Curbing the urge to bolt: How grief can send you packing

Dear Pepsi,

We are approaching the new year, which means I am nearly though my first holiday season without you in ten years. Not that I am a big fan of the holidays anyway, it was always enough for us to be together while the mad frenzy passed us by. Nor do I need a holiday to miss you, that is a daily occurrence.  Shakila had a hardcover book made of all your pictures and I look through it several times a day. I watch videos of you. When I speak of you, I tear up. I still see you everywhere. I stay home mostly and when I venture out, I tire easily of people. I come home and give myself a hard look in the mirror and imagine what it would take to grab your sisters and bolt because it feels too damn hard to be here without you. I find no good reason to suffer fools. Or pretend. Either I have a tendency to be too candid or withdraw. Hard to find middle ground when grief is tilting my vision. You are running through my veins.

Pepsi, Pearl and mom in the early days of our trio

Pearl is my big concern at the moment. She misses you so much and seems lost without you. She came into our life with you to look up to, teach her, be her constant companion and playmate. Pandy is here but it will never be the same. Pandy came to us abused and terrified. She never had toys or the luxury of play, therefore she is not able to step in for you or distract her. Pearl often starts barking for no apparent reason and cannot be calmed. I can tell she wants to play with you and is asking where you are and when you will be back. I worry her heartsickness will manifest in a physical illness and I will loose her too. Remember Peps, she chose you. She is not used to being at the top of the heap, rather, she has always been more content to defer to you. I am going to California next week and am thinking of taking her with me because I worry she will think I am gone as well. There are so many vacant spaces. We were all used to orbiting around you and now our center is gone. 

Girls at play

Pepsi, while I knew I would most likely survive you, I was unprepared for the depth of sadness and loss. The cancer seemed to come out of no where and strike with precision and speed. I focused on caring for you six weeks straight, chasing away thoughts of your death. When I looked at you those last two days, and the weariness in your eyes, I knew what was expected of me despite not wanting to let you go. I relieved your suffering; however, the absence of you has rendered me dazed and confused. I have to ask myself if the grief feels so endless because of the death of my mom and Frank, or is it purely you Peps? Whatever it is, I have an urge to bolt, leave everything behind and take your sisters on the road. I want to blend into a maze of vehicles rolling along for an infinite number of reasons. I want to be quiet and gaze at the scenery, majestic or not, thinking thoughts and letting time and space heal me. If I look hard enough with no intention or purpose, perhaps the folds will smooth around me. I want to listen to the stories of others, try to understand lives outside of me, become a passing figure with two dogs heading in and out of town. Why does this fantasy persist? What is it about grief and loss that creates the urge to bolt? Shed the shit and move on? No reminders is too easy an explanation for I see and feel you everywhere. Is it a feeling of enough is enough? Why bother? Mind you, I know how fortunate I am, and every day I whisper the words on the fortune I tucked in the corner of my bathroom mirror frame - Treasure what you have. And I am sincerely grateful. But here's the deal Peps, I just want you back. 

I am still trying to figure what this the urge to bolt is and resist it. I fear I might succumb against my better judgement one of these days if the scale of bullshit tips in a certain direction. I told myself I would take it one day at a time when you got sick and I will try to keep to it for now while I process this blistering grief and loss. Life without you takes some getting used to. When Maddie died I tried to lessen the grief by getting Pearl four days later. While I am glad I brought Pearl into our lives, I am older and wise enough to know there is no easy fix, neither by replacing or bolting. I used to say Move you feet and your heart will follow. I can only hope.

Love you and miss you darling Pepsi,

Mom

Monologue of Grief

Monologue of Grief #1

Dear Pepsi,

Your death has propelled, reduced and amplified me all at the same time. When we received your cancer diagnosis I knew my only salvation was to write through the unfolding of loosing you. Writing and painting are my way of understanding and clarifying the world. For years you laid at my feet while I wrote, or curled up on a chair my studio as I painted. I took intermient breaks to hug and kiss you, stroking your fur with oil bar and pastel covered fingers. I was never really talking to myself as long as you were with me. These days I still turn my head slightly to the left expecting you to be in your chair. Your absent presence haunts me. I miss you achingly. I barely hold tears back, even in public. Yesterday the cashier at Trader Joe's asked how I was and I replied truthfully - not very good and told her about you. As I prepared to pay I pointed to a bouquet of flowers in my cart and said those aren't mine. She looked at me and said yes they are and I hope it helps you to feel better. It did help momentarily; however, I continue to be that person with swollen red eyes who cries at the drop a hat, anywhere and anytime. 

