Every few weeks, I hear the cry of Estrogen as Iz shouts, “Girl time!!!” when she and I end up being a dynamic duo for a few days or a week or more. Nathan is usually around during some of that time; however, we tend not to include him in the Estrogen equation (Mom + Daughter = Girl Time). Obviously, a Testosterone can’t be factored into the Girl Time sum, and as a Testosterone who is 18 and has his own wheels, he’s never around long enough to even count!
As all 10.25* of my devoted readers know, I haven’t been here lately. A big shout out to those of you, most recently Sucra, who have said, “What happened to the blog?!?!?!” I thank you for missing me, though I became a missing person somewhat on purpose, unlike Nathan who became a missing person just due to the fact that the State of Massachusetts gave him his license last year.
*The .25 is a cat. Someone told me recently that her cat liked my blog. Hey, if there are cats that can bark like dogs, then there are cats who can read! Yeah, you’re right; that’s bullsh*t. Her cat was lying on her keyboard while my blog was displayed on the screen; I think that’s a cat who wants to get warm and one who is not enthralled by my random babblings!
Anyway, I had a well-thought out plan for my life in March. April came and stalled my plan due to fact that I got a miserable infection and landed in the hospital for three days. Subsequently, I felt rotten for the entire month of April, and the sails of my life lost a lot of wind.
May came. With it, it brought Nathan’s prom, Iz’s first communion, and my birthday. I usually love May, because it comes in like Spring and goes out like Summer, and my favorite flowers bloom (Lilacs and Lily of the Valley) and spend just a few precious weeks in vases next to my bed providing me with natural aromatherapy.
This May was different. My dog, Monty, was diagnosed with lymphoma in February. By the time May 6th came, Monty couldn’t walk more that 50 yards and had difficulty going up and down stairs; I had a difficult and heart-wrenching decision to make.
I called my veterinarian. After I got off the phone with her, I sobbed. I had made an appointment to euthanize him on May 11th.
After that, I couldn’t look at his smiling face without feeling tremendous guilt, even though I knew I was doing the “right” thing. Sometimes the “right” thing can feel so wrong. And when the morning of the 11th came, I sat on the porch and watched Monty roll around in the grass; he smiled, but it almost seemed at some points like he was laughing.
I got up and went to get the phone; it wasn’t his time. He got up out of his roll and sat there on the lawn and smiled at me. I went over to him and rubbed him, feeling 10 huge golf ball-sized lymph nodes in only two hands worth of rubbing.
I went back to sit down on the porch. He still sat there smiling at me. I smiled back at him; I think that we both knew it was his time then.
One friend asked me if I was going to write about Monty; I think that’s as about as much as I can write. I put him in the car, we drove to the vet’s, and then…well, I can’t type much more without wanting to cry…a lot. I did write this to a friend:
His lymph nodes had become huge in the last week, and he couldn’t get up and down the stairs. I took him for a walk on Sunday to his favorite place, Groton Woods (see “Me and My Shadow” blog for a happy trip description). Once there, he walked 50 yards and then sat down to rest. He couldn’t go much further than that. I then realized that he could leave this life happy or miserable. He was still eating and despite his discomfort he seemed happy. He was rolling around on the grass on Monday morning, and I was very tempted to call the vet and say “Forget it!” But, I knew he was only going to get worse. I also knew I couldn’t bear to see him get worse and become a miserable Monty I didn’t know. I knew the best of Monty, and that’s the way I felt (though selfishly it sometimes felt) he should leave this world.
He was happy to the end. When he passed, he collapsed into my lap. They left me alone with him, and I sat there for over a half an hour holding him and rubbing his soft pointy ears and massaging his cute little feet (which always smelled like popcorn); these were the parts I adored most about him. It was so hard to make the decision, and then it was so hard to leave him there. Finally, I gently moved him out of lap, repositioned his paws, so it looked just like he was asleep on the rug by the backdoor. I kissed his nose, told him I was sorry for all the times his performance art (barking) irked me and how much I loved him for always being such a good man in my life, and I sadly had to leave without looking back. It was one of my most difficult things I ever had to do in my life.
