The Best Dog in the Whole Wide World

My good girl died two days ago. I felt the sting the day I heard she had cancer. I felt it the day I let her go.  But I've also been functioning fairly well 'cause she was "just a dog."

My "just a dog" warmed our home the day we picked her up. She enriched the lives of our children and pretty much anybody who met her. She was calm and fun and patient and happy and loving and gentle. And she was beautiful. 

She tolerated dogs, but she LOVED people. She was a people dog. And a people pleaser -- until she got to be about 12 or 13 and occasionally only wanted to do what she wanted to do.  😉

She loved Harvey so much...and he loved her. He introduced her to swimming (which she loved) and he took her on pretty much all of the trails of Galbraith after he was diagnosed in 2011. She would sit outside with him when he did yard work or sit nearby when he was doing wood work in the garage. They were buds.

She'd run outside with great enthusiasm when the girls (in their middle school days) would start running towards the door and say "to the woods!"  She'd hang outside with them when they did and was happy just BEING with them. 

When Harvey went to hospice, we found out that we could take her there with us. She heard Harvey stirring in the night and stood up to check on him. And the last words Harvey said were "Lie down, Raney"... and she did. 

She had a few medical things during her 14 years and she was so good about whatever treatment was required. It started with allergy shots and neither she nor I enjoyed the shots, but she was a good girl. She hated having her ears cleaned after swimming or if she needed medications, but she handled that with grace -- if such a thing can be. She tolerated surgeries well and the healing time required afterwards.

When Clemmie joined the family, Raney was patient until she had to make a thing or two very clear. Clemmie knew Raney was the boss, but she also took advantage of her patience and good nature. Raney almost always let Clemmie "steal" her toy or her stick or the attention. One of Clemmie's favorite things was to ambush Raney when we'd be on walks in the woods. She'd run ahead and find a good spot on a hill and then run down and "attack" Raney. Raney got to where she could see what was happening and she'd try to find a spot behind a tree so Clemmie couldn't knock her down. She didn't fuss at her, though. She'd just try to avoid her. 

During her last couple of months, she seemed like she had a burst of energy. She was so happy to be in the woods and she would gallop to catch  up after she had stopped to eat lots of wood from decaying trees. 😊  She was able to walk further than she had been doing and with more energy.

I do remember wondering - while witnessing her verve for life - if this was the calm before the storm. But I just didn't expect to be told that she had cancer. I guess no one does. I was so happy and pleased that she made it to 14 and seemed healthy, that the cancer just kinda snuck up.

She was diagnosed on Sunday and she was gone by mid-day on Tuesday. She was ready. 

I have been sad. I have cried. I haven't anticipated the physiological effects of grief, though. I mean she's "just a dog."  But the fact of the matter is that all of me is grieving. I'm functioning. I'm living life...but I am grief-exhausted. 

Many of you have heard me say this, but when Harvey and I got Raney, we told each other that we were gonna need six months bereavement leave 'cause she was so good.

My "just a dog" is one of the very best gifts I've ever been given.

She leaves a giant hole in the world.

Feeling

I'm not really sure when it started. My recollection is that I used to be able to really feel my feelings. My best guess is that I started to cut myself off after my parents died and Laura got cancer. 

That was a lot for one year. 

And that was followed by more sickness and death over the next seven years...

Allllll while trying to continue regular family life and help my children move through their regular school years and be a caregiver to my sick husband and stay positive and hopeful in the midst of some pretty shitty stuff. 

At some point, I unconsciously had to choose between taking the time to be sad or angry or scared and taking the time to manage my family's regular and not-so-regular routine. I unconsciously made the decision to put feelings aside. That's not to say there weren't times when I let myself get sad; I did. But not many times. And if I did get sad, it had to be fast. I had things to take care of.

One of those things was to keep a blog (one for Harvey and one for Laura) so that friends and family could stay updated about all things cancer in the lives of those I loved (still do!). Even in the keeping of the blog, it was business. And I made an effort to end most posts on a positive note. Couldn't just plain be sad. 

Even during the very last days of Harvey's life, I spent precious time writing blog posts or Facebook posts and now that I think about it, those were also ways for me not to feel. If I wrote it down in a reporting kind of way, then it was "business." 

Precious time. Precious time when I could have just BEEN with my family. 

I sometimes flash back to those moments with a twang of guilt...while also trying to forgive myself for mistakes. I had never had a REAL front row seat to the prolonged process of watching someone die.  I was learning how. And if I had it to do over again (and I really don't want to), I would do it differently in many ways. 

I'm currently seeing a counselor who is helping me learn not to resist FEELING things. We're just in the early stages and it's going to be a process, I'm sure, but I'm becoming aware of the many situations where I've tried and am trying not to feel.

The other day we were discussing my aging dog and how I wanted to skip all the hard stuff of her being sick. Somehow we got around to talking about me resisting her death (She's not currently dying but she's an old lady.).  I argued that I wasn't. But then the counselor said "You're not resisting losing her; you're resisting FEELING the loss." And that caused me to FEEL. A lot. She got me! 

Tears are streaming down my face as I write this. I can't even tell you all the reasons why, but I am definitely feeling something tonight. 

How does a person balance FEELING and not being a drag to everybody around her? How can we be honest when people ask how we are and not overwhelm them with all that swirls in our deeply FEELING hearts? 

I've got some work to do. 

You Live On

Almost six years... 

Forever and just yesterday.

I feel like I've done pretty well. 

I miss you so much. 

And I have learned how to live without you.