 Bouquet of flowers from the Trader Joe's cashier

I have pretty much retreated to the house, writing and painting, walking Pearl and Pandy, with my outings limited to grocery shopping or an occasional trip to the beach.  Most days are full of solitude other than phone chats with Dad, Papa, Rena, and a few friends. Today is winter solstice, the shortest day of the year when darkness descends in the afternoon. It was actually quite mild, nearly 40 degrees, sunny and no wind. I walked Pearl and Pandy through the neighborhood to the your favorite little park. As they ran around the perimeter of the park off leash I saw flashes of you and it gripped my heart. When will this get easier? Your Papa said the grief will pass but I'm not sure this kind of longing will ever cease. He said my letters to you make him feel as if I am in the world but not of it, and through my grief I have elevated my writing to another level, connecting pieces of humanity to something beyond your death and physical absence. Because your spirit is still here, dragging me along whether I want to keep moving or not. I dive into writing because of my profound sadness. I start off with some sense of what I what I want to express, but truth be told it is in the process of writing that I discover and clarify. I started an abstract painting last night and left it after 20 minutes, certain I would abandon it. This morning I walked into the studio still in my nightgown and stared at it for a few minutes. I thought about ripping it up. How the hell do I paint grief? I printed out pictures of you last night thinking I would use them to create paintings. Something drew me to the abstract I almost discarded. Were you pushing me back in? Insisting there was something for me work with, to learn about myself? You are stubborn and always get your way. I picked up the oil bars and went to work. 

Pearl and Pepsi hanging out while Mom writes

The creative process is magical. It is emotive and unexplainable but let me try to articulate what you watched me do for the past 10 years. My fingers feel electric and float over the colors until they find the right one. I am required to surrender to a force inside me, and though terrifying and unknown, I have to trust it will lead me where I need to go. Writing is no different really, all the magic is in the process. I moved through the colors, staying in the abstract to express the grief and sadness I feel so submerged in. I am also thinking. Grief is chaotic, bursting, gnawing, bold, and fine-tuned. I thought about how one dimensional I am, consumed by loss and pain. And anger. You are everywhere in me and outside of me. I am a monologue of grief from one end to the other. I feel you, hear you saying Stay in the work, it's where you belong, don't give up before you are done - I didn't. Oh Pepsi, it's when I am writing and painting that I feel closest to you. In the world but not of the world. Papa is not the only person to tell me this - Rena has and many others over the years. I straddle two worlds, one part of me firmly planted in the practical while the other is immersed in the imaginative, exploring a vast and curious universe. It wasn't possible to forsake one for the other, not for me anyway. I had kids and responsibilities beyond my artistic yearnings. You weren't really around for the worst part of my divided life but take my word for it, you didn't miss much. You came along when I was realizing dreams and building new possibilities. We started new chapters together. You had the best of me. Or perhaps you helped me be my best.

Flying across country 

Sometimes I close my eyes and imagine holding and kissing you. I watch videos of you everyday - at the beach, playing with Pearl, being two toy Peps with the rope toy and the blue rubber ball, barking for me to chase you. I am in a monologue of grief, therefore I will continue to paint and write my way through it. There is a cascade of loss between you, my mom, and Frank. Once you were diagnosed with cancer I knew you were going to die so I thought I was more prepared for what you being gone would feel like. Clearly I was wrong. Through the writing and painting I reach across a great divide of the physical and spiritual to connect with you. I came to accept the loneliness of being an artist long ago, the hours logged in solitude wresting with words, colors and form. The trade off for rapture is worth it. However, being lonely for you is another thing baby girl. There is no cushion for this grief, just a determination to move one foot in front of the other and hope your Papa is right, that at some point the grief will subside enough that I am not constantly tied in knots or on the verge of tears. Right now that is hard to imagine. But that is what art is for, right Peps? Move us into and beyond ourselves so our personal expands to mean more and touch others. 

Our hearts up there, floating

Love you Peps, now and always.

