My sweet black dog is now on Hospice care. Although he still hobbles some of the time, the pain medication appears to be helping, at least for now. I hope it will keep him comfortable as we journey forth. Our long goodbye has begun. From what I’ve read, he probably has around two to three months (or maybe more?). Since we don’t really know, we’re doing our best to enjoy every day he has by giving him unexpected doggie treats and plenty of attention, showing him how much he is loved. Ah, this is not an easy road. It takes little for tears to wet my cheeks.

For brief periods, I can forget what the future holds. When he acts like himself on walks, prancing down the sidewalk like he owns it, offering a bark of “hello” to a few lucky people we meet along the way, I can forget. His appetite is good and there is no lack of pawing at my pant leg, asking me to play “chase” (involving me chasing him around the dining room table—sometimes on three legs—with a squeaky toy in his mouth). At these times, I wonder if maybe the vet made a mistake, but realize that is magical thinking. I have only to look at the x-ray to see the obvious pockets of formerly white bone that are now grey, indicating the thinning.

While I’ve long recognized a dog’s lifespan is much shorter than a human lifespan and that one day I’d lose him, it always felt way out there in some future place. Now it’s finite, he’s been assigned his place in the line. It’s knowing, but not knowing . . . knowing it will happen in the near future, but not knowing when—a form of limbo. The best part of this is that he’s blissfully unaware.

I choose to believe the years of companionship and unconditional love will soften the pain of letting go. Of course, as I write this, unstoppable tears are once again spilling over my cheeks. We’ve just returned from a long walk and my BEST dog ever is snuggled happily in his bed beside me, snoring (not so softly) and probably dreaming of barking at squirrels, one of his favorite winter past times.

I’d love to hear your story of saying goodbye to a beloved pet.

2/17/22

This time of year, I especially miss my mom. Truthfully, I remember only a handful of times during our lives that we didn’t spend Christmas together, so I suppose it’s natural to feel a void. If we can’t be together, I wish I might at least call her up to hear her voice, but sadly acknowledge this possibility disappeared with her passing ten years ago.

Perhaps I should have moved on by now, but, nope, I still feel that same empty place in my heart. Over time, I have created another way to feel a closeness—I call her up in a different way, by conjuring her voice in my head. “We” carry on an internal conversation and I realize this ability to “talk” with her is limitless.

A feeling of comfort settles around me, as I imagine her voice speaking soft words of endearment, during this season of love.

This year, as is our custom, we spent Thanksgiving with my son and family, who live across town. My daughter-in-law’s entire family joined us so, mimicking my childhood, fifteen of us crowded around two tables stretched out to be one.

After we’d all had our fill of turkey, I watched my daughter-in-law prepare to whip the cream for pumpkin pie. My three-year-old grandson wanted his mama to pick him up, so she sat him up on the counter edge next to her, where he could watch the proceedings. I peered at him as he stared at all of us standing or sitting nearby laughing and talking. I had a sudden flashback where I was the little person at our large family gatherings so long ago. I wondered what my grandson might be thinking and hoped he was absorbing the free-flowing love that surrounded him and will, in later years, look back on these gatherings with the same fondness and love for family that I felt in that moment. Along with his mom, dad and brothers, I hope he will remember his grandmas and grandpas, aunts and uncles, and the enjoyment of all being together to celebrate the gratitude we feel for our comfortable lives. He may also remember it fondly as that “simpler time.”

Opportunity: a favorable, appropriate, or advantageous combination of circumstances; a chance or prospect

What would life be like without opportunity? I find the thought rather bleak. Opportunity can be sought after, but it can also seek us. Opportunity sought me when I became the family caregiver for both my parents, who had dementia.

How often do we look at a person with dementia and see…well, see a demented person? As yet, there’s no way to slow or stop the progression of this devastating disease, so how could we possibly reframe it as an opportunity in, and of, itself?  Can we not only learn to accept the person’s disability, but embrace this disability and see it as an opportunity?  An opportunity, you say? How on earth could it be an opportunity?

Throughout my life, Mom and I’d often been at odds with each other, and for most of her decline into dementia, the disease did not improve our relationship. Toward the end, however, the opportunity to heal old wounds arrived and I came to know acceptance. I learned to meet her where she stood on her dementia journey. This led to another opportunity to embrace Mom, and release my negative emotional bag filled with pain, anger, frustration, irritation, and dismay.  Our divisions repaired themselves and I discovered only tenderness. Transgressions, real or imagined, dissolved as I found the opportunity to build bridges, constructed simply of love. I had encountered real life. My one, true mother neared the end of her earthly stay, and I received the gift of release, an opportunity to let go, finding closure in a beautiful experience that transcended time and space. Ten years later, I still feel enveloped in my mother’s love. Thank goodness for opportunities.

Steps are steps, right? Well, maybe not. What appeared as a series of steps to my husband and me had transformed into a magical destination for someone else.

