Looking for the next stage

I want to stop hurting. But I can't. I know there will come a day when my hurt, the actual lump in my chest, will change to smiles that warm my heart and make me grin, instead of cry. I am anxious for that change. I will it. I long for it. I am tired of sad. Even though I am trying, it won't come to me, yet. I guess it is true that mourning and grief is a process. It has space and dimension. It even has stages:
1. SHOCK & DENIAL-
2. PAIN & GUILT-
3. ANGER & BARGAINING-
4. "DEPRESSION", REFLECTION, LONELINESS-
5. THE UPWARD TURN-
6. RECONSTRUCTION & WORKING THROUGH-
7. ACCEPTANCE & HOPE-
I guess it is stage 4 that I am currently in, longing for the "Upward
Turn." It sounds so inviting. But I still can't find the joy of planning a
trial schedule. I can't imagine the zeal of working through a new training challenge. I assume that is because I am still working through stage 4. The stages say not to be talked out of stage 4. I guess that would include ME trying to talk my way out. It isn't working, so I might as well take the advice given. Work through it. It is a necessary step towards the turn upwards. I know in so many ways, my loss was a simple relationship, a dog. It wasn't a life changing loss like so many others. I think about people in my life who have experienced huge losses: spouses and children, parents and friends, jobs and homes. I have had other losses in my life, I have lost my parents, I have had good friends die in tragedy, I have had loved ones disappear from my life in an instant and I have lost other "best friends;" dogs, partnerships with man's best friend. This time, I am missing my dog. Who is to judge the level of grief you feel for each loss in your life. This may seem like a small loss to some, but to me, it has been big enough to stop me in my tracks. I am still missing all of my loved ones. That doesn't ever change. But I also know from these previous losses that the lift does comes. Grief is a ball of barbed wire that you carry in your gut. It is heavy and bites into you at every turn. I will accept this time, if that is what is required of me. Just know that I have wire cutters, sitting here next to me. I am ready to attack the wire at a moments notice. Wait for it.

"How are you, today?"

There comes a time when you have to quit answering the
question: “How are you?” with: “I just lost my dog, he died of cancer, too
young.” There comes a time that people
will look at you and say, “Wasn’t that 3 weeks ago, a month ago, a year?” There also comes a time when, even though all
I want to do is talk about the devastation I feel, I don’t want to continue to
make people feel badly for me. Many
people understand my loss, the loss of my special dog, the surrogate for the
child I never had. Many people get it,
that, yes, it is a dog, not a child, but, to me, it is all mixed up in my heart. I know there has got to be a time frame for
grief. Maybe it’s a time frame for “public”
grief. Again, the happy ending. Do people really want the real answer to that
question: “How are you, today?” It never seems so. Most of the time, you get or give the answer:
“Fine, and you;” expecting the same quick retort of “Fine, thanks.” But as friends and colleagues, family and acquaintances,
shouldn’t we want the long version, the truth? I recently read an article about good marriage
relationships. The premise of the
article was that, with your partner, you should give all the little details of
your day, bring your mate into your day, give it and receive it. That is how a relationship maintains itself. Share your thoughts about this or that you
saw; the good luck of getting all the lights on your way home; how you felt
when someone said something to you earlier, etc. That being a partner means knowing what your
real day was actually like. Maybe that
is where my confusion about the question in a greeting comes from: “How are
you?” No one out there really wants to
know. But we all want that partner in
our lives, someone who does want the full version of how I am. So even when it is time to put on your brave
face to the world, you will be able to take off your mask with them. This partner can be a friend, a parent, a
spouse…..a dog. Thus my dilemma. I lost my dog, three weeks ago (my friend, my
child, my confidant, my Partner.) I do
have people in my life; I count my blessings every day, for my husband, my
sisters, and my friends. I am
lucky. But when I ask myself, how am I,
I don’t feel quite ready to answer, “Fine, and you?” Just yet.

