If Only Dogs Could Read…

My dear, sweet boy, whoever said ‘a girl’s best friend were diamonds’ clearly never had a friend like you.  My companion and champion, my caretaker and confidant.

Your time is near now and I know it’s not fair.  Not to you, not to me, not to our family, but nevertheless it is out of our control.  I feel we are all being cheated.  There are so many things I wish I knew you understood, so many “human” emotions I wish I knew you could feel from me.  Conversations that are one sided, save for your wagging tail and slobbery kisses.

I am writing to you now, because if you could read, which I know you cannot, there are things I want you to hear.  My feelings, clouded by pain, would be lost after you are gone and there are things I need to say.

You were always the one.  I have known you from the second you entered this world.  Born with a hernia, later to be called your “Bentley Bump” I knew you were the one for me… I loved you because of your imperfections, which to me made you perfect.

In your short 7 years with us, you have cared for me as much as I have cared for you.  You stayed by my bedside when I was sick, you would lay your head in my lap when I cried.  You felt all of my emotions and even if you didn’t understand them, you reacted as if you did.  When I was happy you would try to climb and lie on me.  I don’t think you even realize how big you are my friend, but as the years passed, I could barely breathe under the weight of you… but I never moved.  I would never move from you because you never moved from me.

Together, as the original family of 4, you and Gemini, traversed the Americas with us to our new home.  You walked the steep roads in Mexico and the lands of Guatemala.  You sat, happily tied to a pole, while Abasi and I sang “God Bless America” while being harassed by the Nicaraguan police.  You, my sweet, horse sized friend, are awesome.

I need you to know that I am so sorry for your loss of your mama.  She was older and had a good life, and I guess just like it is yours now, it was her time then as well.  I know it was confusing for you to have her one day and gone the next.  You waited at the gate for her for weeks, expecting for her to come back.  She’s waiting for you now and when you are ready, we will leave you with her.

I feel like now, in the final days or weeks that we have left, like I have failed you in some way.  Maybe I should have walked you more, or told you I loved you more.  Thrown the ball a couple more times or taken you to the beach more often.  Despite my shortcomings you have always greeted me with excitement and love.  Your endless friendship and constant love is evident.  I feel stuck trying to prove my own love for you… I pray you feel it.

If you wanted to keep fighting, I would hand feed you every day for the rest of my life if I had too, but I know that is not in your cards.  Though your personality still shines through, your frail body is preparing.  I can tell by the way you walk beside me and not in front of me anymore, that you are slowing down.  Don’t worry my friend, I will walk beside you until the very last moment.  I will silently cry into your fur and hold you so that you feel surrounded when you go.  I will love you way past your exit from this world.

I love you Bentley, my BoBo.  I love you more than I expected to be able to love an animal if I’m being honest.  I know it is your time and though I wish I could be selfish, I want you to go when you are ready.  Until then, I will hold you, love you and walk with you everyday.  I will stay with you until Gemini greets you on the other side.  You are my companion and my champion, my caretaker and my confidant until the very end my friend.

If only you could read…

Embracing the Evolution of (Our) True Love

I’ll admit it, I’m a sappy, firework wanting, romantic at heart.  I use to think there would actually be days when I would find my Prince Charming and birds would sing, people would dance and we might actually float off the ground.  Cute, right?

Well, thankfully, I DID find my Prince Charming when I fell in love with my best friend 8+ years ago.  No, no one sang and danced… well he did, he was in a band after all… but there were sparks.  BIG TIME! We were THE COUPLE that everyone wanted to be; We were best friends that fell in love.

Fast forward through 8 years of traveling, laughing, great friendships, tough decisions, international moving, big fights, stupid fights, owning a business, a baby and more and the spark that once dazzled has mellowed out, leaving us a bit… well, flat at times.

Truth be told, I even freaked out a bit.  I thought we were losing it… losing us.  I thought that without the spark, the romance and the constant love-proving moments that we were heading towards an inevitable demise.

And then I realized the truth.

