It's Sunday morning and I'll soon be getting ready for church. One evening not too long ago, we had our new neighbors over for a glass of red and good conversation. As we shared who we were with each other, our new neighbors shared that they were "believers".
We realized we had many beliefs in politics and religion in common as the evening went on. They said they were actively looking for a spiritual community where they would feel at home. I haven't been to what I consider my church, in a long time, but eagerly told them about The Well, a progressive, welcoming, inclusive church in our area.
I'm not going to lie, my faith has dwindled to nothing but a tangled web of questions, punctuated with huge clouds of doubt. But this niche I'm in, is not unfamiliar. I've been here many times before, with each visit becoming more profound. It's not a comfortable corner to occupy, nevertheless, here I am.
Years ago, I read that if you want to completely simplify life, you can divide it into two things: love and efficiency. Or, even more understandable, the mind versus the heart. The logical, organized mind that can divide knowledge into categories that make sense, and the metaphorical heart, which is where all sorts of emotions live. At times, they spar and argue with each other. It's interesting to watch it all play out. The worst scenario is, that nothing is played out, and too many thoughts and feelings are left open-ended and unresolved.
So, at a neighbor's Christmas Party, we were visiting with our new neighbors who told us they had been going to "my" church and really liked it. When I told them I was going to go on Christmas Eve, they let me know that Christmas Eve service was actually this morning. They invited us to go.
Here I am, getting ready soon, to visit this church that I haven't been to in a long time. Honestly, I'm not sure how I feel. Maybe it'll be the light that the wise men saw which led them to the baby they heard about. A bit of hope in a very dark desert. But that's another blog isn't it?
One thing I really believe is that Jesus once existed here, in the middle east, on our earth. I wonder often what he was really like. Walking around in the desert, no modern conveniences. I strongly believe that he was nothing like the way American's evangelical churches paint him.
He was a revolutionary, for sure! And he stirred up a lot of shit with the religious people. I really wish I could time travel and hang out with him. Maybe I can. And so it goes!
"She was his girl,
He was her boyfriend.
She be his wife,
Take him as her husband.
A surprise on the way, any day, any day.
One healthy little giggling dribbling baby boy.
The wise men came three made their way
To shower him with love
While he lay in the hay.
Shower him with love, love, love
Love, love, love
Love, love, is all around
Not very much of his childhood was known.
Kept his mother Mary worried
Always out on his own. He met another Mary for a reasonable fee, Less than reputable as known to be.
His heart was full of love, love, love Love, love, love Love, love, is all around
When Jesus Christ was nailed to the his tree Said: oh, Daddy-o I can see how it all soon will be... I came to she'd a little light on this darkening scene Instead I fear I spilled the blood of my children all around. The blood of our children all around.
So the story goes, so I'm told, The people he knew were Less than golden hearted. Gamblers and robbers, Drinkers and jokers, all soul searchers, Like you and me!
Rumors insisted he soon would be For his deviations Taken into custody by the authorities Less informed than he.
Drinkers and jokers All soul searchers Searching for love love love Love love love Love love is all around
Preparations were made For his celebration day He said: eat this bread and think of it as me Drink this wine and dream it will be The blood of our children all around The blood of our children all around The blood of our children all around
Father up above, why in all this hate Have you filled me up with love, love, love Love, love, love Love, love is all around
Father up above, why in all this anger Have you filled me up with love"
Frankly, the year of The Pandemic was easier than 2024. This year was like the end of a fire when there's nothing but embers and ashes. Always a slight chance that the once bright blaze will be revived to its beautiful beginning. But instead it just fizzles out and turns into dusty, grey cinders. Every time !!!
That's 2024's metaphorical life. All year long!
They say there's a child living deep inside each of us. I used to think how silly that idea was. I used to laugh and make jokes about it. Be careful what you make fun of, it will bite you in the ass with its truth!!!
I discovered my own inner child years ago during a counseling session. She was alive and well living out all ages in the center of my soul; wanting attention.
It's Christmas again. Lights, ribbons, trees, garland, and candles shining brightly. It has always been my most favorite time of the year. For reasons a little too numerous to mention, the excitement has faded.
My year started out, as many of my readers know, with a diagnosis of Chronic Lymphocytic Luekemia. (It's not as bad as it sounds!) And then the domino effect of the deaths of my two beloved Australian Shepherds four weeks apart. That was the first two months.