Grief Counselors come in all Species

In the haze of my life without Partner, I find myself renewing my relationship with Benna. Benna is my other Aussie, she is three, a blue merle, very white and she is a looker. When
I got Benna, I had a really hard time dividing my attention between two active,
intelligent dogs. Ask everyone, especially Betsy, my training buddy. She had to
listen to my concerns on a daily basis, how I worrying about neglecting one for
the other. I don't know how parents of multiple children do it. It is so easy
to be partial, so difficult to be fair. Partner was my special dog, true to his
name. Benna was my little girl, independent and spirited. Where Partner was my
shadow, Benna was busy. When Partner was growing up and developing, he would go
to work with me every day. Robert was working then and no good dog parent would
leave an active puppy alone for 9 hours a day, so off he would go with me.
Crates, toys, food would be packed every day, into the car. When Benna was
little and a new arrival, Robert was retired. As I loaded up the puppy and
packed the car, it seemed silly, waving good-bye to someone who was willing to
be home with the puppy. In hind sight, I have learned what I lost in this trade
off. True, Benna didn't have to spend long days at the clinic, in a crate, broken
up by bonding, valuable, training "Mom time." Instead she got to run
free at home, unsupervised by a retired man with his own agenda. Of course that
is all behind us now. Benna has developed into a good dog. So far she has
earned an alphabet soup of titles behind her name, CGC, CD, NA, NAJ, OA, OAJ,
AX, AXJ, NF, and is well on her way to some more letters to be added to the mix. She is a
good girl, but she was never directly by my side, Partner was there. Thus the
guilt. I always felt guilty about that. Partner would always be at my feet,
following me around the house, Benna maybe would be there. She was too busy to
keep too close of a tab on me. But now that the spot at my feet is available, I
find Benna there. She is there right now. She isn't off finding things to do,
she is there, sleeping, waiting for me to move, to touch her. Partner has only
been gone for not quite two weeks. I have been leaning on Benna in his absence
and I feel guilty about that too. I feel badly that it isn't Partner. I felt
guilty I hadn't been able to share my floor space equally before. I now feel guilty for
letting Benna fill the emptiness in my day.
Over the years, I have had to be a grief counselor for clients who have lost pets. So often the thing I heard the most was how they would never have another dog. It was too painful. I would
always be reminded about a poem I had read, years before. It was written by a
dieing dog as his last will. The dog said he wanted to leave his ball to the
next dog that he hoped would some day come into his owner's life. The dog felt
it would be a tribute to their love that they had shared in this life, that the man
couldn't live without the love of a dog in his life. That their love had been
so necessary and fulfilling that life without that kind of love wouldn't be
worth it. So, what I need to do now is believe that Partner felt that way. That
he left that spot of floor, next to me, to Benna. That he knew I couldn't live
a good life without "my dog" vigilant by my side. So, writing this is
helping me get past my guilt.
(Partner's last will: To Benna, I leave the spot on the floor next to Mary Ann's feet. I leave it vacant so you have room to move there. Keep Mary Ann busy, figuring out how to train you. She enjoys teaching, be a good student. Give her your backside to rub and scratch, give your face to kiss and your eyes to gaze into. Be right there, she will always reach down to feel
for your presence. Be there in my spot, now your spot. That is a precious location;
I lived there for a short time, now it is yours to live there for a long time.
Take care of it and of her, Benna, I leave it all to you. )
Thank you, Partner, for reminding me of that poem I read so long ago. Thank you for being my grief counselor as I work my way through to the memories that make smile instead of cry. And thank you for putting Benna right here by my side for me. I hope to keep her busy now.

