I am sitting on my kitchen floor, on Spidey's hang out. Spidey is my old dog and his hang out is two 3' x 5' rugs pushed together and covered with a sheet with his dog bed that's wrapped in a contractor bag and duct tape, with a zipper furry cover, a water proof crib mattress cover and a towel on top. A dog equivalent to the hospital bed in your living room for your elderly family member.
Wheaten's are supposed to live to be about 12 or 13, so his 14 years is a long time. This year he got suddenly old, slow and messy.
An hour from now, a vet is coming to the house to euthanize him. Joseph and I will be with him and he'll be in his home, on his bed. When we pick our five year old son up from kindergarten, we'll walk him home and then tell him that our old dog has died. We've talked about it a lot. I've tried to prepare him for the day I knew was getting closer. He talks about how sad he'll be. I talk about how Spidey will be free of his body and his spirit will be like a puppy again and he will be so happy.
I have been telling Spidey we are going to free him of his body. I have been asking my mom to meet him on the other side and my grandmother too. I'm imagining them walking up to Spidey and welcoming him with hugs, rubbing his ears, saying hello. Showing him how he can still see us even though we can't see him.
I wonder if I will hear his ghost feet walking in the house at night.
I wonder if our little boy will be okay with it all. We'll have Spidey in the house until Desmond is home from school. Joseph has dug a hole in the yard. We'll bury him all together, the three of us. I have a pink sheet picked out to wrap him in and I think I will write some love notes to Spidey on the sheet with marker. We have candles lit. We have flowers. I am terrified.
I am scared I am making the wrong decision. I hate that he is still alive and that I am making a decision to end his life.
He can still get around, although he is very wobbly on his feet and if he falls in the right way on the hard floors, he can't get himself up because he slips. He ends up like a fish out of water, flopping around until someone comes to pick him up. He can barely see. He walks into walls and doors and doesn't always see what's happening. He can hardly hear anything, he doesn't react when I walk into a room or when I call his name. He can't find things with his nose very well anymore. But he still likes food. And he loves to be pet and hugged and kissed. He has lost control over his bowels and for what seems like the better part of the last year we have been cleaning and cleaning and cleaning up after him, daily, now several times a day. I always said I was okay until he started peeing all over the place, which has begun now too.
I don't know. He is old, he is wobbly, is he in pain? Probably. He is skin and bones. And fur. His skin allergies are bad, he is scabby and probably itchy. That used to happen in the summer time but it's still happening now. He has chronic eye infections and one ear that is prone to infection as well. Some days he has a sty on his eye that bleeds. Some days, the growth on his lip bleeds.
But he is always happy to see us. Always looking for his food. Always grateful for attention. He has been a super sweet, over sized lap dog.
I feel guilty for not having been a better dog parent. I should have walked him more. Taken him more places. We used to take him on hikes and swimming. Then we had Desmond. It was so hard for me to walk the two of them together, I didn't do it enough. I think Spidey had 9 decent years and then 5 years just hanging out. Tolerating Desmond's rough attempts at play or torture.
Spidey drives me crazy. He has a way of blocking my path as you move through the house. Getting in step with me and then stepping right in front of me and stopping so I almost fall over him. He has peed and pooped on everything this past year. He didn't like other dogs after he had a fight with a dog at a friend's house. The dog was a black Portuguese water dog. For a while, Spidey was aggressive towards black dogs and was pretty racist, than it was all dogs. He is the kind of dog that would not run away but he might wander off if you're not watching. He loves kids, he loves all people. He barks like crazy at the mailman though, even though they always give him cookies, or maybe because they do. He loves a ride in the car and sticking his head out the window to feel the wind. He used to know peoples names. We used to go to Long Island together to visit our friends a lot and I would say, "Where's Maureen?!" and he would look at Maureen and jump up and put his paws in her lap and kiss her. He new a lot of names.
