2016: Year in Review

This is the reflective, emotional holiday post. To read the highly caloric baking-only holiday post - click here.

blessings

I was looking at this thing on my door frame - a blessing I wrote on Epiphany, January of 2016. It means Christus mansionem benedicat or "May Christ bless this house."  Since everyone universally agrees - at least in meme-land - that 2016 was an epic fail, I looked at it and thought, "Well, I guess that didn't work."

But then I remembered that I had no deeply held personal associations with any of the big names who passed away so tragically this year. And while I recognize their loss as significant and unfortunate, none of it made me that ... sad. (And even though I DO feel a tragic sense of loss regarding the election, that's less of a 2016 thing and more of a 2015-2020 and beyond thing.)

And - I remembered where WE were - the four of us in this little house - on Epiphany, January of 2016. How quickly I have deposited into my memory banks the fragility of our lives last Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year. How poignant it all seems to me now as we move through a much more solid holiday season this year. How profound the simple things are in this context.

There is a lot to worry about in the world today. And worry about it I will. (I'm good at that.) But for now, the wise thing to do seems to be to take stock.

I didn't know a year ago that we'd lose Daisy. That was the straw that broke this camel's back. I'd endured a lot already as I watched my most beloved family members endure diagnoses and enter recovery. I thought I was in the clear. I lost it when she died. I found it eventually. Whatever "it" is ... homeostasis I guess? But not without help.

I also didn't know, a year ago, that I would find Schultz and Schatzi and that they would be utterly delightful.

Sergio is on a completely different path in life and while his diagnosis last fall and his departure from Hallmark early this year brought major shifts in our world, it also catapulted him into a wonderfully fulfilling career track. It is lovely to stand aside and watch.

And here's something I don't say too often because it is cliche and it is trite and it feels like I'm gloating but ... I really love my job. Hallmark, like all of us, is flawed. But, like all of us - er, most of us, anyway, it means well. And every day I go to work I look forward to how I'm going to spend the day. This - as I have witnessed in Sergio's case - is nothing to sneeze at. And the last 12 months of work have been especially good for me, full of opportunities to better understand myself and my world. And, if we've played our "cards" right, so to speak, opportunities to a make the world a better place.

Compassion makes the world a better place, don't you think? That's the other thing hanging with the 20 + C + M + B + 16 above our back door - a Buddhist mantra of compassion. We're going to need even more of that in 2017 and beyond. It will be my hope, my prayer, and my work to make a compassionate dent wherever I can.

Missing Daisy

#daisymcdoodle

Well, it has been two weeks since we said good bye to Daisy and if I'm totally honest with you it has been one of the hardest two weeks I've had in a long time. And I've had quite a few hard weeks recently. I knew it would be hard to say goodbye to Daisy. But I had no idea it'd be this hard.

There are a lot of uncomfortable questions - could we have caught the cancer sooner? How long was she suffering before we found out? Did we do the right thing with her treatments? Did we do the right thing when we said goodbye? Questions with no good answers and questions that it does no good to ask.

So I am learning to stop asking them and to instead focus on the certainties. She led a very good life for 10 years with a multitude of beloved companions and care takers (Jetta, Mema, Papa & Honey, us, to name a few). We enjoyed her so, so much. She is no longer suffering.

I don't know what it is about dogs that makes missing them so poignant. Maybe it's because they're so constant and reliable. Maybe it's because they're always there; they don't go to work or school or have meetings ... they never even just run to the store; they're always there. Maybe it's because they depend on us for everything. Maybe it's because they're so earnest. Maybe it's because they always love you - no matter how great things are in your life; no matter how bad.

I know that many of you know what I am talking about - this particularly dogginess I'm describing. I know because you've reached out to us in the last few weeks with such comforting words of condolence, such thoughtful reflections, such compassion and caring. Thank you to all of you. Here's another "maybe" - Maybe dogs bring us together, even when they tear us apart. At least that's what I'm feeling - torn up inside but surrounded by support.

I have a very powerful memory of sitting on the couch with Daisy and Sergio one night - a long time ago. I wasn't doing anything - not reading, not watching TV, not fiddling with my phone, not talking. Just sitting. I had Daisy on one side of me and Sergio on the other side of me. We were just sitting. And I remember thinking how good it felt to just sit flanked by these two beings. How profound it was to just sit with them. It calms me to think of that moment. That was a moment that I was living in fully.