However, this was the big year for our country, an election year. The race began slowly and painfully until July 21st. Biden stepped out and escorted Harris into the competition. Kamala Harris was running for president, a black woman filled with joy, confidence, and hope for a kinder America! Stars of silver and gold, twinkling brightly as a sign of hope.
It was so exciting watching an intelligent woman run for president of, what I thought, a great country. The debate with her opponent, an offensive, old, white man, showed she had grace and wisdom the minute she walked towards him and extended her hand. The handshake is a symbol of expressing one's intention of peace. He was hesitant. He isn't about peace. But he won the election.
Harris's opponent winning the election was a type of death for me as well. Coming to terms with the fact that the majority of citizens in my country are stupid enough to vote for someone who tells them that immigrants are eating their pets, was a hard pill to swallow. (When in fact a white girl, born and raised in the United States actually did kill and eat a cat. An American citizen!!!)
Another ember in my metaphorical fire abruptly went out. I decided not to watch the news as I looked at homes for sale in England. It helped divert my attention to hope for the future in my own little world.
Thanksgiving! The introduction of the "most wonderful time of the year". My loving daughter has hosted this holiday at her beautiful home the last couple of years. The night before the festivities, I went to her house and helped begin the season with garland and lights I arrived early Thanksgiving day, to work on the finishing touches. Doing those little things gives me joy.
We all had a great afternoon, and as evening came, people gathered round the outside fire to chat and play fireside word games. Fortunately, I was relieved when we didn't do the tradition of going person to person saying what we were thankful for. The only thing I could have honestly expressed was, being grateful the year was coming to an end. I don't think anyone wanted to hear my negative attitude.
After warm moments with family, we headed home. When we walked in, we immediately saw that Tasha, our oldest four legged family member for thirteen years, was rapidly decling. It was painful to watch. She died two days later.
Here, I have to note, there were actually two good things that came from 2024; the adoption/rescue of our two beautiful boys, Enzo and Elliot. They really did fit the cliche' of "they rescued me".
Christmas is twelve days away. My deep nostalgia has already come forth with memories of celebrating at my grams and gramps house, long strings of silver tinsel hanging from our freshly cut tree adorned in colored lights, with the grand finale of a huge dinner prepared by my Gramma and Mimmy, my great grandmother. I have to mention my grandmother's teasured, silver, aluminum Christmas tree with a circular colored spotlight rotating and reflecting on it, was a thing to behold! Very retro now!
Memories slide through my mind like images on an old movie projector. Another home appears, hazy at first, but focusing in, I see a teenager, sixteen, and it's my parents house, Christmases at my grandparents long gone. But Christmas Eve, at mom and dad's, even better. I'm with my boyfriend, we're all opening presents, and a table of meats, cheeses, breads, chips, cookies and candies beautifully laid out for us to help ourselves. Later, it would be my boyfriend and me heading out for midnight mass.
The images slide on to visions of my siblings and me as adults with our own families. My mother's Christmas Eve lived on!
When dad died, everything changed. A few more Christmases at mom's and then she too, was no more.
My husband, our kids and myself moved further away from my childhood home and I carried on the Christmas Eve tradition for about fifteen more years. Last year I knew I was done. So, 2024, there will need to be a new tradition for my husband and myself. Our kids have growing families and in laws to think about.
This long blog is coming to an end. I hope you've read this far; even more so, I hope you've enjoyed sharing memories with me.
Through all of this, the years have stolen my idealism, and my hope in humanity. This year especially, I've had more thoughts on the line of what if....about my long held faith in God.
A friend of mine sent me a video out of the blue this morning. It inspired this blog. A video of Greg Lake and Ian Anderson (Jethro Tull) singing 'I Believe in Father Christmas'. If you don't have a listen, please read the lyrics:
"They said there'll be snow at Christmas
They said there'll be peace on Earth
But instead it just kept on raining
A veil of tears for the Virgin's birth
I remember one Christmas morning
A winters light and a distant choir
And the peal of a bell and that Christmas tree smell
And their eyes full of tinsel and fire
They sold me a dream of Christmas
They sold me a Silent Night
And they told me a fairy story
'Till I believed in the Israelite
And I believed in Father Christmas
And I looked to the sky with excited eyes
'Till I woke with a yawn in the first light of dawn
Last night, while lying in my bed, my mind was doing its regular racing around. It's a normal thing, I guess. The racing is random and moves from future, to past, and it tells me to relive and ponder the moments of my life. It almost never pauses and sits quietly still in the moment.