Mom

The Upside of Anger

Pepsi reaching for Mom

Dear Pepsi,

Losing you so suddenly has me expectedly crying, feeling sad and withdrawing for the most part; however, I am also angry and easily agitated. I have a very low threshold for bullshit. While I try to conserve my strength and carefully pick my battles, there are moments when I cannot hold back. Granted, the election of Donald Trump and a new world order is serious cause for concern, anger and speaking up. But what I am feeling is more intricate, complex, and personal. All my edges are rough and raw. You are most likely amused because I have not exactly been a shrinking violet. You have seen your Mom going off about politics or if I thought someone was tampering with the wellbeing of those I love, including you. This is different though, I feel like everyday without you is a punch to my gut. And I am furious about it.

Pearly chasing Pepsi

The truth is I am not faring well without you. Neither is Dad, and defiantly not Pearly. I worry about her the most. She doesn't want to play with Pandy. She seems to be mopping around a lot, has more grey in her face, and her gait less spry. I was supposed to go to Cuba this week but backed out. I didn't feel up to it; however, more importantly I didn't want to leave Pearl. What if she thought I was gone for good as well? You read about married people who when one partner dies, the other is not far behind. I stare Pearly down, like I once did with you and plead with her, Don't leave me Pearly, please stay with me. You were her other half, Pepsi, and now she is lost without you. Sometimes I ache for you so much I feel guilty that Pearl and Pandy cannot sooth me. And other times, when I am playing with them, laughing and hugging them, I still feel hollow. Either way I am shortchanging them.

How can we not long for this face?

In what might feel unrelated I received a phone call from my Rhode Island childhood friend Debbie today. We lived across the street from each other on Dedham Road and were best friends. Her older brother Paul was my brother's best friend. We had the usual spats and drama, threatening to never speak again and then back to being bussom buddies, the stuff of childhood friendships. We played outside all day and sat on the curb taking late into the night while our parents were fast asleep. We moved to Vermont when I was 13, and while that ended Debbie's and my relationship, Paul remained in our lives, moving in with us for periods of time after he graduated high school. He briefly attended college, and when he dropped out it was clear he was troubled. There was drug use; however, mental illness was the true culprit, which often has an onset at that age. My parents did their best to help but it was beyond their scope. Paul went back to Rhode Island and his mother's care. We heard little from him after that.

Some things just are

Fast forward to a few years ago when I joined a Facebook page for people from Warwick RI. Magically I reconnected with Debbie. We had a long phone chat and she told me Paul had a difficult life, never married; however, though her mom had passed she remained close to him, therefore he was far from alone. Debbie and I stayed in contact via Facebook and she was very sad and sympathetic while you were sick and when you passed. We scheduled a phone chat for yesterday; however, I never heard from her. She called this morning and asked how was doing, to which I replied Shitty. She was in tears, which I initially thought was because of you Peps; however, it was about Paul - his lungs are failing. As she told me about his physical decline her voice was a mixture of sadness and anger. Why are you angry I asked, What is this about? Barely below the surface was the anger and pain towards an absent father, now 90 who she had not spoken with in two years. She didn't want to call him yet felt pressure from others to do so. And certainly Paul had no desire to include him. She was also angry that she felt he had been cheated by his illness from having a wonderful life like she had been blessed with. I felt her anger and sadness, a potent combination I am only too familiar with. Listen, I told her, Paul has not been alone, he has always had you and your children. He has family. You have been a loving sister, you have done him a real solid all these years. You don't need to call your father. All he needs is to see you and you both will figure out what comes next. Tears streamed down my face. Were they for you Pepsi? For the wounds inflicted by my family that also resided barely below the surface? Or because my childhood friend, who I had not seen in over 50 years, felt as close to me as if we had seen each other regularly throughout the years? All of it and more.

