We go on without you… 
We remember the good times….
The wise and wonderful things you taught us…
But it isn’t the same.
We miss you swell, Dad.
Showing posts with label losing loved ones. Show all posts
Showing posts with label losing loved ones. Show all posts
9/27/2009
September 27, 2009
1/05/2007
Another Day, Another Reason Why The Christmas Tree's Still Up
Reason # 48023 for not taking down the Christmas decorations:
I had today organized, really I did. It included taking down and putting away all the decorations, reorganizing the house, grocery shopping, taking Woo-dah (aka Lindy- the puppy who just had a tumor removed from her foot) to the vet for a new bandage and check, going to the bank AND meeting Marti back at the house by noon to REINVENT our ENTIRE lives.
Okay, so Woo-dah and I set out for the vet's, passed the bank and saw- to my chagrin as it was part of my perfectly organized, never go out of my way or retrace my steps plan- it was surrounded by cops and blue lights. It had just been robbed.
Nix the bank for the time being.
The vet was jammed up with someone's torn ACL, so Woo had to stay and I had to return to get her at 3.
Okay, cool. I'm not too off-balance. So, I drive across the street to the grocery store and WHAM! They are having triple coupon weekend. This takes a 6 item shopping list and effectively turns it into a 2 hour extravaganza of careful coupon shopping.
But still I beat Marti back to the house by five minutes and managed to reorganize two shelves of the pantry before we REORGANIZED our ENTIRE lives.
This took a little bit of time.
Somehow it was 3:05 before we ever looked up at the clock and I was late for the vet.
The vet did not go well at all. Somehow there was a glitch with the scheduling and all the patients arrived at once- including an obnoxiously hyperactive 3 year old, his 2 puppies and his biker mama.
It was SRO in the waiting room and at one point a guy comes in and drops off his baby- no lie! He just plops the carrier down in between a group of cat carriers, looks at the kitties' owner and says, "You don't mind, do you? She won't be any trouble!" And then he just leaves!
The entire waiting room went to the window to watch him. Turns out he was trying to juggle a couple of kids and dogs and the baby was just overload. He did return but the little old ladies talked about him for a long time...until someone brought in a 40 lb. cat and that distracted them onto feline obesity and a discussion of the biggest cat they had ever personally seen before this one arrived to take the crown.
I spent most of my time trying to once again figure out how to program my new cell phone and was once again unsuccessful. (Directions are for losers or cheaters.)
And then there was no putting off the inevitable. The pathology report was back and Woo-dah has cancer. The vet painted a pretty grim picture but wants to talk to an oncologist first. The rest of the afternoon was spent googling "Canine Melanoma, treatment, staging and prognosis."
The only bright spot on Woo-dah's horizon is the research and trials being done with gene therapy. Fortunately we are close to one of the research hubs- NC State...But you know, in the midst of all my researching, I couldn't help feeling a bit like I was reliving Dad's diagnosis and my initial reaction to it. I did the same thing, I researched. I pleaded and begged and fought and kicked and it didn't do one bit of good. He still died.
This is the year of creating my reality, of seeing things in a more positive light. To that end, I will not panic until I hear what the oncologist says.
I think I am on grief overload because I just feel numb. In the basement of my soul there is crying and pain and anger that yet again someone I love may be taken away but for now, it is too much and not at all immediate- so I ignore it.
There isn't time for grieving- not with doggie dinners to prepare and a boy to drive across town and a broken-hearted friend to console. There isn't time to feel sorry for myself when Woo-dah herself is dancing across the kitchen floor, daring the younger, bigger dogs to attempt to get between her and her food dish.
And there is most especially not time for taking down Christmas and sorting through bills.
I had today organized, really I did. It included taking down and putting away all the decorations, reorganizing the house, grocery shopping, taking Woo-dah (aka Lindy- the puppy who just had a tumor removed from her foot) to the vet for a new bandage and check, going to the bank AND meeting Marti back at the house by noon to REINVENT our ENTIRE lives.