However, it did shine its light on my present situation. I'm not gonna lie, I'm getting older rapidly, and that alone has the ability to cause me to have a "poor me" type attitude. Maudlin! I believe the mind, clearly, has different functions from the metaphorical heart. It has no emotions, just information, problem solving, planning skills, and so on. I don't believe it tells the heart how to feel, but it's pretty damn influential! The emotions probably spar a lot with the mind.
Sometime, in late December, last year, I wrote a letter to God. It's a tradition that has faded out, but I've been doing it alone. The way it goes is, at the end of the year, preferably New Year's Eve, you ask God, via the letter, for things you'd like to see happen in the coming year. You put it in an envelope, seal it, and it’s not to be open until the following new year. Every time I've opened that little envelope, there have magically been wishes on my list that have come to pass. For a few years, all of the things on my list materialized.
The other night, I decided to open my letter. I had a list of about twenty things that were written down. I thought seeing a few things on my list would cheer me up...give me hope. As I opened the pretty gold, well sealed envelope, I saw the folded, lined paper of my letter. I took it out, unfolded it and read.
Not. One. Single. Thing. Happened!
POW!!!
Of course, my friend, anger rushed forward trying to help. It didn't!
Anyway, if you've read my blogs lately, you know they've been sort of downers. Not without good reason though! I write this blog for me. They're truly thoughts and words from my heart.
As I mentioned earlier, my mind was doing its racing, and would stop in different places. Sometimes the emotionless mind can be my friend. The idea of gratitude came forward and my heart sleepily woke up. (Sometimes becoming calloused and denying emotions of their rightful place in my life, is the only place to turn, just to get through the day!)
The feeling didn't last long, but the realization did. I have it pretty damn good! I really do! I thought of all I have: the security that surrounds me in the form of my dogs (of course!), my family who are healthy and relatively happy as far as I know, my fantastic friends (I love you Carolyn!), my husband, my home, living in a place where there are 299 days of sun a year, which leaves only 66 days of grey skies, and I don't worry about rent, or a house payment. I'm so very grateful for our casita, that makes money for all the extra luxuries in our lives. (I never in a million years thought buying a house would be a source of income. Thanks to Phil and Ian for talking me into it!)
Yeah, gratitude is powerful. But giving is just as powerful, if not more so.
To summerize my rambling blog, my mind and tired heart were able to show me a few things I started not to care about. They showed me the "magic", but true formula for peace: being grateful and generous!
"How 'bout getting off of these antibiotics?
How 'bout stopping eating when I'm full up? How 'bout them transparent dangling carrots? How 'bout that ever-elusive kudo?
Thank you, India Thank you, terror Thank you, disillusionment Thank you, frailty Thank you, consequence Thank you, thank you, silence
How 'bout me not blaming you for everything? How 'bout me enjoying the moment for once? How 'bout how good it feels to finally forgive you? How 'bout grieving it all one at a time?
The moment I let go of it Was the moment I got more than I could handle The moment I jumped off of it Was the moment I touched down
How 'bout no longer being masochistic? How 'bout remembering your divinity? How 'bout unabashedly bawling your eyes out? How 'bout not equating death with stopping?
My tolerance level is pretty low right now. Maybe it's the anger that always comforts me when I'm sad. (It really does help.) The reason is most likely caused by a conglomeration of grief, sadness, disappointment, and finally extreme apathy. Sometimes, if I'm lucky, apathy leaves, and anger takes its place. At least there's passion when that happens.
The other day Elliot, my beautiful boy dog, went on a couple of errands with me. The final stop was the hardware store. I couldn't find what I went there for, so a great employee was doing his best to help me. As he was up on the highest ladder, some old guy, maybe in his early 80's, came shuffling down the isle, slumped over his cart, not looking up. He sauntered to where I was standing and I realized I was in his way, so, I moved.
Now, understand this, I'm usually a very nice person. (Definition of nice: adjective... pleasing and agreeable in nature...exhibiting courtesy or politeness) But when this happened, I turned not nice at all, not in the slightest.
So, "this" is what turned me into the person that was lurking in the deepest part of my soul, waiting to be free:
The slumped man who didn't look up the whole time, apparently couldn't find what he was looking for. He again, shuffled down the isle, turned around, and made his way back towards us. He began looking on the other side, where I had moved after realizing I was in his way. I looked down at Elliot, who always waits patiently, and said, "Looks like we need to get out of the way again."