That all knowing look

The truth is your loss has made me less inclined to hold my tongue, and at the same time caused me to recede from unnecessary engagement. Life is full of paradox. I told Debbie I have deep gratitude for my life. Despite the rejection and cruelty I endured from my family, I have had an amazing life filled with love, great kids, interesting people, travel, and the satisfaction of finding purpose in my work after years of searching for a good fit. I take none of it lightly; however, I am still at a loss without you Pepsi girl. I cry everyday and imagine you in my presence - on the pillow next to me, on the couch while I watch TV, and laying wherever the sun pours through the windows. I am furious that you are not here to soften me. I am not a person of blind faith, or who puts her fate in the hands of others. I fight hard and with tenacity. I couldn't beat cancer for you, it came swiftly and showed no mercy. It ripped us apart, devastated Dad and I, Rena and Jonathan, all who loved you, and now Pearl's spirit seems to diminish with each day you do not prance through the door. I wonder if loosing you, and such profound losses are meant to stir us up? Perhaps this is the upside of anger? Emboldening us to act, speak up, and not be timid when the stakes are high for those we love or humanity in general. Watching you take cancer like a champ until you couldn't take it anymore taught me to buck up, press pause on the non essential, and not hold back for fear of what people may think. We are all such complex and confounding creatures Pepsi, and you always seemed to get that in a mysterious and irresistible way just by the look on your face. I felt it today talking to Debbie, and in a strange way it was you all around me, carving space for compassion and reminding me that love is deep, gripping and perplexing, and in the end our best chance at salvation.

Oh darling girl, how I miss you, now and forever.

Love,

Mom

What Do Dogs Know?

Pepsi's Paw Print

Dear Pepsi,

Life in the aftermath is so empty and awkward. We ache from top to bottom. We are lost without you as our center. Pearl seems ill at ease with all the attention she is getting, she is more comfortable fading in the background with you at forefront. She always deferred to you, happily taking second place. Pandy is her usual confused and terrified self, in response and reaction mode to everything around her. I feel irritated and profoundly sad. I still cannot sleep, waking up in the middle of the night with hours of you on my brain. Sometimes I succumb to uncontrollable sobbing, or I watch Netflix for several hours until I catch a few hours sleep. I am often dazed and confused, forgetting appointments and disengaged when I am in attendance. I ask myself if I will ever feel joy again, which to some may seem silly; however, for me it is a legitimate question. Life feels flat and it's hard to give a damn and stay in the world of the living. I just miss you so much baby girl. 

 Mom and Pepsi selfie

Pearl and Pandy missing Pepsi

Yesterday we picked up your ashes and paw print. Dad, Jonathan and I took Pearl and Pandy with us to Higgins Beach to scatter some ashes at your beloved beach. It was a brisk day with the sun peeking through the clouds, though luckily it was not very windy.  Pearl and Pandy took off to chase birds. I brought the tennis ball you played with last week and tossed it along the shore for them to fetch. Pearl frequently paused, looking around, either for birds to chase or you. I think she is looking for you. What do dogs know? We impose what we hope and want you to know and think, but really, what do dogs know? You always knew when I was traveling when you saw my suitcase and made your displeasure known. There were all sorts of indication you and your sisters had more than a good idea of what was going on, and how you felt. Did you know how much I loved you? How hard I tried to keep you here? Did you know how helpless I felt? You stared back at me from eyes that felt like deep pools, and I wondered if you knew that there was nothing I wouldn't do for you, even let you go if that was what you needed of me. 

  Your beloved Higgins Beach

The three of us huddled at the water's edge. Jonathan slipped his arm around me as I read the Rainbow Bridge poem choking back tears. We each took a small amount of your ashes. I wore my Muck boots and waded into the waves, releasing your ashes into the sea as I called your name, hoping you could hear me tell you how much I love and miss you. Pepsi girl I want you back - at Higgins, in the dead of night in my bed, and when I walk through the front door. We are all bumping into each other and against each other. The edges are jagged and painful. Your outline is everywhere. Pearl seems depressed. Or perhaps she is responding to our somber mood. What do dogs know? How does she process life without you? Does she think you will return or does she know you are not coming back? Does she see the box of ashes on the fireplace mantle with your name on it? Or is her sense of your absence on a whole other level? I know this; however, we want you back. Something fierce. 

Jonathan carrying the box of Pepsi's ashes 

Dad missing his Pepsi girl

Your sisters romping on your beloved Higgins Beach 

What would you say to me if you could send me a message? Stop crying and blubbering in public? Buck up Mom, you did your best and my sisters need you? Spread the love you have from to others in need? Or perhaps you might tell me you miss me too, unbearably so, but even that much love was no match for fast-moving cancer. You should know that everyday I try to treasure what I have and feel appreciative for the ten plus years we had together. I can't help that life without you seems less vivid,  humorous, warm, and worthwhile. I know it makes me seem ungrateful but you are one of a kind baby girl with your cheeky diva like ways. What other dog sits on a desk in front of computer and keyboard to let me know it is time to stop working and focus on you? What else could I do but pack you and your sisters in the car and go to Walnut  Creek Park? You were irresistible - even when you annoyed me, and I predictably gave in to your demands. So tell me girl, what do you want me to do now? Help me figure out how to go on without you, to see past you not being here and feel joy again. 