An Empty Collar

I now have an empty collar, sitting on my desk. It use to hold my laughing boy dog. Now it sits, at the base of my desk lamp, empty. What do you do with such mementos? They are priceless, with the DNA that surely is attached, microscopically to the leather. But instead of hugs and kisses, romps in the yard, rides in the car and days at the dog shows, it will sit there, on my desk and simply collect dust. I can't let that happen, but its usefulness is no longer required. My boy is gone. He hung on as long as he could, but we lost the battle yesterday. I have an assortment of these collars in my house. They have moved from beloved necks, to spots on my desk, then to memory boxes on the shelf. I can not let them go. I can't imagine the day that this collar will go into a memory box. I want the neck back. I want to slip it over those Aussie ears and hear the jingle of the tag as it bounces along beside me. I am not ready to let it sit: still, in its new spot. My desk is a good spot,though, I think. That collar was always within arms reach, lifting if I looked its way, moving if I moved along. Now it will be right here. Watching over me, making me remember, as if I needed it to do that. I will miss having that collar along for the ride. I can hardly stand it, how I feel the ache in my fingers, with no hair to get tangled into. My eyes can now rest on that motionless tag as it hangs from the lamp. Right there, a breath away from me now. A loved breath gone. Help me process the loss. Help me remember the love. Rest peacefully and please, wait for me, I have the collar which said, on its tag, that you were mine.

Happy Endings

What I have noticed since Partner's poor prognosis of cancer is that people don't want to accept my bad news. Being an extroverted personality, I process by sharing my thoughts and feelings. As soon as I tell my bad news: "Partner has cancer, it doesn't look good," I immediately get story after story about so and so had a dog and it lived 12 years with lymphoma, or I had a dog with hemangiosarcoma and it lived 6 years after the diagnosis or Partner will beat it, he'll be just fine. What I have found is that people want it to be good news, not bad news. They want that happy ending. What is leaves in it's place, is me feeling like a heal for saying the facts, no, not this time, it is bad, he won't live much longer, he feels great now, but it is a matter of a short time left. Then they argue with me. But the truth is, hemangiosarcomas are bad. If you get the correct diagnosis from the lab, it is a matter of time before the next tumor ruptures and they bleed out. It is almost always a matter of a few months. But it is possible that you don't get the right diagnosis. I was talking today with Dr. Eckert, Partner's vet, and he was saying how over the years, he has seen many a wrong diagnosis from the labs. This is when it makes it look like a dog with hemangiosarcomas lives for 12 years, when in matter of fact, it was only a hematoma on the spleen and it was curred when the spleen was removed and then, the dog can live out its life. Or on the flip side, you get the hematoma diagnosis, no cancer, and the dog dies in 2 months. Oops again on the lab. So, what I have started to do, when people want the miracle, is to agree and thank those who are wishing their happy ending on my dog. What I needed was a sympathetic ear, a listener to help me process my sad story. But what people need is to fix it, make it better. It was two months ago, yesterday since Partner's surgery. Since that day, he has gone to two dog shows, finished his 1/2 MACH, filled his crate with blue ribbons from preferred agility when I moved him down to an easier level. He goes with me as often as I can take him, he has done his tricks for many, snuggled and licked to his hearts content with a few. He gets all the bowls and spoons to lick, he has gone on some fund raiser walks and does his obedience on a regular basis, it is play for him. He is enjoying life. But his body is covered with tumors, there are at least 12 as big as a peach pit, one on his shoulder as big as two fists, multiple blue lesions on his skin and the color of his gums is very pale. But it is still a happy ending, for now. He is mine, I love him, he is playing, eating and getting the best spot on the bed. So I don't know if it will be tonight or next week when I lose him. I am preparing. But if I see you tonight, I will agree, he might be beating the odds, but look closer, I may be shaking my head in agreement, but I am crying inside. I dread tomorrow or next week. But I do still get my happy ending: Partner has touched my life, my heart squeezes when I look into his eyes. I always say that he hangs on my eyes with his own. He wants to know what I am saying, what I am thinking. This I will miss. I will miss everything about him. Thanks for listening.