I realized that true love evolves from butterflies, “the brand new” feeling and that spark into comfort, longevity and trust.  I realized that…

True love is him always leaving me the end of his coffee because I like it.
True love is overcoming the fear and surprise of a perfectly, unplanned pregnancy.
True love is him holding me without words when we found out my mom was in the hospital.
True love is holding him through a cancer diagnosis for his mom.
True love is crawling into bed with our daughter after a night at work and feeling the braid her Daddy put in her hair after her shower.
True love is crying together as we dig a hole to bury our dog that just passed.
True love is binge watching TV shows late into the night.
True love is sitting together, hand feeding our other sick dog.
True love is laughing… a lot.
True love is holding hands in bed after a tough fight.
True love is that different spark we get when we’re having a “perfect family moment.”
True love is tickle fights in bed with our daughter.
True love is looking one another in the eye and fighting to make it work.
True love is hard, it is work and it is not for everyone.
True love… for us… is knowing that through it ALL we will have each other’s backs.

True love, at the end of the day, is different for everyone.  True love for us, means getting through the hard parts together.  No, it will not always be sunshine and smiles, flowers and fun, but I am honored to have found someone that I feel it is worth fighting for and with.  I am finally starting to realize that the  fireworks are always special to watch, but it’s who you watch them with that makes them magical.

To my best friend, father of my daughter, future husband and partner through it all, I celebrate us… and our evolution of true love. ❤

 

Getting Through to the Big Waves and Clear Waters

In recent days, I have been sick, I have been stressed and I have been hand feeding a very ill dog.  My energy is zapped, my body craves relief and most of all my heart is breaking at the thought that we might lose our 2nd and final dog in a 3 month span of losing Gemini.

Upon walking out of the vet’s office, leaving my dog behind for more tests, I was overcome with emotion.  I got in my car and cried.  I drove and I cried.  I just cried.  I can’t lose Bentley too, not so soon after his mom and not at 7 years old when a dog is supposed to still be healthy.  Ironically, he probably has more attention and care taking then ever before because it’s just him now… yet he is sick, skinny and we can’t figure out why.  Maybe his heart is breaking too.

I drove to the beach because I didn’t know where else to go.  I felt drawn to the waves, into the ocean for relief.  Like a robot I stripped to my bathing suit, tossed my clothes aside and walked into the water.  I stood for a moment just looking out, taking in the beauty and majesty of the coast.

For anyone who knows me well, I have a sexy game of love/ hate with the water.  I both fear it’s vastness and beg to be in it.  But going out too far, by myself, has always been a fear, yet today I was compelled.  I walked farther and farther until I surrendered, crashing down under the water, taking in all of the cold and exhilarating feelings that come with the first dip.

Bursting back through the water and into the warm, sun-filled air, I continued swimming further out.  Ironically the deeper I went into the water, the higher I got, now standing on a sand bar quite far from main land.  I stood up on it, looked around and felt the opposite of what I had expected.  I thought that standing so far out and away would make me feel alone, but instead I felt surrounded.  I felt surrounded with beauty and awe and love.  In front of me was a vast ocean, to my left high mountains, to the right my town I have come to know and love, behind me, my refuge, the land, below me clear waters and above me the heavens.  I felt safe.  I kept going.

I walked past the sand bar, into deeper water and began swimming through all of the crashing white water produced from the waves.  I dove through every one, allowing them to crash angrily over top of me and kept going.  When I got through the sets, now deeper than normally comfortable, I was in calm waters.  The ocean was flat, save for the occasional, yet large wave, but with the new perspective I was able to simply swim under the waves before they crashed, coming back up again to calm seas.

I don’t know what pulled me into the water this morning.  Quite honestly, I almost decided not to go because I didn’t want to wash my hair later, if you can believe it.  But I was summoned.  I was told to go.  To go deep into the water, feel surrounded by the universe and to be renewed.  I NEEDED TO GO.

I started to have all of these crazy thoughts rushing into my head, little whispers of strength and acceptance.  Something was telling me that life was just like this experience.  I had to go farther than I was comfortable to be literally lifted up and surrounded in clear waters.  I had to crash through the rough waves to get to a point where I could maneuver with ease around the big waves or life’s obstacles to calmer times.  I felt saved in that very moment, bobbing with the water, soaking in everything around me and everything so far from me.

Walking out of the water doesn’t mean that my stresses go away or that magically my dog isn’t sick anymore.  But walking out of that water I felt renewed, refreshed, strengthened and ready to take on another day.  Another day of whatever comes crashing towards me.  I am putting myself out there to trust the universe and God and whatever else I have watching over me, that if I swim far enough, I will be able to handle the big waves with ease, stand in clearer waters and never feel alone even when I’m standing so far out.

 

 

A Question I Can’t Answer: Who Tells The Little Ones?