He was born on August 19th of 2000 and I bought him for myself as a birthday gift when I turned 26. I found him a few days before but waited to pick him up on my birthday, Nov 19. He was 3 months old and was a brown and black bear cub. So cottony soft and fluffy and for a few days he seemed sad. But he warmed up to living with me in Long Beach, Long Island and we would go for walks on the beach, even in the snow. When I gave him his first hair cut, all of the baby brown fur cut away to a creamy white fur and he was a new dog! I put a red bandanna on him. He was so handsome.
I thought, when I got him, I was going to take him cross country with me in an RV. But I chickened out and moved to the Hudson Valley instead and here we still are.
This is hard. This is so hard. This is much harder than I thought it would be. It's been so difficult to care for him this year and after I had Desmond he really went from being more like a person in my mind to being more like a dog. I thought this would be easier. But it is just terribly sad.
I had a pug that I got when I was 12. I had him put down when I was 24. I lived alone, he was my dog, I made the decision and I took him to the vet by myself and it was not horrible. It was sad but it was okay. This feels much harder. I think it's because there are more people involved. Joseph and Desmond. Joseph loves this dog as much as I do and Desmond hasn't known life without him, even though I don't know how much he has added to his life other than being a constant furry presence. One that made Desmond whine and cry if his breath or his farts were too stinky or if he was in the way of his games or sitting on his toys. We had to keep Spidey away from Desmond when he was a newborn and Desmond away from Spidey because he was too old for rough-housing. They have co-existed and tolerated each other but still, Desmond loves Spidey. And I think, Desmond worries about death. He knows my mother died and that it is sad for me. My uncle just died this Fall. Another woman he knew died this past year. I think he worries about me dying. He is always asking me if I'm young. Reassuring himself that I am not old and dying. Not yet. I tell him I am young. I think I am. I hope I live to be very old.
The vet is coming soon.
After she puts the dog down, he will be here with us until school is out. What will we do with him? Keep him in the kitchen? Wrap him in a blanket and put him outside? What will I do with myself? How do you wait for your kid to come home from school so that you can tell him our dog has died and now it is time to bury him? How will we bury him? What will it feel like? What will it feel like tomorrow? What will it feel like this summer, walking over his buried body in the ground?
I feel scared. And anxious. I want it to be tomorrow already.
I will miss Spidey's warm furry body and face, his cataract eyes, his smelly old dog kisses.
Powers that be, give me strength to walk through this day for Spidey, for myself, for Joseph and for Desmond. Let me get to the other side with some sort of grace and ease. I am going to try to remind myself to just float with the current today. I don't like this. Not at all.
Friday, December 19, 2014
Sunday, March 9, 2014
Good art.
I just watched this video of a woman dancing around her home, draped in a sheer bit of fabric. Watch it and come back to me.
http://www.nowness.com/day/2013/11/27/3501/wild-rose
As I watched, I thought, how beautiful.... how lovely she is, how lovely the light is, how smooth that bit of sheer fabric would feel on my skin, how it would feel to dance like that, almost like a child, with no insecurity, just in the pleasure and appreciation of my body, of the fabric, of the light and the air.
I also thought, how self indulgent, she's too proud, she's being too provocative, people won't like it. Men will like it, women will not like it. Someone, I would say, some collective, has taught me to think that way. Has taught me to judge myself, to find my faults, to be ashamed of them, to hide them away. Not to be proud, or celebrate myself. To keep pleasure private. Especially the pleasure of celebrating my self. And to judge other women in the same way.
I love that this made me think so much. It was filmed and I suppose edited by a woman. And I am glad these two women took the time to play. To make this little film. Like a window to gaze through. Just a few moments, both strange and lovely.
It made me think about how I have cinched in my spirit over the years. How I have chipped away at rough edges and fluffed up the parts of me that I thought you'd like better. I have a sculpted personality now. I guess it is always in progress but so much has been done already. So many bits of me have been shaped. I imagine it is the same for all of us. We are taught how to behave. To sing quietly, to sit still, to be modest, to be humble, to be civilized. To go to sleep when everyone else goes to sleep at the sleep-over and not keep laughing deliriously. Because those girls won't talk to you again if you do. To wear what everyone else is wearing. Not to ask the wrong questions or say the wrong thing. Or misbehave.