Partner

I just got the news that my dog, Partner, has cancer. It is hemangiosarcoma. We found it when he was loosing blood on Sunday, so he was pale and not interested in eating. I have always said, if Partner misses a meal, it will be time to dig a hole. Well the joke wasn't far off. His blood loss led us to emergency surgery where we found many masses on his spleen, which was removed. When the biopsy came back, we got the diagnosis. This type of cancer is in the blood and goes everywhere. It moves quickly so the prognosis is very bad. Since the surgery, he feels wonderful. He is hungry again, bossy, anxious to work and play. He is loving and insistent on giving his affection. These qualities are why he is my special boy. 8 years ago, when I took him to puppy class, the teacher wanted us to find a nick name of sorts, that we were to use when talking about the dogs to our families. That way the dog wouldn't have his name over used or diluted. We chose, THE BOY. The funny things is, months later, when talking to my husband about the dog, we used the nick name we had chosen. I said, did you notice how THE BOY .... what ever. On the use of THE BOY, Partner's ears went up and his undivided attention was locked onto me. Oops. Every since that day, he has had two names. Not exactly what the puppy teacher had intended, but nothing gets his attention so quickly as saying something about THE BOY. He is THE BOY, my boy and he always will be.

So the next few weeks or months, which ever it turns out to be, will be full filling Partner's bucket list. I know what is on that list, every other entry is: to eat. He would sell his soul for food. Now most people would say that about every dog they ever owned. But Partner takes hist addiction to food over board. I have photos of him, licking his chops and memories of soaked clothing from a drooling, begging dog who is watching me eat. He becomes deaf and blind in the presence of food. I always have said that I never met a carbohydrate I didn't like. Well, Partner says: I never met a potential food molecule of food, not worth checking out. For example, he eats drier lint. Since I carry treats in my pockets, drier lint has potential food molecules. He is drawn to dust bunnies or scraps of trash, or lighter colored rocks or grass, all potential, left behind molecules of food. This has been a problem during his showing career. In the show ring, often you will have hair lint or chalk marks or stickers marking places on the floor. All have been investigated and have resulted in points lost in our performance. Tote bags left hanging on the show ring gates could hold treasures of food. All bring Partner to them like magnets from the north pole. Distraction training comes to mind. Sure, great idea, yeah, lets do that. You can't over ride his thirst for molecules of food potential. It is like E=MC2. Proven and powerful. Now, in hind sight, it is funny and makes me smile. But on the days he left an agility run to check out potential food, on those days it wasn't so funny. But he is my boy and I understand the distraction called food.

First on his bucket list is affection and licking time. Partner's licker is well exercised. For 8 years he has licked his sister Amber's ears as if they were gum drops. He would sit and lick and chew on her ears like a drug. She could have stopped it, but she never did. We lost Amber two months ago and guess who has taken up the slack, yep, me. He wants to kiss and lick me, non stop. I have pushed that pesky dog off my lap hundreds of times, but how can I call him pesky now. How can I forgo one second of his lap time, knowing it is such a short time that I have left with him. Bucket List: 1. lick Mom, 2. eat, 3. play agility, 4. eat, 5. divert Benna from all games with Mom.

Benna has been a constant thorn in Partner's side. From the day she showed up, Partner has been annoyed. I have dogs that come and go to our house on a regular basis. Partner has always been the most gracious of hosts. He never gives other dogs a second glance once in our house. They come, he sniffs them, then shows them the dog door to the back yard. But I brought that 7 week old puppy in, on that first day, set her down and he attacked. The attack was like what a big uncle might do, no injury but adamant domain expression. It was immediate. He could tell this one was different. Mom was different about this one. Who knew I should never play poker. The first time they both were at an agility set up was at a show and go we were doing. I arrived first to finish getting ready for the day. I let the dogs out of the car to allow them to run around. Partner ran down to the fence line, made an obvious visual scan of the set up and whipped around to pin point Benna's where abouts and lunged at her. In no uncertain terms, he wanted her to know, this was his domain, she needed to go, or stay and die. It has been that way ever since at agility class. Now that they are at the same level of training, going to class together sounded like so much fun. Not the case. To protect her and keep Partner's focus, I have to take one at a time. He is serious about his agility. That is why it is so high on the bucket list. Probably his bucket list, goes: food, agility, lick Mom. But my bucket list FOR him goes: Lick Mom, food, agility. I can live in the world of my own making.

I just wish my world was one where Partner would live to be 17 like Amber did. Eight is too young. I need to go pet THE BOY.