Pepsi on my desk

I want you back. I know cannot have that. So I will keep writing to you in whatever dimension you exist. If you are meandering happily as the Rainbow Bridge poem suggests, then perhaps I can take heart in knowing you are happy, at peace and one day we will be reunited. Pepsi, that is something to look forward to dear girl. In the meantime, I will do my best to honor you by living life and giving to others. It is the least I can do after all you have given me.

Loving you as always,

Mom

Where Are You?

Dear Pepsi,

Where are you?

It snowed today. I thought about how you were not a fan of snow unless you were in the woods running free. When we went to the trail off Evergreen Cemetery you would leap through the snow as if it was the surf at Higgins Beach. You would bury your face in a drift and emerge with snow powder decorating your face. One time we walked on a trail where the ice was covered by newly fallen snow and I fell hard on my hand. You stopped and waited for me, and I grabbed on to you so I could get on my feet. As the snow began to fall this morning I chuckled and mumbled, Pepsi made sure she got out before the first snow. Pandy; however, loves the snow and bolted out the back door this morning to the tree in the corner of the yard. Pearl likes it well enough but she is off kilter since you left. We all are. I feel your presence in the house and have to remind myself you are not physically here. I look for you and then realize you are not on the chair upstairs, or in the bathroom, or propped up on pillows on my bed. I can't shake the feeling this is a bad dream, that life without you is not an option. So I wonder, where are you?

Pandy ready for the snow

As I was leaving the house today a florist delivery truck pulled up. Immediately I knew the flowers were sent by someone hoping to comfort me and ease my pain. Craig sent a lovely arrangement that smelled like spring. People can be so kind. This evening I got a text from Sara next door asking if I was home - the girls wanted to bring me something. Kathryn and Rachel walked up the front stairs and handed me a plate of chocolate chip brownies and an envelope containing a card from the family and note Kathryn wrote on grade school writing paper. Our love was no secret and neither is the sadness left behind by your loss.

Kathryn's note

Dad is coming tonight. His flight was delayed by five and a half hours. If you were on the other end of that cross country flight the delay would have made him crazy. Sure, he was irritated but knowing you were waiting for him would have made it unbearable. Jonathan is expected tomorrow. We have so much adjusting to do without you. The past few nights I woke at 3AM, reaching for you. I find it difficult to fall back to sleep and end up watching a show on Netflix until my eyes get heavy. I wake up a few hours later exhausted. I feel suspended in motion, neither here nor there, and not really fully committed to anything. Except writing to you.

Dad won't have you to greet him this time

Since my mom died I have been trying to wrap my head and heart around death. And grief. Then Frank died in August. I have a card on my desk I intended to write to Georgette but three months later it is still there. It is neglectful of me, and I feel badly that the loss of someone so dear was pushed to the background; however, once you were diagnosed, I let everything I possibly could go by the wayside. All I wanted was you. All I could feel was you. Everything I did was in response to your anticipated departure. I was not sure if knowing you would go and still having you was better than a sudden and unexpected loss. Last Friday there was a fire at a warehouse in Oakland California. Artists and musicians lived there. It was also a fire trap. During a music event a fire broke out, which spread rapidly, engulfing the space in flames with little opportunity for people to escape. At least 35 people are dead, including Rena's friend Jonathan Bernbaum, her arch enemy from age 13 to 17, and then good friend. Theirs was a story of transformation and growing up and second chances. He was an internationally known VJ (something to do with electronic music performance). He also ran across our Jonathan at the airport in San Francisco when departing and arriving as he traveled the world to do his music. I thought about his mom, Diane, and the sudden shock of loosing her child. Not on one of his many plane rides or in a foreign land, rather a few miles from his childhood home. Not because of a terminal illness with a determined outcome. Is it better or worse for death to be drawn out or sudden? Either way feels like a slap in the face, one slap after the other. Mom. Frank. You. Jonathan B. Still I reach out for you at 3AM and I wonder, where are you?