Understand that he didn't ever say "excuse me", or "can I get by". However, he mumbled in a very white, old man voice, "Get out of the damn way lady."
Seriously? I was actually shocked. I immediately, without thinking, said in a loud, but not yelling way, "FUCK YOU! WHAT AN ASSHOLE!"
He was turning the corner by then, but I made sure he heard me as he continued his search .
WOW, it felt so good! I finally, really, said something that I usually lay on my bed at night thinking about what I should have said. But this time I did it! No more 'should haves...And it felt so right!!!
"They say I did something bad, then why's it feel so good. Most fun I've ever had and I'd do it over and over and over again if I could. It just felt so good, good!" Taylor Swift lyrics
"I'm mixing up a bunch of magic stuff
A magic mushroom cloud of care
A potion that will rock the boat will rock
Make a bomb of love and blow it up
I did it
Do you think I've gone too far
I did it
Guilty as charged
I did it
It was me right or wrong
I did it Yeah
I never did a single thing to change the ugly ways of the world
I didn't know it felt so right inside
I didn't know at all
Open up the curtains I heard sirens there the lights flash and crawl
I did it justice I just did it for us all
It's a nickel or a dime for what I've done
The truth is that I don't really care
For such a lovely crime I'll do the time
You better lock me up I'll do it again" Dave Matthews lyrics
When my father died suddenly at 63, we were all stunned. I remember sitting outside, at the side of my parents home, crying. All of a sudden the song Obla Dee, by the Beatles, came on. Clear as day. "Obla dee obla dah life goes on, brah, la la la how life goes on."
It's such a light, boppy, airy tune. I mean, I was grieving, crying. The life of the party, my dad, gone. Where did this come from?
To this day I believe somehow, from somewhere, my father was instumental in putting that song inside my head. It was something he would have said.
It's so true though, isn't it?
We took Tasha's body in to be cremated after she died last evening. She was at home surrounded by the usual random barks of her brothers, the smells and sounds of her own home, and her "mommy and daddy" reassuring her that we were there, loving her, gently stroking and kissing her pretty little head.
I've read many people say that there's no such thing as dying peacefully at home. I'm still not sure what to think. Her breathing was labored, and that was what we saw. But that happened about thirty minutes before she actually died. Then, a few minutes before her heart stopped, her breaths were few and far between. She didn't cry out, there were no convulsions.
We carried her, on her bed to our wonderful vet, earlier that morning. Really it was for our own peace of mind and to see if there was anything we could do to make her final moments more comfortable.
At this point, her body was limp but her eyes responded. She seemed peaceful and serene. The only thing she tried to do, in the middle of the night, was get out of bed to go outside to her "bathroom". She didn't make it. Earlier in the day, she made it, but fell. She was rapidly declining.
Tasha never did like going to the vet, so I could tell she was nervous, even in her weak state. I also know how VERY intelligent she was. She saw Milo, her companion of ten years leave our home and never come back after he had collapsed. She stayed by his side, closely by his side, until he left. (She would sit by the door after he died, and wait.) Four weeks after Milo died, she saw someone come into our home, and take Rosco away. (He was euthanized at home.
She was never the same and went downhill after that. It was heartbreaking to watch. It lasted this whole year.
As we carried her into the vet's, I'm pretty sure she believed she would never go home again. She had diarrhea while there. I kept whispering in her ear we were going home soon. And we did! Once home, she relaxed and seemed peaceful.
I'm so glad we went to the vet. She confirmed that Tasha was actively dying. Tasha had thrown up earlier that morning, even though she hadn't eaten for 24 hours, so the vet gave her an injection to relieve nausea. She also told us what medications would help with any anxiety or bodily pain. Fortunately, we had them both at home.
When we returned home, I gave her the appropriate amount of meds and cleaned her gently. I stroked her, kissed her sweet head. and told her what a good girl she was. I thoroughly cleaned and dried her bed and put a new sheet on, along with doggy pee pads. I made a small pillow for her neck. Her breathing was calm, her heartbeat relatively strong. Her bed was in her favorite place in the living room where she could see all that was going on.