Okay, so Woo-dah and I set out for the vet's, passed the bank and saw- to my chagrin as it was part of my perfectly organized, never go out of my way or retrace my steps plan- it was surrounded by cops and blue lights. It had just been robbed.
Nix the bank for the time being.
The vet was jammed up with someone's torn ACL, so Woo had to stay and I had to return to get her at 3.
Okay, cool. I'm not too off-balance. So, I drive across the street to the grocery store and WHAM! They are having triple coupon weekend. This takes a 6 item shopping list and effectively turns it into a 2 hour extravaganza of careful coupon shopping.
But still I beat Marti back to the house by five minutes and managed to reorganize two shelves of the pantry before we REORGANIZED our ENTIRE lives.
This took a little bit of time.
Somehow it was 3:05 before we ever looked up at the clock and I was late for the vet.
The vet did not go well at all. Somehow there was a glitch with the scheduling and all the patients arrived at once- including an obnoxiously hyperactive 3 year old, his 2 puppies and his biker mama.
It was SRO in the waiting room and at one point a guy comes in and drops off his baby- no lie! He just plops the carrier down in between a group of cat carriers, looks at the kitties' owner and says, "You don't mind, do you? She won't be any trouble!" And then he just leaves!
The entire waiting room went to the window to watch him. Turns out he was trying to juggle a couple of kids and dogs and the baby was just overload. He did return but the little old ladies talked about him for a long time...until someone brought in a 40 lb. cat and that distracted them onto feline obesity and a discussion of the biggest cat they had ever personally seen before this one arrived to take the crown.
I spent most of my time trying to once again figure out how to program my new cell phone and was once again unsuccessful. (Directions are for losers or cheaters.)
And then there was no putting off the inevitable. The pathology report was back and Woo-dah has cancer. The vet painted a pretty grim picture but wants to talk to an oncologist first. The rest of the afternoon was spent googling "Canine Melanoma, treatment, staging and prognosis."
The only bright spot on Woo-dah's horizon is the research and trials being done with gene therapy. Fortunately we are close to one of the research hubs- NC State...But you know, in the midst of all my researching, I couldn't help feeling a bit like I was reliving Dad's diagnosis and my initial reaction to it. I did the same thing, I researched. I pleaded and begged and fought and kicked and it didn't do one bit of good. He still died.
This is the year of creating my reality, of seeing things in a more positive light. To that end, I will not panic until I hear what the oncologist says.
I think I am on grief overload because I just feel numb. In the basement of my soul there is crying and pain and anger that yet again someone I love may be taken away but for now, it is too much and not at all immediate- so I ignore it.
There isn't time for grieving- not with doggie dinners to prepare and a boy to drive across town and a broken-hearted friend to console. There isn't time to feel sorry for myself when Woo-dah herself is dancing across the kitchen floor, daring the younger, bigger dogs to attempt to get between her and her food dish.
And there is most especially not time for taking down Christmas and sorting through bills.
12/28/2006
Saying Goodbye to Cookie
I went to see Cookie one last time tonight. The family had visitation at the funeral home, which in this case meant a viewing of the body as well as expressing condolences to the family.
When I am dead- note to family- no viewing. What are you thinking people? I'm dead. It's not like I'm going to suddenly sit up and talk or anything! Furthermore, I don't want a bunch of people standing around saying things like "Doesn't she look good?" or "She just doesn't quite look like herself, does she?"
Well, duh! I'm dead. There is no more looking like myself or looking "good." What is that?!
But I digress.
I was visiting Cookie- but from the other side. She is now "over there" while I am still here, visiting the family I had until now, only seen in pictures pinned to the wall in her nursing home room.
I knew them all instantly and the weird thing was they didn't know me. I was their mother's friend, the one whose name Cookie couldn't remember, the one who listened to her fears and feelings, the one who held her hand when no one else was around.