Frank and I at China Camp

I am going to Cuba this month. It's a place I have always wanted to go, my 60th birthday present to myself. You were sick when I booked it, therefore it was to be a short trip, only 4 days. Even as I bought the tickets I was not sure I would actually go, it depended on your health. I hoped you would still be here, and then I would happily pass. Now that you are gone, Rena and I will make the trip. It will be warm and I will swim in the sea. We will ride in classic American cars and walk narrow streets in Old Havana and sit at cafes. I will press my hands against the old textured buildings and close my eyes to to absorb the colors. We will undoubtedly speak of you, shed tears and laugh as we recount funny Pepsi stories, of which there are many to choose from. My grief will accompany me. I might wake up at 3AM, unsure of exactly where I am. Perhaps I will reach for you, feel the hollow pit in my stomach and not be able to go back to sleep. I may look up the ceiling as images of you run like a ticker tape across my brain. I might think about my mom, Frank, or even Diane Bernbaum and if she too is awake with thoughts of her son. There is a vacancy sculpted by grief that registers a sequence of spaces with no utility or purpose. They are placeholders. I feel them in the dead of night. When I stare blankly into the afternoon silence. And I wonder, where are you?

Missing you darling Pepsi girl and so much love,

Mom

I'll Be Looking At The Moon But I'll be Seeing You

Pepsi in her glory

Dear Pepsi,

This the letter I dreaded writing. After two very difficult days of rapid deterioration, I took your cues and helped you enter a more peaceful place. In doing so I ended this part of our journey together, though I feel you every minute of every day and know you are watching out for me. You are and always will be my guardian angel. They said I would know and though I wondered and questioned myself as we rolled with your ups and downs, it was clear you were ready, and far too tired to carry on in this life. You looked up at me with a pleading in your eyes as you refused food, had a hard time walking and every breath felt like an effort. You often stared into space, as if your body remained on my behalf but your transition had already begun. I slept on the floor with you for two nights. You were unable to get comfortable; however, it was as if you saw my exhaustion and despite your pain, you fell asleep for three hours so I could get some rest. I woke Friday morning and knew you could not go on any longer, not even for my sake. I called the vet and gave them a heads up. Erica stopped by on her way to work to say farewell and Anne came to help me get you in the car. She drove so I could sit with you in the back. It felt surreal and right at the same time.

Pepsi being carried into the hospital

I tried to keep you going until Dad got here on Monday, or even Rena on Saturday. They understood and told me to do what was best for you. It took all my love and strength to help you make this transition. The staff was very kind and laid a quilt on the floor for you. They explained the process and asked my permission before putting in the IV. Everyone at the clinic has come to love you and were very sad. They put a sparkly pink bandage on your paw, a diva until the end. Anne took video and then we called Rena on FaceTime so she could be with us. Once the doctor injected the medicine you closed your eyes and went right to sleep. You seemed so peaceful. After you went to sleep they left me with you so we could have some time together. I held you, told you how much I love you and would miss you. I called Dad and we actually started laughing about how after you came into our lives I let you have the run of the house. I spent thousands of dollars a few years earlier updating the house and was strict with people about taking off shoes before they entered and cleaning up after themselves. You managed to undo most of that - chewing sheetrock, wood on the banister, the furniture and pulling rug threads. You caused me to relax my rigid and often unreasonable expectations that drove people crazy. After all it was always about you. Dr. Wolff and the vet tech came back in and as I shared Pepsi stories, often humorous ones, Dr. Wolff and I caressed you. I felt as if you heard us and we helped your spirit elevate. I cut some of your fur and put it in a baggie. I touched you one final time and forced myself to leave, walking out the door of the examination room and into life without you. 

A more peaceful place

Kissing goodbye - for now

When I got home Pearl waited for you to come through the door. The house was quiet. I walked over to your pink fleece jacket and hugged it close to my chest, inhaling your smell. I stood in the kitchen and sobbed. Your medications covered the window sill. Traces of you everywhere. Your absent presence is felt in every corner of the house. Part me expects you to prance into the room or lay beside me in your typical spot near my pillow. After being so vigilant for six weeks it was odd not to check on you every few minutes. I felt at a loss and your sisters looked at me as if to say What do we do now? Beats me I thought. My eyes hurt from crying and I was exhausted after running on fumes for several days; however, I made a plan for the day. For starters I wanted to get two frames, one for the painting Karen gave us and another for the painting I made of you and Pearl when we lived in Austin. After the frame shop I decided we needed a trip to Higgins Beach to pay tribute to you at sunset. Before we left Jeanette came over with flowers and a card. We sat at the island in the kitchen drinking tea as I recounted Pepsi stories between laughing and crying. We spoke of loss and love, how deep the connection to our pet babies is. After Jeanette left I wondered how I and my aching heart would manage without you. 