To keep busy and trying not to think, I cleaned, vacuumed and took up the special rugs Tasha needed to help stabilize her walking. I took her bowls up. She wasn't able to see any of that part. I knew, that once the life left her body, I wouldn't be able to cope with the tasks. She smelled the candles I always have burning, she heard the sounds so familiar to her; her new brothers random barking, the vacuum, Phil and I talking.
Around 3:30 I saw her body very lightly twitch. The vet warned of this when she went over the last stages of dying. She said Tasha wouldn't be in pain when this happens, that it was harder on us. When I asked how she knew there was no pain, she said that scientists didn't study this as much as they could, but based it on when humans have seizures. Humans aren't aware.
Phil was lying down, so I thought I'd tell him only if I saw more twitching. About 15 minutes later, I did. I waited, she was calm and appeared to be sleeping. Eventually, after about the third time I told Phil she was in the final stages.
We sat with her, spoke with her, and watched her breathing slow down. She seemed to gasp about four or five times intermittently. It was quiet, short, and didn't last long. Then the gasping stopped. She was still breathing, but the breaths were far apart. The whole time, her body didn't tense up except for the twitching, and that wasn't much. Finally the up and down flow of her body as she would breathe stopped completely. There was still a slight heartbeat for maybe 30 seconds to a minute, then, it too, stopped completely. She died at 5:10, November 30th, 2024....a very, very shit year with so much loss and disappointment.
Phil broke, I cried softly.
He wanted to drink a toast to her before we took her body away. The boys, Enzo and Elliot knew. They sniffed her, sniffed her balnket, sniffed her bed, and watched us closely. I knew they knew.
About an hour later we carried her, on her bed, out of the house, never to come home again. We took her to the emergency ER where they would have her, our third dog this year, cremated. I chose to keep her ashes in a box just like Milo's. Someday, in the near future, we'll climb to the top of the hill across the street, where Phil used to take Milo, Tasha and Rosco every morning. The hill where she once chased, and had a friendly encounter, meeting a coyote.
On the way home I really broke. The fact that she would never come home again hit me like a solid, fast, hard punch to my gut. So fucking final. So painful!
I tear up again as I relive the moments of her final day with us. It signifys that another huge chapter of my life has closed. We got Tasha, Milo, and a couple of years later, Rosco, shortly after we moved here. I slowly realized they were all close to the same age, and I dreaded their deaths. It would be like a very slow and painful domino effect. And that it was!!! Since Tasha was the oldest, we always thought she'd be the first to go, then Rosco, then Milo. It was very close to the opposite, with Rosco still being the second to go.
Milo had a mass behind his spleen that we didn't know about (Hemangiosarcoma) until it suddenly burst. We frantically rushed him to our vet. We had to make a quick decision about euthanizing him there and then. There were few few options, and the ones we had were pretty bad. So he died under horrible florescent lights at a place he absolutely feared, and he was absolutely terrified. I feel as if I betrayed him.
Four weeks after Milo died, Rosco was acting very sluggish. I figured it was grief, but it wasn't. It was a slow bleed Hemangiosarcoma and the vet gave him days. Four days later, he was euthanized at home after he quit eating and drinking. His death was peaceful.
Tasha literally stayed by Milo's and Rosco's side to the very end. She loved Milo as her own and loved Rosco as well.
I'm writing this for a few reasons. But the main one is to communicate what each type of death was like. I've read many people say that a pet dying naturally without euthanizing, is not peaceful at all. I'm not really sure I agree. If we would have been able to have someone who could have euthanized Tasha at home for just that, we probably would have. But there were also things to consider, Tasha would have known that a stranger coming to see her wasn't a great sign. Yes!!! She was that smart. You won't convince me otherwise. Rosco was euthanized at home by a stranger, I was slightly uncomfortable even with that. He was still looking deep into my eyes.
The answer, I wish, would be for a dog's beloved family to be able to assist with their pet's death with something calming.
I mean, we let humans die at home, some are peaceful some are the opposite. I view my pets in a way that if it's good or acceptable for humans, it should be the same, exactly the same, for our pets.
Maybe at the end of life, we should give humans the right to choose euthanasia. I believe we should.
However a loved one dies, the grief fills you with aches and pains only someone who has loved and lost will understand. My mother had a saying, "This too, shall pass". And it does, but each loss, each reason for grief leaves it's mark on your soul.
But the message is still the same, life goes on.
"She was no longer wrestling with the grief but could sit down with it as a lasting companion, and make it a sharer in her thoughts. " George Elliott