For those who know me personally, to say I am outspoken is sometimes an understatement.  Never at a loss for words, I tend to speak without thinking, blurting my opinions for anyone who cares to listen.  Today however, I am without words.  I sit here, for the 4th day in a row trying to figure out answers to mine and probably so many other’s questions.  For the 4th day in a row, I sit here, dazed, wondering how exactly you explain to two little girls that their mother is not coming back.

I am not foreign to death.  Though I have been blessed enough to still have my parents and my brother, I have experienced loss.  I have seen how death can rip lives apart, while simaltenously uniting others.  My own personal experiences of death stem from losing grandparents as a young child and a friend as a teen.

Though I barely grasped the concept of death at 7 years old, I have a very distinct memory of walking downstairs to see my mom crying one morning.  As I climbed into her lap, questioning her tears, she didn’t try to hide it, but simply said “I miss my mom,” “I just want my mom back.”  For me, that was a pivotal point in understanding the “forever gone” reality.  And so, I just sat with my mom, while she cried for her own mom.  It was the first real time I saw an adult grieve for their parent.

Later, in highschool, my close knit circle of friends experienced a loss that literally changed the dynamic of our high school experience.  Losing Bridget, was and is to date one of the hardest things I, and many others, have ever dealt with.  One Wednesday night she was making silly faces at me across the booth at Friendly’s and the next day she was gone forever.  By this point, I wasn’t a child, I understood what it meant to die, but I still didn’t understand why.  Why would God take someone so young?  What reason was there?  I watched her family mourn the loss of their youngest daughter, knowing nothing I or any of us did, could ever soothe their pain.  It was the first real time I saw parents grieve for their child.

I have had friends my age that have lost their parents… most younger than my own parents.  While mourning their loss and really not being able to understand their pain, I selfishly feared losing my own parents.  When that day comes, I don’t even know how I will pull myself out of bed.  Watching the growth, pain and evolution of my friends, I have now seen young adults grieve for their parents.

But all of this is to say, that today, I am without words.  Today I don’t get it.  My well worn mantra of “everything happens for a reason” makes no sense to me today.  Today, as I did yesterday, and the day before that and on Friday when I found out about Nancy in the middle of decorating our Christmas tree, I can’t understand what it is like for 2 little girls to grieve, let alone understand that their mom is gone forever.  For all of my other experiences with loss, the answers here elude me.  Maybe it’s because now I am a mother.  Perhaps, it is me being selfish again- thinking about myself and my daughter.  Who would tell Kennedy?  How would they tell Kennedy?  Would she ask about me every day until one day she just… didn’t?  I pray for Nancy’s whole family…she was a daughter, a sister and a friend.  But I ache for her daughters.  2 small, unknowing, innocent, little girls who will never see their mom again, or her amazing cakes she made them or the costumes she put together.  The mom, who without missing a step allowed her daughters to be fiercely independent and choose their own way even at such a young age.  Be who you want to be seemed to be Nancy’s mantra and she walked the talk every day.

And so again, here I am, wondering… how do you do it?  I’m sure there are books to help explain. But does a child really want to read a damn book when they have just lost their mother?  I DON’T KNOW!  I, at 27 years old, can’t seem to grasp any of these concepts, so how can a child?  It makes me feel like a teen again, angry, for what the reasoning could be.  WHAT COULD BE THE POINT OF TAKING A LOVING MOTHER FROM 2 LITTLE GIRLS!?  And then someone else is left to clean up the mess of explaining things out of their control or comprehension.  It just doesn’t make sense.

None of these things, I have an answer for.  What I do know is that it takes a village to raise a child.  On your very best day of parenting you still need “your people” to help make sense of this world.  And if anyone ever needed their village people, Nancy was the first in line, cake in hand (to either pie you in the face or dazzle you with her creativity), ready to help lead the good fight.  If Nancy can no longer be here, then we, her village, must step up and wrap those girls in love, support, memories and laughter.  No, it’s not our job to be the one to tell them, forever means forever, and God Bless the person who actually has to do that.  But we can be there to lend a softer landing.  We can be there to make sure Nancy’s laughter and smile never dim.

