I DON’T KNOW IF THERE IS A GOD, BUT IF THERE IS, LOOK FOR FOUR PAWS AND A WET NOSE

We pet lovers all have our own ways in which we grieve over that inevitable time when we have to say good bye.

In my case, knowing that our dog for the past ten years would die of terminal cancer near his brain, I had plenty of time to plan. Plenty of time because instead of needing to be euthanized quickly given the outlook, with great hospice and vet care he would ultimately live 5 months post diagnosis.

That was fortunate for me. I am Santa Claus and upon learning the news in early December last year, I dreaded the Christmas season for obvious reasons. Hard to be jolly, knowing he was home waiting for me after an assignment. That progressively wasting muscle loss near his beautiful eyes…heart wrenching. And don’t even ask how I handled the kid who wanted a puppy. 

But he made it through December and all the way till early May when the vet, my wife and I all knew it was time. The ashes were given to me shortly after Chenji’s passing. (We actually had chosen to have his euthanasia at home. Some readers may be unaware of that personal and comforting option. Worth discussing with your vet). My plan afterward was pretty simple. Scattering those ashes according to a memorable timetable.

At the one month mark it was to be in our backyard near the azalea bush he posed in front of just before his death. My wife and I both scattered a small handful there. 

At the two month mark I arranged to meet the friend who gave Chenji to us. She had found him, abandoned, under a tree in a local park in September 2008. That seemed like a perfect location to leave some more of his ashes. At the very spot where he came into our lives.

The three month milestone was this past week. It would be at another park where we took him just a few weeks after adding him to our home. Though always good about coming back to us when off leash – that day – Christmas morning – he did not return. My theory is that he took off after some deer. His predator instinct was too overpowering for him to think about returning. Luckily and astonishingly, by the time we got back home, a man was waiting for us with Chenji in his car. He found him on a street heading for our house three miles – and several busy streets – away. So that was Christmas miracle #1 and added to #2 (surviving for all of last December) he and Santa had clearly forged a special bond. 

First Christmas together.

So there I was last week. I am only yards away from where Chenji was likely found ten years ago. I am gently holding that Santa tin which contains his ashes. I deposit some of them there and near a dog park across the street where he was “banished” for being too aggressive playing with other dogs the first few weeks we had him. (A problem which occasionally did surface with our otherwise perfect pooch). So, all the while I am promising him that he is now in a “dog park” where he cannot be banished, and offering up some Rainbow Bridge stuff, I start walking back to my truck. Talking to him some more through my tears. It’s then that I spot the three deer. Two smaller ones and a large one. I am nowhere near enough to be a threat and they saunter off.

Suddenly, the large one freezes and stares directly at us. Our eyes lock. And the communing with nature begins. A remote possibility this is the deer Chenji was chasing 10 years earlier? Perhaps its offspring? No way to tell. But in that moment, I felt some real spiritual force at work. After almost a full poignant minute, the deer goes to join the others but not before one last gaze at Chenji and me.

As if to say “here’s looking at you kid”.

A sentiment that all three of us could have said of the other two.

4-10-15-Charlotte

We met with the lead doctor of the transplant team.

He said, “Come back in July and we’ll get her on the waiting list for a liver.”

One year ago today, my wife had exactly seventeen days to live.

No one expected such a timeline.

We received the news in February she needed a liver transplant.

My attention was focused on how our lives would change and what it might be like after the surgery. I had made plans to retire so I could take care of her.

It never occurred to me she wouldn’t make it to the surgery.

Monday, 4-20-15

Bob’s doctor admitted her to the hospital for fluids and tube feeding. Gastric problems had made it impossible for her to gain much needed weight to prepare for the transplant. A feeding tube would bypass the stomach and avoid problems.After four days, it appeared as though the plan was working. She had gained a few pounds and lab values looked good.

Saturday, 4-25-15

X-rays to check on the placement of the feeding tube revealed the presence of double pneumonia.

Bob and I have a mutual friend we both admire and love. Miriam Goldberg has a hobby of watching the news for celebrity deaths. Anytime a celebrity dies, she knows the story. Every time we would ask her something like, “What happened to Merle Haggard? How did he die?”  Miriam would reply, “His heart stopped beating.”

Monday, 4-27-15 at 4:37 P.M. Bob’s heart stopped beating.
Seventeen days from today, family members will be in town to join me in observing the first anniversary of Bob’s death.

It will be a special day for us all. Not because she died, but because she lived, our lives will never be the same again.What a blessing.

I’m at peace.

In English literature class, we were taught a pun is a “play on words.” Officially, according to Merriam-Webster, it’s “the usually humorous use of a word in such a way as to suggest two or more of its meanings or the meaning of another word similar in sound.” The degree of humor varies with the listener. Often times, puns are greeted with groans and a roll of the eyes.

My late wife and I loved puns and often discussed several potential puns as subjects of photography. Some readers may not be familiar with a 1967 hit by the Rolling Stones, the subject of several of our conversations and this photo:

In November 2009, the New York Times reported, “[Ruby Tuesday founder, Sandy Beall] was never much of a Rolling Stones fan; the name for his restaurant was suggested by one of several fraternity brothers who were co-investors.” Obviously, his frat brothers were fans of the Stones. I was (still am.) The first time I heard the name of the restaurant, the Stones’ song came to mind as fast as you can say, Jack Robinson.

The photo above was taken by a Ruby Tuesday associate in the Orlando airport. I was returning home from a four day golf outing with Mickey Mouse et al. The trip was planned months ago as an element of my grief recovery. The loss of my spouse was devastating. The solo trip was healing.

I studied the photo closely and have come to realize something I wasn’t conscious of during the shoot. Once the woman had agreed to take the photo and we had the setup arranged, I got into character. Notice my left heel is lifted a bit, my arm extended, my head tilted back a bit as though I’m straining to see someone in the crowd inside the restaurant. A slight blur in my fingers shows movement in the wave. The carry-on bag shows I’m traveling.

In addition to the obvious pun, I’m waving goodbye to my past.

A constant struggle for me in dealing with her death has been to live in the present while honoring many great memories.

This photo proves to me I’m there.