I feel like I've gotten past the intense grieving of the early days... 

...but it occurred to me that when I miss you most lately is when our girls show signs of you with their accomplishments.

They have all chosen paths that have you in the midst... project manager, computer lady with artistic computery gifts and excellent Canadian student with the gift of writing. All dreaming big dreams and goin' for 'em. 

That doesn't sum them up. They are much more.

But you are definitely in them. 

Project Manager

Canadian Student Born Abroad

Artistic Computer Savvy Professional

Girls who love to laugh! ❤️

What kinda kills me is that I can't sit around after dinner talking with you about how proud we are of them all.  I know you know. I know you see them. I just wish we could marvel together. 

So thankful for the life you lived. 

That you chose me. 

That we shared these good girls. 

That you live on in them. 

You are the gift that keeps on giving. 

Love you, Harv.

Trapped

I was a daughter.
I was a wife.
I was (am) a mother.
I was a caregiver.
I am a widow.

I am a person floating somewhere between what was and what is yet to be.

I feel like my life is full and empty at the same time.

Who am I?

If you were here, what would we be doing?

If you were here, would we have chosen this house together?

Would we both be watching the news?

Would you love Clemmie and her crazy self?

Would you climb on the ladder to check the gutters?

Would you be wearing multiple layers 'cause it's cold in this house?

Would you chat with the neighbors and befriend the new babies?

Would you and the neighbor share hedge trimming duties?

Would we sit on this sofa and marvel at how great our children have turned out?

Would you help with house projects for our children?

Would we discuss how grateful we are for the good things and how sad we are for the hard things in our extended family's lives?

Would we travel to see our children and explore their cities?

Would you follow me around the house like you always planned to do when you retired?

Would you go on fun adventures with me? What would those be?

Goodness.

Life sure is sumpthin' itn't it?

Miss you.

Growth

I cried when you were born because I didn't know how to take care of a baby -- much less, two babies.

I cried when you went to preschool because it seemed like such a big step.

I cried when you first rode the bus to school.  All of the possibilities and fears and what-ifs.

I cried when you asserted yourself and wanted to do what you wanted to do.

(And yet, I rejoiced all the days when you'd run to greet me at the playground fence when I drove by in the middle of the day.)

I cried when you first walked through the doors of middle school. Way bigger. Way scarier than elementary school.

(And yet, I rejoiced because you kept hugging me goodbye and kept saying "I love you." as I dropped you off for the day.)

I cried when I couldn't fix things that weren't going like you wanted them to go.

I cried when you went to high school and I got a glimpse of even more independence.

(And yet. You were still warm and welcoming when you'd see me at school or at cross country meets.)

I cried when you went to college -- for a number of reasons -- but one more step of independence... More out of sight. More on your own. More decisions to be made without my input.

I cried when you traveled abroad. I cried when you came home. I cried when you moved to a new city. I cried when you started making plans for study far, far away.

Alllll of the times a mother has to let go never, ever prepare her for the next time she has to do it.

A mother doesn't know how to mother until she's given the gift of children.

And then a mother doesn't know how NOT to mother.

She practices and practices how to loosen her grip, but the lesson of mothering goes way below the surface.

How does a mother learn to let go? How does she release some of the illusion of control? How does she keep her little babies close and let them grow up at the same time? How does she encourage independence and joy and exploration and discovery and love and growth while still having the urge to hold her babies close and never let them leave the nest?

How does she rediscover herself as her self? What is she now that she's no longer a full-time wife and mother? What are her hopes and dreams? What are her wishes for her very own self? Where does she begin the next phase of her life? What can she do that is fulfilling and beneficial (not just for herself) that no longer has a real emphasis on mothering?

Every grief has layers.

And yet -- while there is grief in letting go, there is also hope...

Hope.

It's a very good word.

Happy Sad

So, I've been thinking about downsizing for quite a while...even before Harv died. I've thought for a while that it'd be a good idea to downsize before I had to or even really wanted to... And at least a year ago -- or maybe more than that, I started the search.

My dream was to find a home that had a great view of the bay and was one story and had a small yard. There were quite a few homes with great views, but the combo of small, one-story and small yard didn't always come with that. And I didn't want an increase in the price of my home. Ideally, I'd spend less.  But the housing here in this part of the world is crazy. And, while my home has increased in value over the years, so have many others that are even smaller.

I looked on Redfin. I looked as I drove around town. My realtor searched. We went to a few homes. There were a couple that were kinda tempting but still didn't feel exactly right.  

And then one day, this house showed up on Redfin. My realtor sent me a text about it, too. It's older, but has been nicely renovated and really felt right as soon as I went inside. It doesn't have a view of the bay, but it's in a neighborhood that feels pretty cozy. 

Long story short, it all worked out and the house became mine today.

As I drove to sign the papers this morning, I cried. It just seemed so huge. You'd think they would've been tears because of leaving this house where we've lived and loved and shared lots of things for 18 years. I'm sure it was some of that, but it really just felt so HUGE to be buying my very own place.

Almost wrong and not wrong at the same time to be moving on with my life.

When I arrived at my new house with the dogs this afternoon, I took them for a walk in the nearby park...and I sobbed. I can't really explain it. I know there's lots of emotion in this whole picture, but I can't identify exactly what the tears are for...

But what I think is that it's happiness, excitement, fear, sadness, grief, joy, anticipation, and probably a million more emotions that I can't identify.

So thankful for the life I shared with Harv. So thankful for the life I have. So thankful for all that is to come...