In a way, it was like walking into a home movie and sharing a secret joke with Cookie.
Her daughter knew me by name, held my hand and said she knew how much I'd meant to her mother. She said everyone at the nursing home had been so good to her mom. I wondered which nursing home she thought her mother was in because it sure wasn't the one I know!
Her son said Cookie died very peacefully. He said he and his sister were sitting in her hospital room with her when he noticed her heart rate slipping lower and lower, only to rally a bit before sinking again. "I kissed her forehead and I said 'Mama, I know you're tired. It's alright to go now.'"
A few moments later, Cookie let go.
I looked around the room at all the familiar faces, feeling as if I knew them so well and yet not at all. No one was crying. After all, Cookie was 93. She'd lived a long, long life and she was much loved.
I walked over to the casket and looked down at my dear friend one last time...until I heard the echo of my Unnamed Ones saying "You know they fill their mouths with foam and sew them shut. There's makeup on their faces and hands. Sometimes they even dye their hair."
Cookie's cheeks were just a bit too full, her bruised hands a bit too thick with pancake foundation. The tie we had here in this dimension broke free in that moment and I had to let go of my earthly image of Cookie. She has gone- maybe back to where she came from, in one form or another. Perhaps her energy lingers in some way near those of us who loved her. I just don't know.
But wherever she is, I hope she gets to say hello to Dad. I took him to meet her one time and she liked him just swell- which was perfect, considering their specialness in my world.
I hope whatever continues on after we lose our bodies meets up with whatever's become of him and they swirl like invisible autumn leaves around me as I make my way on down the path without them.
When I am dead- note to family- no viewing. What are you thinking people? I'm dead. It's not like I'm going to suddenly sit up and talk or anything! Furthermore, I don't want a bunch of people standing around saying things like "Doesn't she look good?" or "She just doesn't quite look like herself, does she?"
Well, duh! I'm dead. There is no more looking like myself or looking "good." What is that?!
But I digress.
I was visiting Cookie- but from the other side. She is now "over there" while I am still here, visiting the family I had until now, only seen in pictures pinned to the wall in her nursing home room.
I knew them all instantly and the weird thing was they didn't know me. I was their mother's friend, the one whose name Cookie couldn't remember, the one who listened to her fears and feelings, the one who held her hand when no one else was around.
In a way, it was like walking into a home movie and sharing a secret joke with Cookie.
Her daughter knew me by name, held my hand and said she knew how much I'd meant to her mother. She said everyone at the nursing home had been so good to her mom. I wondered which nursing home she thought her mother was in because it sure wasn't the one I know!
Her son said Cookie died very peacefully. He said he and his sister were sitting in her hospital room with her when he noticed her heart rate slipping lower and lower, only to rally a bit before sinking again. "I kissed her forehead and I said 'Mama, I know you're tired. It's alright to go now.'"
A few moments later, Cookie let go.
I looked around the room at all the familiar faces, feeling as if I knew them so well and yet not at all. No one was crying. After all, Cookie was 93. She'd lived a long, long life and she was much loved.
I walked over to the casket and looked down at my dear friend one last time...until I heard the echo of my Unnamed Ones saying "You know they fill their mouths with foam and sew them shut. There's makeup on their faces and hands. Sometimes they even dye their hair."
Cookie's cheeks were just a bit too full, her bruised hands a bit too thick with pancake foundation. The tie we had here in this dimension broke free in that moment and I had to let go of my earthly image of Cookie. She has gone- maybe back to where she came from, in one form or another. Perhaps her energy lingers in some way near those of us who loved her. I just don't know.
But wherever she is, I hope she gets to say hello to Dad. I took him to meet her one time and she liked him just swell- which was perfect, considering their specialness in my world.
I hope whatever continues on after we lose our bodies meets up with whatever's become of him and they swirl like invisible autumn leaves around me as I make my way on down the path without them.
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