Being Kicked

Seth and Clifford - 2004

I've been struggling with my dog, Clifford. He had a shoulder injury that seemed to be getting better thanks to the vet and pain medication.

Monday I got up at 3:30am to go to work and I couldn't find Clifford. After searching the house, I found him sitting in the bathtub just staring at the wall. Not laying down, just staring. He wouldn't even look at me.

Right then I knew my baby was dying. For anyone that has seen the death look in an animal knows the look.

By time the vet opened at 8:00am Clifford was in shock, needed blood transfusions and was admitted to the doggy hospital. He had an ultrasound later that afternoon, and the diagnoses was cancer. It’s through his whole abdomen, in his liver and spleen. Most likely will spread to his lungs next.

I am devastated.

You see.. Clifford is our dog. Seth got him for me for my birthday in 2004. He was just six weeks old and has been my baby since the first time I laid eyes on him.

Through Seth’s death, he was my rock. I remember shortly after the funeral I was sitting on the couch hysterically crying. Clifford came up and put his head on my shoulder and licked the tears off my face. I realized that even though he was grieving (both my dogs went through a really weird grief stage) he was able to put his own pain and grief aside and take care of me.

Fast forward to now. I have decided to not do treatment on Clifford, other than pain management. After all, there isn't anything the vet can do other then blood transfusions every couple weeks.. which would mean he would need to be hospitalized every couple weeks. I.just.can’t.do.it. I can’t put him in the scary hospital for a short term solution. I can't put him through fear and pain for my own selfish reasons.

I have been in panic mode since Monday. Taking care of Clifford. Trying to make sure he is comfortable until it’s time to send him home to his daddy. Every night we are up several times a night, shoving pain pills down his throat and his multiple trips to the potty.

I am exhausted.

I am angry. Pissed off at Seth. Pissed that because my husband killed himself I am doing this alone. Pissed off that my husband isn't protecting us, yet again.

Clifford rolling around in the grass and sunshine.
Despite the fact that he is dying, he finds joy in the simple pleasures.

Shortly after Clifford’s diagnoses I had the following dream.

I was walking into a sporting goods store. I knew exactly where I was going and what I needed (Can’t remember what I needed). As I walked into the store, Seth was standing there with two of his friends. I thought SHIT. Pretend like you don’t see him, just walk past him fast, maybe he won’t see me.

After I quickly walked past Seth and his friends, Seth came up behind me. He kept kicking me in the butt and back, with each kick it would launch me forward. After the third or fourth kick he said “What, you just going to pretend like you don’t know me??”

I was furious. I whipped my head around and yelled at him. “You haven’t talked to me in three years. You just up and disappeared. You left me, and now expect me to pretend like I’m happy to see you??”

He didn't get the clue. He continued “What’s up, what’s new?”

“I don’t need your shit today. Clifford is dying. He was just diagnosed with cancer. The last thing I need is your shit.”

He started crying “don’t lie to me, Clifford can’t be dying, how did this happen?”

I was so angry I could have choked him. “If you were around for the last three years and were part of our family, you would know all this. Instead you abounded us and left us to figure out all this shit on our own.”

I woke up. I woke up angry. I couldn't shake the look in Seth’s eyes when I told him Clifford was dying.

Looking back the dream seems symbolic. Seth kicking me repeatedly when I don’t have the energy to get back up. Like in real life, I can’t recover from one thing before I get kicked back to my knees. Obviously I am angry Seth isn't here and my anger came out in my dream.

This is one of the worst things I have been through. It is completely devastating. I never imagined having one of my dogs die would be this devastating.

Today I reached my breaking point and asked for help. I have a friend coming to stay the night and be on Clifford duty for the night, so I can grieve and sleep.. and know my baby is being taken care of.

The silver lining in it all? When Clifford’s time has come I can have a vet come to our home and send him home to Seth. I don’t have to take him to the scary vet’s office and have him die on a cold metal table. He can be at home with his friends, family and doggy sister Juna.

I find peace in knowing I can put him out of his pain. I find anger in knowing I couldn't just put my husband to sleep and put him out of his suffering rather than him shooting himself alone in the mountains.

Walk the Walk

I see my neighbor who just lost her 18 year-old son to a sudden heart attack while he was away camping.

I stand in the kitchen, pouring orange mango juice into my glass filled with ice. My subconscious must have seen her out of the corner of my eye – although that would surprise me, as the front window of my house is a full room away from the kitchen.  Yet, I find myself, mid-pour of mango juice, turning my head to the left and looking through the living room and out the picture glass window.  There she is, walking, passing by in front of our house.

I recognize that walk.  Shoulders slumped, leading with her head, she stares straight ahead and yet her eyes focus on nothing. Her feet never get more than an inch of the ground as she moves forward – if I was beside her, I’d be able to hear the sidewalk scraping the bottom of her shoes. 

I empathize with her, knowing at this point in her mourning process, all one can really do is to keep your body moving.  It’s not time yet for acceptance, understanding, or rebuilding.  Just keep the body moving.

My instinct is to run outside and talk to her, to tell her that I am sorry for her loss.  But more importantly, that I’m not one “of those” people who express their sympathies. I want to tell my neighbor that I experienced loss myself.  No wait.  That sounds like it’s more for me than it is for her, like some sort of competition.  Didn’t I hate when people did that to me, but then again, didn’t I hate when people said nothing at all.

I am over thinking this entire hypothetical conversation.  She is already long gone down the block and a quarter of the ice in my drink has melted – leaving a watery version of the tasty mango flavor.

Two days ago, I was putting my three girls in the car when she also walked by our house.  She was with a friend who was walking a puppy.  The girls ran to pet the puppy and I had the best chance to express my regrets to a neighbor I’ve never met.  “Is that a pure breed collie or a mix?” Is all that came out of my mouth.  Then the moment passed as well as her and her friend.

She’s been on my mind these days.

I know it’s okay to ask about her son.  It would be a bit much to run out of the house with a fruit drink in my hand yelling, “Hey, wait, sorry for your loss!”  But the next time I see her, I won’t hesitate to bring his death up.  I’ve been preaching too long that people don’t ask enough about loved ones we’ve lost.

She must be very proud of him and would like to know people are thinking of him.  Him.  I don’t even know his name.  I think I’ll ask her, as well as her name, when I see her walking by again.