I was disappointed that I cringed at all at that film. Why? Why should I? It's nonsense. Any cringe I felt was put there by someone else. I think it was lovely. And why not. Why shouldn't she (we) be lovely and proud and share those moments. Just like a child saying, "Look at me!" With my child, I respond, "Yes! Look at you! You are so wonderful!" Because he is. And I am. And you are. And everyone else can just get over it.
And that's good art.
http://www.nowness.com/day/2013/11/27/3501/wild-rose
As I watched, I thought, how beautiful.... how lovely she is, how lovely the light is, how smooth that bit of sheer fabric would feel on my skin, how it would feel to dance like that, almost like a child, with no insecurity, just in the pleasure and appreciation of my body, of the fabric, of the light and the air.
I also thought, how self indulgent, she's too proud, she's being too provocative, people won't like it. Men will like it, women will not like it. Someone, I would say, some collective, has taught me to think that way. Has taught me to judge myself, to find my faults, to be ashamed of them, to hide them away. Not to be proud, or celebrate myself. To keep pleasure private. Especially the pleasure of celebrating my self. And to judge other women in the same way.
I love that this made me think so much. It was filmed and I suppose edited by a woman. And I am glad these two women took the time to play. To make this little film. Like a window to gaze through. Just a few moments, both strange and lovely.
It made me think about how I have cinched in my spirit over the years. How I have chipped away at rough edges and fluffed up the parts of me that I thought you'd like better. I have a sculpted personality now. I guess it is always in progress but so much has been done already. So many bits of me have been shaped. I imagine it is the same for all of us. We are taught how to behave. To sing quietly, to sit still, to be modest, to be humble, to be civilized. To go to sleep when everyone else goes to sleep at the sleep-over and not keep laughing deliriously. Because those girls won't talk to you again if you do. To wear what everyone else is wearing. Not to ask the wrong questions or say the wrong thing. Or misbehave.
I was disappointed that I cringed at all at that film. Why? Why should I? It's nonsense. Any cringe I felt was put there by someone else. I think it was lovely. And why not. Why shouldn't she (we) be lovely and proud and share those moments. Just like a child saying, "Look at me!" With my child, I respond, "Yes! Look at you! You are so wonderful!" Because he is. And I am. And you are. And everyone else can just get over it.
And that's good art.
Saturday, January 4, 2014
Desicions
I was thinking today, about how I've done a lot of accepting in my life. Which is a good thing. I don't mean settling. I mean accepting things that have already happened or people in my life for being who they are, no more, no less. I can look back and say, yes, that happened, it's okay. So and so will always be so and so and no-one else. And from all the things I have had to work to accept, I have learned something and grown in some way.
I have tried to make decisions along the way, as we all do, that will make us happy in the end. Like a game of Othello, move by move, I am trying to flip the chips on the board, white or black. Flip them all over to happy, or as many as I can. And I get nervous that I will not make the right moves. Especially as I get older, as the game goes on, I have less time and less moves I can make. The board is filling up. I am afraid I will end up with more sad chips face-up than happy. For now, I feel like I am doing well, but seem to be at a pivotal point. I want to make a big decision. One that could flip a lot of chips one way or the other.
I was thinking about how I have gotten good at accepting things that are done but could use some work on accepting the risk involved in making choices for the future. Especially big ones. I wish someone would tell me what to do. I wish my mother were alive so I could ask her what she thinks. I wish I had a crystal ball I could gaze into and see all outcomes and choose the best one.
It is hard to want a lot of things, to be afraid of most of them and having to choose only a few.
Next year Desmond goes to kindergarten. From 9 am to 3 pm, I will be free, five days a week. This, my friends, is an opportunity. What will I do with this opportunity? This is the question.
I could keep doing what I've been doing, outside of mothering. Work on house projects, art projects, writing projects and other projects more wholeheartedly. That sounds really good. I could also give myself a little time to re-coup. Take a breather. Take some time to think about making a big change or continuing on as I have been. This seems like the safest bet. The gentlest and the easiest.