Pepsi and Pearl

Portrait of Pepsi and Mom over my desk

Your loss so soon after my mom's death feels like a one-two punch. Tending to you caused me to eliminate all but the essential. My perspective has been altered radically. The political situation has descended into madness after the election. The world feels upside down. I have strange thoughts about taking Pearl and Pandy to traverse back roads in search of awe in nature. Eat breakfast at cafes in small towns. Chat with strangers. Rent the house for a year, get a small camper and write and take photos. Think quietly with volumes of space around me. See if I can make sense of life without you to anchor me. What's the point of working so hard when the rug is pulled out from under you? I have been at it non stop since I started my doctoral program in 2009, you and Pearl by my side through school and then beginning my career as a professor in a new city. You and your sisters made weekly trips to the nursing home to visit my mom, which many of us believe added years and happiness to her life. Maybe this urge to bolt will pass, and then again maybe not. I love my work, community, house, and Maine; however, going though these past few months, particularly the last six weeks mostly on my own has caused me to question the basis of everything. Either way life without you has reshaped me and I am not certain what will evolve without you darling Peps, my bringer of joy.

Pearl looking for her sister

Your sisters under your watchful eye at sunset

We went to Higgins beach before the sun set to pay tribute to you. The tide was low, just as you like it. It was uncanny how Pearly paused and looked around, breaking her run several times. I know she was searching for you. Look up Pearly, I said, she is here, watching from above. In mind's eye I could see you fearlessly plow into the surf and turn to bark for me to throw the yellow tennis ball for you to fetch. There is no complete picture without you. I walked along the shore and called out your name at the top of my lungs with only the breaking waves to muffle my cries. I looked up to the sky ablaze with strokes of electric sunset hues and I swear Pepsi girl you were looking down at us, trying to assure me you will always be present no matter where we are. I know it was your earthly body that left and your spirit remains a force of love and protection. In that we will never be apart. I will continue to write and speak to you. I will hold you close and feel your presence swirl around me. You will continue to fill every moment with magnificence. You remain my bringer of joy. Over the past few days I have been humming lyrics from a Judy Collins song:

I'll be seeing you in every lovely summer's day

In everything that's bright and gay, I'll always think of you that way

I'll find you in the morning sun and when the night is new

I'll be looking at the moon but I'll be seeing you

We are far from done baby girl. You will continue to receive my letters. I will listen and watch for you. When your sisters run across the beach at low tide, you will be with us. In every sunset and sunrise. As Dad and I sleep you will lay between us. You will be the in our laughter and silence, in sadness and joy. I will take you on new adventures, whisper your name as I dive into the sea. When I asked you to never leave me I didn't realize you would honor my request, even if you were no longer physically present. As I gaze upward, it may seem I am looking at billowing puffs of clouds, bold streaks of color, or slices of the moon, but really baby girl, I'll be seeing you. 

I love you forever my darling Pepsi,

Mom 

Waiting For You To Live

Portrait of Pepsi and Mom commission for us by our dear friend Karen Anderson

Dear Pepsi,

It has ben a while since I wrote to you in this blog. I have been pretty exhausted with the frequent highs and lows, and as of the past week you have slowed down and become much more fragile. You had two serious bleeds last week, and after that you lost a lot of your spunk. You move slowly and often seemed disorientated. You don't entice Pearl to play or bring me your rope toy. I wish I knew what you are thinking and feeling. Last night was rough - you vomited so fiercely I thought I was loosing you then and there. I slept beside you in the bathroom, listening to your labored breathing. It was the first time you vomited, and we were both freaked out. Since then you have refused food; however you are drinking water and urinating, which is a good sign. Rena was here for a week, and she bought you a new pink fleece coat for our shortened walks, which is so you and diva like. You still enjoy people, wagging your tail and greeting friends and strangers, perking up when we go to the beach or the vet, even barking for treats so loud the doctors can hear you in the exam rooms.   

Pepsi looking at her reflection in the glass - admiring her new pink fleece coat. 