Perception. Imagination. What one person perceives as utilitarian — a means to move from here to there — another person imagines as a work of art, worthy to be the stage for the most important question he’s ever asked.

Those steps have never again been “just steps.” I now see them through a different lens, a lens which opened my eyes to a different possibility that had never crossed my mind. The view from the young man’s lens enriched my appreciation, believe it or not, of those steps.

How dull the world if people came off an assembly line one after the other, all identical, with everyone only seeing steps! But, no, we each view life through our own unique lens. That different lens provides the world with remarkable diversity.

Note to Self:  Recognize there’s more than one way to approach, understand, or view life. Appreciate diversity.

A week later, at the appointed time, my husband and I watched discreetly through our front window as the young man kneeled upon the magical steps before his girlfriend and proposed. At that moment, their world expanded, a new threshold revealed, ripe with potential. Tears in my eyes, I recognized all of us are actually presented with this fresh beginning each morning we open our eyes to greet a new day. I admit there are days my lens turns cloudy and I fall into the rut of my daily routine, forgetting to savor life, which tends to pass us by in a blink of the eye.

Note to Self:  Each day is a gift. Treat it as such. Embrace possibility. Stir the imagination. Do one thing differently, outside the routine. Learn the name of a new flower, sing a song out loud, greet a stranger when out walking. Be present.

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I am elated to report, with the bold crash of a dozen cymbals, how gravely mistaken I was. It’s been with a sense of pure delight that I’ve been witness to my dear friend and neighbor falling in love. Oh, did I mention that she’s at the tail end of her 70’s  and he’s in his mid-80’s? Even though they’re now further along life’s path, her description of the emotions experienced strike me as precisely the same feelings as anyone who’s ever fallen in love.

I’ve learned there’s even a scientific explanation for these feelings and it’s all about brain chemicals. They’re undoubtedly experiencing the brain’s release of dopamine, associated with the brain’s “reward” pathways and also oxytocin, the “love hormone” (mentioned in my last post), which increases the effects of our emotions. The release of these brain chemicals insures a desire to experience more of it! What a marvel that our magnificent brains can enjoy this feeling of “love” at any age.

Their courtship began a couple of years ago, a few years after the death of their beloved first spouses. For my friend, until recently, it was not a courtship, but a friendship, as she stood firm in her belief that she’d never remarry. One day, that all changed. One day last summer, she decided she was going to hold his hand.

I noticed the dozen beautiful red roses on her dining room table one afternoon in the late autumn, a gift to celebrate they’d taken their friendship to a new level. What began with a bit of handholding had progressed. It was as if she’d at last let down her guard and opened herself to the possibility of new beginnings. She sheepishly confessed to me that, until it’d happened again, she’d no idea how much she’d sorely missed being held in someone’s arms. She encouraged me to write about it and tell everyone it’s never too late to fall in love. It was shortly thereafter, with stars in their eyes, they became engaged. Our neighborhood watched with joy in the ensuing weeks as the newly engaged couple was often spotted walking arm-in-arm, albeit slowly, to the neighborhood coffee shop, 4 blocks away.

They are now newlyweds, getting ready to leave on their second honeymoon, as the first one proved too short! They are positively giddy in their joy. Watching them hold hands, it’s easy to sense the genuine pleasure they feel as a new couple. There are giggles, merriment and joie de vivre in simply being alive. My dear friend shared with me this is the best of marriages, with no distractions from jobs or children. Their only plan is to enjoy each other, as each day moving forward is a gift…a gift of time they will share together.

So, I’m here to tell you that romantic love is alive and well…at any age.

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Sadly, many of us will face the deconstructing of our parents’ household somewhere along life’s journey. Knowing first-hand the stress involved in this difficult endeavor, it’s not uncommon to become an automated machine with “donate, trash, sell, or giveaway” the words of the day. Dismantling a home of many years can become a chore to endure and rarely do we utter the word “keep.” In sorting through my mother’s belongings after she passed away, I chose to keep several of her decorative teacups, a ceramic cat, a ’60’s “lady” vase, a few knickknacks and even her spurs. While in no way diminishing the sentimental value of these items, I’ve come to realize they simply can’t offer the same intrinsic experience as an article of clothing. No way can I cuddle with a spur! Saving an item of Mom’s clothing was the furthest thing from my mind during those disquieting days. I was all about tidying up and moving stuff out. It has taken time and distance for me to recognize what I will call the “power of softness” and what it would have meant to me to have one of my mom’s old sweaters or even her bathrobe.

As a daughter, if you find yourself in the position of sorting through parents’ belongings, may I suggest stopping long enough to save something soft? Fold it up and tuck it away. Grieving happens in stages. It comes and goes. You may not even think about or touch this precious garment again for quite a while. If, however, somewhere down the road, like me, you experience this longing for your loved one, that “softness” might become a cherished treasure, more special than you ever imagined.

I miss you, Mom.

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