I have been thinking about a Master's Degree in Social Work. To be a therapist down the line. To go to school and get a "real" job and work with other adults in the adult world. To be helpful, to be useful outside of my home. To be able to say at a party when someone asks, "What do you do?" "Oh, I work at such and such a place, with such and such people and I do such and such." Actually, I should just start saying exactly that at parties. Can I get a Master's in Such and Such? Because I would be really good at that.
I have often thought of being a therapist, doing some sort social work. I think I would enjoy it. But I might not. No guarantees. So, that's risky. Also, it costs money! Oh, and time! Money and time. Valuable things. It would take years. But it could happen.
Another major big, and even more life-altering option is having another baby. I must be mad. I can only think to blame my cave-woman brain for this. Some biological clock that should have run out of batteries by now. Why do you torment me? Should I have a second child? Will I go insane? Will I be a terrible, mean, depressed mother if I do this? What if the second child is autistic? What if we have another child and then we all get cancer from GMOs at the same time? What kind of world is this? What if the two kids hate each other? What if they fight all the time? Would he be mean to a little sibling? Would I resent him for it? What if I love the second one more? Or less? What if my boobs end up 6" lower than they are now? What if my body can't bounce back after being stretched so far a second time? What if I age even more rapidly than the president with a second child? Will my puffy eyes become even more pronounced? Like two big croissants on my face? Puffy and wrinkly and flaky.... like chocolate croissants with the dark circles. I'll have chocolate croissant eyes. What if something happens to Desmond, shouldn't I have a back-up kid? Would a sibling make Desmond a better person? Would it be fun? Would it be too hard? Would it be easier? Am I too old?
It would be harder to travel. More expensive in every way. We could do more for and with Desmond if it is just him. But I'd have a better chance of my children keeping in touch with me, right? Maybe at least one would. Maybe one would take care of me in my old age. Because I will be old pretty soon. Or dead. My mother died when she was 48. What if I die young? Do I want to leave two children behind instead of one? Would that be better or worse? If I were 48 when I died, a baby I have now would only be 10 years old. That won't happen though. That won't happen.
With Desmond I knew I wanted to be a mom, there was not much else to think about. I was so curious about being pregnant, giving birth, nursing, caring for a baby, raising a child, creating a family. I had no idea each of these things were going to be such hard work. And so painful. Sleep training was beyond challenging. Doing all of that again, knowing what I would be in for would be a very different thing. I would have to be crazy, I think. I feel like I'd be scared the whole time. That wouldn't be good. Still, I am considering it. I would do things differently if I did it again. I would not eat EVERYTHING I wanted to this time while I was pregnant. I would give birth in a hospital, so I could have some drugs. Not much I could do different nursing but at least I know what pump works now. Sigh.
It's exhausting just thinking about it. I am afraid. I don't want to do any of that. But there is a nagging feeling that someone is missing in the house. Someone is tugging at me.
I don't want to stay home another five years. I don't want to put a baby in child-care either. Maybe I could go to school part time? Is that even possible?
So, I sit in front of this Othello game of life. And I stare at the board. I am not sure what move to make. It may seem like I am over-analyzing this. But, I guess I feel like I should think about it. You know, before I make a human. Or decide not to. Send a "request denied" back into the ether. Sorry, baby in waiting, or cave-woman brain, or biological clock. Mamma wants a pay-check.
I have tried to make decisions along the way, as we all do, that will make us happy in the end. Like a game of Othello, move by move, I am trying to flip the chips on the board, white or black. Flip them all over to happy, or as many as I can. And I get nervous that I will not make the right moves. Especially as I get older, as the game goes on, I have less time and less moves I can make. The board is filling up. I am afraid I will end up with more sad chips face-up than happy. For now, I feel like I am doing well, but seem to be at a pivotal point. I want to make a big decision. One that could flip a lot of chips one way or the other.
I was thinking about how I have gotten good at accepting things that are done but could use some work on accepting the risk involved in making choices for the future. Especially big ones. I wish someone would tell me what to do. I wish my mother were alive so I could ask her what she thinks. I wish I had a crystal ball I could gaze into and see all outcomes and choose the best one.
