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Wednesday, August 22, 2007

Slowly putting the sickness away

I took the advice from Lesley to just do one thing at a time… to start with removing the things that remind me of his sickness.  The pill bottles are de-labeled and in the trash and the piddle pads are all gone.  I still can’t bring myself to pick up the towels in the living room and unroll the area rug.  The living room is where we spent most of our evenings… still not ready….  His dog bed is still sitting next to my side of the bed too.  I visit his dog bed every morning just to get his scent… how sad is that?  I’m like an addict sniffing for that last bit of crack….


Yesterday, I went to the local pet store to pick up some treats for Waldo, not realizing that I had not updated the owners of Watson’s passing.  “How is everyone in the household?” they cheerily asked.  I had to recount his last week on earth and I could barely keep myself together.  For the most part, I have been able to resume the activities of a normal person – sleep, work, care about what’s for dinner – or so it seems from the outside.  But there are many times when I feel like I am out of my body.  Janice, one of the pet store owners, said that I could always come and cry with her since she knows that most people don’t “get it”; that most people think dogs are dogs and not as important as people.  I’ve lost several people in my life, including my parents, and I can easily and honestly say that the hurt and devastation of losing the Old Man isn’t any less…..  that sounds ludicrous to most considering that I was very close to my mom, in particular… but loss is loss… and there are no levels of grief in my heart reserved for humans versus canines.


So as I sit at my desk and try to care about my world again, I can’t help but look down and miss the Old Man.  He was always nearby – lying on the floor next to my chair, behind me asleep in one of many dog beds.  At times, he would wander down the hall to sleep in the living room.  Every now and then when he awoke from a nap, he would stick his head out of the doorway and look down the hall to see what I was up to.  If the scene met his satisfaction, then he would turn around and go back to bed.  If it didn’t, then he would come over to check on me more closely.  I miss that very much….  My doorways are very empty now.


There is also one song that keeps reminding me of the Old Man and greatly reflects how I’ve been feeling of late.  Let’s hope I find myself soon…..


"Crystal Ball" (Keane)

Who is the man I see

Where I'm supposed to be?

I lost my heart, I buried it too deep

Under the iron sea


Oh, crystal ball, crystal ball

Save us all, tell me life is beautiful

Mirror, mirror on the wall


Lines ever more unclear

Not sure I'm even here

The more I look the more I think that I'm

Starting to disappear


Oh, crystal ball, crystal ball

Save us all, tell me life is beautiful

Mirror, mirror on the wall

Oh, crystal ball, hear my song

I'm fading out, everything I know is wrong

So put me where I belong


I don't know where I am

And I don't really care

I look myself in the eye

There's no-one there

I fall upon the earth

I call upon the air

But all I get is the same old vacant stare


Graham, Prince & Tilly said...

I can totally identify with what you're saying. The sniffing thing is far from mad (to me anyway) - I have Princes collar hanging on my bedpost, and can't pass by without putting it to my nose and taking a deep breath. Possibly slightly more mad is the fact that I've vacuum packed one of his bed covers so that at some point in the future, if things are going terribly wrong and I don't have my little boy physically with me to give me the strength to carry on, I can open it up and bury my head in it and breath in the comfort. Do you still think you're mad? If you are, so am I.

Keep strong,

Graham, Prince & Tilly xxx

Lesley Rigby said...

I have only just noticed Graham's comment but it doesn't surprise me.I do the same with Prince's firm cushion seat he sat on in my window.He would try to mould himself as close as possible into me as he could never be close enough when we sat on that cushion. Every hair belonging to him I find is precious and has to be saved when at one time I used to curse them on my clothes. Graham's father and I cry together while we are driving along. Once our minds aren't occupied and we think of him we can't help it. It is alright on a fast motorway but when you stop at lights it doesn't look too good! Anyone who has loved an animal like we have would understand and we really have been the lucky ones. I wouldn't have believed I could love again in that way if it hadn't been for you and Watson. I know through your blog that there are other dogs out there capable of being just as wonderful and it gives me hope that one day we will love like that again. There is another dog lying in a home somewhere looking just as depressed as Watson was when he was ill but that little dog could be "restored to happiness" when the time comes for you to work your magic once more. For the sake of that little dog please don't leave it too long. Watson would want you to do for another dog what you did for him I am sure.

Thinking of you a lot,

Lesley xxxxxxxxxxx

Jasmine said...

i guess i am just like you - i get devastated when the furry fren passed, even a stray or any other dog whom i've never met... probably it's the doggie connection that no one can understand or explain.

please know tat u're not alone, we're all ears and we'll always come by ur blog to visit you.

BamBam & Eski, Singapore