I am wracking my brain trying to know what is the best thing to do for you. I spend all my time with you other than when I am teaching. It is almost impossible for me to be here alone and still function at a basic level, which is really only leaving the house to go to class. After Dad left, we managed until Rena came. We had a nice quiet Thanksgiving, just Rena, Pearl, Pandy, Rena's doggie Picasso, you and me. We went to the beach several times, and one day you actually chased the ball and went into the water. The weekend after last, before your bleeds, it was so warm you romped in the water like always, as if nothing had changed. That's what makes this so confounding. However, since last week, I can see how tired you are. We went to see Dr. Stuer yesterday and he confirmed you are weaker overall, though after acupuncture you seemed visibly better. She's not ready to go yet he said, if she were I would tell you. I keep looking into your eyes, hoping you will make it clear but every time I think I know, I feel more and more perplexed. Several times a day I am ready to throw in the towel and then you light up, wag your tail, and show me it is not quite time yet. I only want what is best for you; however the thought of loosing you feels too much to bear.

Rena, Mom and Pepsi at Higgins Beach

I know the time for you to leave me is drawing near. Sometimes I bury my face into your coat of blonde fur and weep. I whisper how much I love you as I hold you close. Since October 20th, nearly 6 weeks ago, my life has revolved around you. Your cancer has reframed my perspective and existence. I have eliminated all but the essential, which turns out to be quite a bit. While some may think I am waiting for you to die, I see it as the opposite, I am living each moment with you as deeply as possible. I choose to think of it as waiting for you to live.  I wake up every day hoping you are still breathing, wagging your tail, and ready for a beach romp. Dr. Stuer asked me if I had any regrets, and without hesitation I said no, I am just tired. We both are, you especially. If you can hang in until Dad gets here Monday, that would be great, or even Saturday when Rena returns; however, it really is your call. No amount if time will ever be enough, even if you lived another five years.  I admit I am clinging but I can't get enough of you my girl. In the midst of all this sadness we have been showered with concern from our friends as well as strangers. Karen commissioned a portrait of us that captures the essence of our love. People are sending prayers and love from near and far, and we find ourselves in warm and caring conversations, particularly at Higgins Beach with other pet parents. I cry easily, and people are so kind to me. Today we met a woman who moved back home to care for her mother who has terminal cancer. She stroked you lovingly as she told her story. Another woman with a senior dog who we met during our last visit to Higgins joined us. She said she was thinking of us earlier that morning, and was so happy to find us on the beach. You attract love wherever you go Pepsi girl. 

Rapture at Higgins beach

I know it is not long now. Things are changing fast. You seem to be transitioning between worlds. gazing into space, seemingly confused but maybe not, perhaps you have already elevated to a place beyond my reach. I can't keep you here beyond your destiny but every day I am waiting for you to live. Until you can't.

Love you forever,

Mom  

Because I Still Have her

Because I still have her

I can make statements like Every day is a gift

She is still snuggling next to me in bed

Romping on the beach like a puppy

Bringing me the ball to toss

Popping up at the sound of her leash

Pawing her sister to play

Looking perfectly healthy most of the time

As if cancer is not eating her body

When she coughs up blood, drools, and pants excessively it’s another story

My entire being erupts in panic 

I become far less stoic

I grapple and fumble

for the right thing to do against my greed for her

There is an end in sight and no end at the same time

I don’t know quite what to make of it

because I am a holder on

And though grateful for every morning we wake up together

The truth is I am always begging for more

Because I still have her

We live in a dense and shifted reality

Amplified is what you might call it

Extracting joy and feeling moments deeply

What looms in the horizon has slowed me to a crawl  

Weed out the unnecessary

which is a lot when you actually start to do it

I stand still, gaze out windows, notice small details, consider my gestures

Pondering takes time  

I measure everything by her

Your life changes when your focus is whether breaths are being taken

And if they are, then you can fool yourself nothing has really changed nor will it

Not really

Because I still have her

I cannot choreograph this loss

When the boom is lowered

it will render me devastated and bewildered

I still feel my mother lurking around five months after her death

I think I have to go see her

I miss her and want her here again, stormy past and all

I don’t want Pepsi to leave me or live a life without her

All that empty space and hollow ground swallowing me up

There is no filling of a chasm that wide

Cavernous holes like moon craters covering my inner landscape   

Today, at least so far, I do not have to fall into it

Because I still have her