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
I don't know what it is but your Pepsi Diary posts put into words exactly how I feel as well. If someone were to ask me how I feel I just can't explain it but when you explain how you feel it puts it into perspective. I too looked after Kodie for two months after diagnosis and I virtually didn't leave the house. I work from home so I was able to work with him beside me as usual but I didn't go out even briefly as I refused to let him be alone. I also do not suffer fools lightly and have no interest in going out and being nice to people for their benefit because inside I am grieving so much, to a point that I feel that I am functioning on auto pilot. Your posts reassure me that I am not alone in the way that I feel. Thank you. Hugs to you and Pepsi and love to my beautiful boy Kodie.
ReplyDeleteThanks for your kind words. It is heartbreaking. I am glad the writing helps you, it helps me to write through it.
DeleteYour words are so beautiful, Paula, and express, for me and probably many others, the profound misery of no longer being able to hold, hear and see our beloved companions. The bolting, fleeing, evading? all part of the terrain of loss. This is a very tough time of year in any given year but to have to endure it through the fog of missing dear Peps I'm sure is nearly unbearable. When you do decide to run away, and it's only a matter of when not if, know there's a whole world of us out here who feel your pain and love you for being so brave in sharing the rawness of it. This too shall pass.
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