For anyone reading this that has lost a loved one, I pray for and with you.  We all know you never get over it.  Though you never move on, you learn to move forward.  I still to this day say “Goodnight Bridget” every night before I go to sleep.  Maybe it’s a habit at this point, but I’ll take any daily connection, habit or not, and it brings me comfort.  For anyone reading this that knows Nancy personally, I grieve with you.  Abasi and I are very saddened and shocked.  We are sad because we cannot be there with everyone to mourn her passing and celebrate her life that she lived so well.  We hope you feel our prayers and love wrapping around you today as you say goodbye and every day after, as we build a strong community around Audrey and Charlotte in any way we can.  For some of us, where distance mocks us, the positive thoughts and prayers must suffice for now.  For anyone that can donate monetarily, you can go to this site <3Nancy and help the family with costs.

Thank you for the memories you gave us Nancy.  The laughter, the friendships, the moments we all hold dear will not soon fade.  A life gone way to soon, but lived fully nonetheless.  I hope you rest peacefully, though watch out Heaven, because she is Hell on Wheels.  Finally, I know how fiercely you loved your girls.  The only positive out of this is that Audrey and Charlotte will have the biggest angel of all guiding and protecting them through every day life.  We will be your foot soldiers.  Though we probably cannot match your shine… we will carry on your smile, stories and shenanigans.  Rest peacefully Nancy, it is goodbye for now, but not forever.

All Dogs Go to Heaven: Facing the Elephant in the Room

39 days it took to face the elephant in the room.

39 days ago (which was 2 days ago when I initially started writing this post, umm HELLO LIFE!)  we had to let our 12 year old German Shepherd go to her final rest.  And with only her son Bentley left behind the big bag of dog food began to stare at me from all angles of the room… every time I walked by.

I guess everyone has their way of dealing with losing their beloved pets.  Everyone deals differently.  For me, the entire week of letting Gemini go was devastating.  The 2 days prior, while she was at the vet and having tests done, knowing we were leading to an unfortunate decision were just as hard as making the decision to let her go.  Being there in Gemini’s final moments, her head resting in my hands, choking on tears… there are just some things you won’t ever forget.  The next morning, Abasi and I quietly looked for a place to bury her along the coast, high enough from any water and along the path we use for our runs.  Together and without speaking, we dug a hole, placed her in gently and gave her a toy of Kennedy’s and 2 coconuts to hopefully grow a tree from.  We filled in the sand, placed flowers on her grave and said a prayer.  And really, that was that.  We cried and we hugged.  And that pretty much happened the rest of the week… crying and hugging, crying and hugging.

She always loved the beach… rest easy girl ❤

 

Honestly, the memories we have with her, the pictures, the now empty dog collar hanging from our rearview mirror, and the other Shepherds running around town were nothing compared to seeing this seemingly bottomless bag of food.  I was praying to buy another bag.  For years, we bitched and moaned about how much food the dogs ate and joked that they better find jobs to help pitch in.  It felt like every single week I was running last minute to the store to grab the huge bag of food to feed our horse sized (slight exaggeration) dogs that would be gone in the blink of an eye.  But now, the hardest part of dealing with letting Gemini go was having to walk past a bag of food every day that seemed to have no where to go.

Of course Bentley was eating…  Bentley eats everything.  But still for 39 days I felt like I was holding my breath until I had to buy more.  The first bag since Gemini.  The first bag without Gemini.

And as simple as that, I feel like a weight has been lifted from me.  It may seem small and insignificant but it’s as if a page has turned and now we can continue writing the rest of our story… always with Gemini in our prelude.  I don’t have any other beautiful or transcendent words to say about this.  It was just a bag of smelly dog food… but I feel better.

And so, I just want to end by reiterating something I wrote the day we buried her, which I feel she deserves to have re-said:

“Yesterday we had to say goodbye to a huge part of our hearts and our family. Gemini was a beautiful dog and from day one of bringing Kennedy home, she hovered near her, watching her. When Kennedy got older she would nudge Kennedy away from places or areas she shouldn’t be crawling or walking to. We know she isn’t in pain anymore, and I suppose love is enduring a pain yourself so that she can be free of it. Thank you Gemini for being an amazing little puppy that allowed Abasi to understand the first true feelings of tenderness for caring for another life. Thank you for so effortlessly loving me when I came into the picture. Thank you for giving us Bentley who is the silliest dog in the world and looks like a horse. I promise to take extra good care of him now when he will need you most. Thank you for taking this adventure with us to Costa Rica, you walked the lands of many countries, more than a lot of other dogs. And thank you for always seeming to have a protective spirit around Kennedy. I know you will still “shepherd” her and all of us in the right direction. Dogs aren’t just dogs, they are family, and we will love and miss you for the rest of our time. Sleep easy. RIP Gemini.”