After that, I went home. I sat on the porch for the longest time and only went back into the house for five minutes, cringing when I didn't hear a single bark, to grab a bottle of wine. I opened the bottle, brought it out onto the porch, and I drank the whole bottle while I sat there and cried for the next three hours.
The funny thing about it all, if it could be funny in the unusual way and not the ha-ha way, was that I always felt I was such a cat person. Monty was the first dog I had ever owned on my own, and he meant a lot more to me than most dogs might due to the fact that I bought him two weeks before my Dad died. Dog are so different from cats.
In retrospect, I can only think that the lesson in all of this was for me to feel that and to know that sometimes you just have to let go. There was no replacing anyone or anything in life. Life always moved forward yet you always had to remember to keep the past present in your heart.
As some of my devoted blog readers know, I bought a new-to-me car (a ’07 VW EOS which Iz and I named Little Red) in April. May was also devoted to bringing it back and forth to the dealership to fix water leaks, a squeaky sunroof and rear window, and finally, a clutch that needed replacing after only 40K miles. The dealership I bought it from paid for everything, so I couldn't complain.
Though, it was stressful going from convertible to a rental car periodically. Even though I had printed out all the Internet fixes for all my car’s issues, the men in charge at the dealerships chose to ignore them. It only gave credence to my quote, “Who needs a man when you’ve got the Internet?”
One day, I had a ginormous van that made me feel like my surname should have been Duggar. The next day I’d have a Nissan Versa, which nicely fit my bike in it with the back seats down and gave me buyer’s remorse. This is a shout out to Nissan if you stalk blogs.
I love the Versa. If I could afford two cars, I’d have it and a convertible. It’s such a clown car; it’s small on the outside and huge on the inside!
When May came to a close, despite the Lilacs and the Lily of the Valley, I was ready to join the Witness Protection Program. Nathan happily went to the prom with a friend; Iz became Communion-ized. But somehow, I couldn’t move past Monty; his death left me with this huge sink hole in my life.
People who lost limbs had phantom pains; I lost my dog and had phantom late night and early morning take-dog-out-to-pee pains. I’d turn off the TV to go to bed, look for Monty, and then realize that I had no dog to take out. Ironically, the worst part was when I pulled in the driveway or opened the front door; the incessant barking that once annoyed me was not there, and I now so wanted it to be there to greet me.
In a nutshell, the last few months have been about lovely steps forward (full-time job, house in Nantucket sold, prom, communion, and the car -- well, it was a step forward and then an equal step back for a while), and then it was about steps back (the illness, Monty, and even doubt in my own plan). Of course, work got in the way, and I cringed when I knew I didn’t have the bandwidth to write as I do here. Sometimes I wish I could blink and all my thoughts about something could appear here, but that doesn’t happen.
My blogs truly are a labor of love, each taking me 2-6 hours to write; I know I’ve said that before; however, it’s worth repeating that creativity doesn’t come in an “I Dream of Jeannie” blink, as TV would have you believe. Musicians spend a year to creating 12 songs for a CD; I was writing at least 12 blogs a month if not more. What does that mean? If I were a musician, I’d be turning out a new CD every month!
But seriously, I have not been sitting here feeling sorry for myself. Okay, a few days a month, I do, like we all do when faced with challenges. For the first time in my life, I decided to take care of the most important person I know; and, that person is me.
While I let my writing go, I spent time watching movies with Iz, time folding laundry, and time watching stuff on TV I had already watched before without fretting about being here. It was difficult, because I felt like I was letting myself down by not doing what I loved. But as the days and weeks passed, I knew I was giving myself something that Iz and I loved the most – girl time!
I can’t say I’m back every day. But, I’m here now, and I know that this endeavor gives me the girl time to be who I am. But, sometimes, I won’t be here, because I need the girl time that makes me the girl who I am when I’m not here . ♥