It is hard to want a lot of things, to be afraid of most of them and having to choose only a few.
Next year Desmond goes to kindergarten. From 9 am to 3 pm, I will be free, five days a week. This, my friends, is an opportunity. What will I do with this opportunity? This is the question.
I could keep doing what I've been doing, outside of mothering. Work on house projects, art projects, writing projects and other projects more wholeheartedly. That sounds really good. I could also give myself a little time to re-coup. Take a breather. Take some time to think about making a big change or continuing on as I have been. This seems like the safest bet. The gentlest and the easiest.
I have been thinking about a Master's Degree in Social Work. To be a therapist down the line. To go to school and get a "real" job and work with other adults in the adult world. To be helpful, to be useful outside of my home. To be able to say at a party when someone asks, "What do you do?" "Oh, I work at such and such a place, with such and such people and I do such and such." Actually, I should just start saying exactly that at parties. Can I get a Master's in Such and Such? Because I would be really good at that.
I have often thought of being a therapist, doing some sort social work. I think I would enjoy it. But I might not. No guarantees. So, that's risky. Also, it costs money! Oh, and time! Money and time. Valuable things. It would take years. But it could happen.
Another major big, and even more life-altering option is having another baby. I must be mad. I can only think to blame my cave-woman brain for this. Some biological clock that should have run out of batteries by now. Why do you torment me? Should I have a second child? Will I go insane? Will I be a terrible, mean, depressed mother if I do this? What if the second child is autistic? What if we have another child and then we all get cancer from GMOs at the same time? What kind of world is this? What if the two kids hate each other? What if they fight all the time? Would he be mean to a little sibling? Would I resent him for it? What if I love the second one more? Or less? What if my boobs end up 6" lower than they are now? What if my body can't bounce back after being stretched so far a second time? What if I age even more rapidly than the president with a second child? Will my puffy eyes become even more pronounced? Like two big croissants on my face? Puffy and wrinkly and flaky.... like chocolate croissants with the dark circles. I'll have chocolate croissant eyes. What if something happens to Desmond, shouldn't I have a back-up kid? Would a sibling make Desmond a better person? Would it be fun? Would it be too hard? Would it be easier? Am I too old?
It would be harder to travel. More expensive in every way. We could do more for and with Desmond if it is just him. But I'd have a better chance of my children keeping in touch with me, right? Maybe at least one would. Maybe one would take care of me in my old age. Because I will be old pretty soon. Or dead. My mother died when she was 48. What if I die young? Do I want to leave two children behind instead of one? Would that be better or worse? If I were 48 when I died, a baby I have now would only be 10 years old. That won't happen though. That won't happen.
With Desmond I knew I wanted to be a mom, there was not much else to think about. I was so curious about being pregnant, giving birth, nursing, caring for a baby, raising a child, creating a family. I had no idea each of these things were going to be such hard work. And so painful. Sleep training was beyond challenging. Doing all of that again, knowing what I would be in for would be a very different thing. I would have to be crazy, I think. I feel like I'd be scared the whole time. That wouldn't be good. Still, I am considering it. I would do things differently if I did it again. I would not eat EVERYTHING I wanted to this time while I was pregnant. I would give birth in a hospital, so I could have some drugs. Not much I could do different nursing but at least I know what pump works now. Sigh.
It's exhausting just thinking about it. I am afraid. I don't want to do any of that. But there is a nagging feeling that someone is missing in the house. Someone is tugging at me.
I don't want to stay home another five years. I don't want to put a baby in child-care either. Maybe I could go to school part time? Is that even possible?
So, I sit in front of this Othello game of life. And I stare at the board. I am not sure what move to make. It may seem like I am over-analyzing this. But, I guess I feel like I should think about it. You know, before I make a human. Or decide not to. Send a "request denied" back into the ether. Sorry, baby in waiting, or cave-woman brain, or biological clock. Mamma wants a pay-check.
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