That is what I want to do more - to live in the moment like Daisy did - like most dogs do. I want to sit squarely within each moment and savor it.

Daisy's Diagnosis

The day we found out that Daisy has cancer, we cuddled her and coddled her on the couch. She actually seemed more herself that night than she had in a few days. She'd had 250 ml of fluid drained from her chest cavity at the vet. She could finally breathe again! Her ears were perky! She could eat and drink! She barked when Sergio went out the back door and looked for him from her post at the side door! It was like she didn't even know she had cancer.

April 6, 2016

We began to come to terms with the inevitable. The tumor (the size of a lemon) is too big and she (a 12-pound dog, who has lost a lot of weight) is too small. They will not operate. But they gave us some medicine which we started her on right away. Medicine that was supposed to keep the fluid at bay and that might reduce the size of the tumor. But it might also have some unpleasant gastrointestinal side effects, the likes of which I ought not to recount in decent company.

She was doing well for a couple of days before those side effects kicked in and during that time, while I was wondering how long doggie hospice was going to last, I was also thinking about Jetta.

Three years ago, Jetta was diagnosed with terminal, inoperable cancer during the first week of April - same timing as Daisy's diagnosis. Jetta presented with many of the same symptoms. Jetta also had to have fluid drained from her lungs. Jetta also started medicine with everyone eagerly hoping it'd help, only to find out that the medicine was as difficult to live with as the disease. Just like Daisy. After we started the meds, Daisy began to eat and drink less and less - just like Jetta had - and we wondered "How long does she have?"

The uncanny parallels have created what my friend Pam called a "disturbing emotional echo." Fresh, new sadness with an extra tinge of old, weathered sadness. I know Daisy's just a dog. But she's not. She's Daisy.

Not too sick to do her "prewash" duty.

After a rough weekend, we were advised to take Daisy off the anti-cancer meds and to give her different medicine to help with the nausea and diarrhea instead. Today she's rallying; eating again (and eating a lot!), barking, sniffing, licking the dirty dishes in the dishwasher. She even jumped up onto the couch!

But the cancer is still there. Doing who knows what. Only time will tell. And I have no idea how much of that we have.

We will enjoy however much of it we get.

He's her favorite.

I'm happy to be second fiddle.

Our Girls

Daisy

Well, we got a dog. 

Daisy, 6 years old, miniature schnauzer 

It was a surprising turn of events for us, instigated by an unpleasant surprising turn of events. Daisy was my aunt Jetta's dog. After Jetta was diagnosed with cancer and we realized that Daisy would outlive her, my family and I began to wonder what would happen. Sergio and I discussed the possibility of taking her - I was delighted to discover that he liked the idea! As long as I've known him, he's always said, "I like dogs, I just don't want to live with them." But with Daisy it was different. He developed a soft spot for her and was totally on board with the idea of adopting her. After Jetta died and we proposed this plan, everyone agreed that this was the right idea and that it's what Jetta would have wanted.

My biggest concern was taking Daisy away from Mema, who had been Daisy's companion, or maybe it was the other way around. Mema told us everything we needed to know to care for her, including Daisy's special "Say your prayers!" trick. I will always think of Jetta's voice when we do that trick with Daisy. 

The most amazing thing is how much Daisy loves Sergio AND how much he loves her. He is her favorite. When he invites her to his lap she bounds onto him eagerly without giving it a second thought. When I invite her to sit in my lap, she looks at me as if to say, "hmmm. I'm still considering other options. I will let you know." When Sergio leaves for the grocery store, she barks and yelps for him and waits on high alert for his return. When I step outside, she says "meh..." and goes to curl up with Sergio.

All of which is fine with me. I don't mind playing second fiddle. I'm just happy to have a dog again.

Second Fiddle

We brought Daisy here by car right after fourth of July. A long car trip, but she handled it well (thanks to Sergio). Just before driving away from OKC, Sergio reminded us all that when he proposed to me, my dad said, "will you take the dog, too?" That was a long time ago and the dog in question wasn't the same dog. But  just before we carted Daisy off, Sergio was quick to point out that, even if it took him 10.5 years, yes, he is taking the dog.