got my plans made for the four days and four nights he’ll be gone, which include A LOT OF BOOKS from the library and a massage scheduled for Tuesday. Plus, I figure I’ll be renting lots of movies either from amazon prime or our on-demand cable television. And if things get bad enough, I’ll go spend time at my father’s house with the dogs. Not sure I want to sleep there because taking the dogs and all their paraphernalia will be a pain in the ass. Additionally, T reminded me to text her if I need to talk to her. I suspect I’ll be reading a lot of books to waste the time, both day and night, and napping on and off during all hours. Mostly I’ll be scheduling myself around dogs’ schedules for food and trips outside…and then trying to nap when they are sleeping.

Also, to prepare, we bought a security camera floodlight thing, that alerts me if there’s movement outside the door…and I can open the app and see live video of what’s going on (and it records the video if I miss the alert). It also turns on the floodlights with movement at night, along with low-light live (and recorded) video. So, at least I have that extra bit of security for myself.

Part of what I talked to T about is the fact that I don’t really know how to be without Hub anymore. I know how to be alone when he’s here (or at work), but I don’t know how to be alone when he’s not HERE. I’ve known him for longer than I’ve NOT known him. It’s been years since we’ve had any major separation (4 since his parents’ accident where he was gone for 3 days unexpectedly, but closer to 8 years for anything longer than those couple of days), and at that point I had my parents helping me while I stayed at their house…and we had Sweet Pea, who was easy as pie to take care of. Now I have this big house and I have Butthead, who requires a lot of energy and close watch. And I don’t have my mom nearby to hang out with when I get lonely, sad, or scared.

Another part of my concern is that Hub has health issues. He has diabetes (with minor leg and feet circulation problems), high blood pressures, and has a history of supra-ventricular tachycardia. I mostly am worried about him getting a blood clot in his leg from the traveling in the airplane…and even worse I’m worried that he won’t realize there’s something wrong. Or he’ll think whatever it is that is wrong isn’t a big deal and he’ll ignore it and not get to a doctor. Or that he’ll ignore it and get on the plane to come home and make it worse. The possible thought of losing him–especially considering how hard it’s been to lose my mother–is really overwhelming. I’ve been trying really hard NOT to impose my fears on him. The only thing I suggested is that he try to keep moving his feet and legs around on the plane just because of his circulation issues…and that’s all I said.

The probability of him having any kind of major problem is pretty low. The probability of me having any kind of major problem is pretty low. I have to just keep reminding myself that we’ll get through this. A week from now it will be over and we’ll be back to normal programming.

Until then, I am trying not to judge how I am handling things. I’m going to do my best to do my best, and then whatever happens happens.

(day one post)

 

 

 

Finding connections

I wasn’t sure what to do this year about mother’s day. Last year I sent Hub off to his mother’s house without me, and I spent part of the day with my brother and his then wife (now ex-wife). I talked with T about this on Friday, because I feel some guilt about not going to my mother-in-law’s to be with her, but I just am not ready yet this year. I know she understands–as does Hub–but I am at heart a people-pleaser, and so the guilt sat heavy with me. In the end, though, I couldn’t make myself go.

My father had mentioned to me Friday evening that he was going to go to the cemetery to visit my mother’s grave and he asked if I wanted to go. I didn’t answer him at that point, but Sunday morning when I saw him, he brought it up again. He said he knew it made me feel “uncomfortable”, but he wanted to make the offer for me to join him. I tried to be gentle in responding when I said to him, “I don’t feel uncomfortable about going, but the truth is, I don’t feel a connection to Mom there. I don’t feel it to Nana and Papa, either…it doesn’t work that way for me.” (my grandparents are buried in the plots next to my mother). For real, I feel more of a connection to my mother in her “den” closet, where she had a bunch of books stashed on a bookshelf…gardening, trees, cookbooks…I stumbled on them at one point and ended up crying. Because that’s my mother. The cemetery is just a marker for her physical body’s last resting place, but it has no history for me with her. My father only said OK and that he was okay to go alone, which I had to trust was true.

Somewhere around ten a.m., I texted my brother (the one with the ex-wife) to see what he was doing that afternoon. He said “nothing”, so I asked if he wanted to do something. What I really wanted to do was go back to the nursery where Mom and I used to go all the time, and where he and I went after she died. I also offered up the opportunity for him to come to my house to help me bake peanut butter cookies, which he (and my other brother) scarf up as fast as I can make them. His response was a preference to go to the garden center, so in some corner of my mind I knew it was the right thing to do. Even Hub said as much when I told him my plans for the afternoon while he was with his mother…he said my mom would be happy to know I was spending time there with my brother.

So after lunch, my brother and I set out for the nursery, which is about 20 minutes away. We talked a lot in the car about how he’s been doing with his depression and his medication, as well as some other health issues he’s dealing with. But once at the nursery, we talked about plants. We walked around the big place for about two hours–which leaves me exhausted and in pain today unfortunately–just chattering and touching plants and gagging over the high prices. We bought absolutely nothing, but it was worth the time and energy and pain, because it felt right. This brother and I, we have always been the closest of the siblings–with the exception of his married life where he withdrew from the whole family…and even then I tried to stay in touch with him as much as it was possible–so this connection felt good to renew. I know he’s struggling with his depression and his newly single life and his desire for a partner and…well, lots of stuff. And part of today was to remind him that he’s not alone. Doing that for my mom and for him made the day work for me.

I miss my mother so terribly. Every day. I feel like my identity without her has been lost. I don’t know how to get it back…yet. I’m still searching, and maybe someday I’ll find my purpose again.

I described (to T and a friend) the run-up to mother’s day as “being poked with a cattle prod when you’re already on fire”…and it’s true. That’s so much how I felt with all the television commercials and the holiday displays in all the stores and the radio commercials and facebook and instagram and on and on. I worry that it will always feel this way, this painful, this sad, this lost. Living without my mom has changed my life and changed me at my core. I don’t know how to adjust to that, or that adjustment is even possible. Somehow, I have to find a way forward. Last night I watched Bad Moms on television while Hub was still at his mother’s. There’s a point in the movie where Mila Kunis is talking to her movie daughter and she basically says, “I know you can make it through this because I’m your mother and I know what you’re made of.” It was such a dumb, funny, stupid, crazy movie, but that scene and those words (which I can’t remember exactly) really hit me hard. I know my mother believed in me and believed in my strength and my ability to persist. I hope I can find a way to continue to make her proud in that aspect as I try to find my way.

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As a minor update, I finished all my bactrim pills successfully. I don’t know how much I feel better, but so far it seems the smell is gone, so I take that as success. I wasn’t too much more itchy the last day and half, so that was good. My stomach isn’t entirely back to normal yet, but I know the bactrim stays in your system for several days following the last pill. So hopefully another couple of days and my stomach will be better.