Got Mom?

Memories and Mourning

2012-01-12T12:16:00.000-08:00

Recently my children wrote sentences and drew pictures about our pet dog Tyson whom we very recently had to put to sleep. He was young and had many more years, but they would have been difficult and miserable years for both him and us. I had them write to help them heal, figuring if they could get the words out and cry it would be one more step in healing the hurt. As I read their words I realized they aren't the only ones who would benefit from writing to heal....and so here are my words, my memories, my mourning and my step to healing.

Tyson was MY first "real" pet. I have had fish you win at a school carnival and a mouse for a school project and got to enjoy my sister's pets, but never had my own. Tyson was a rescue and the family who rescued him just couldn't keep one more dog. After we met, I was bonded for life and he came home with us that day. The entire car ride home he kept his head gently rested on my shoulder and my heart just grew and grew with love.

He was the solo dog for a while and earnestly kept watch over each of us and our home, spending most of his time keeping the couch warm. A year later we added another dog and not much after that more people and then another dog. It became a very full house and Tyson felt personally responsible for each and everyone of us. Often Ty would go from room to room "making note" of each person. If anyone was ill he was your constant, protective companion. When I went through a pretty intense medical scare a few years ago he knew something wasn't right and he stayed near by loving me the way he knew how, by protecting me, my constant companion.

I remember the first time Ty and the other dogs played in the backyard- it was so new and scary to me I actually called my friends to ask if it was normal for them to rough house like that. After they laughed at my naivety they let me know it was just the dogs way. Glad I'm not a dog....sheesh....guess I would have been bottom of the pack.

I also remember all the times we tried to get poor Ty to be in pictures with us. He was just NOT into it. He always had a look between boredom, disgust and a sigh I think, but he tried to be a good sport as we shifted him this way and that and tried to get him to look at the camera.

I miss him very, very much. I struggle with my guilt and keep asking myself "did I do all I could do?" I know I did, I'm almost sure. You see Ty slowly became more and more aggressive to the point we knew he was becoming a danger to other people, and maybe even ourselves, and yet he was still amazingly protective, gentle and low key most of the time, especially with me. I felt torn between saving the dog that stayed by my side through all the difficulties, my first pet, my Tyson and my responsibility as a pet owner. I looked for all kinds of solutions hoping in my heart that there was somewhere he could live out his life, but also secretly trying to make peace with the thought that my search was most likely futile. The very last place I went evaluated him and as kindly as they could tried to comfort me by assuring me that the difficult decision really would be the best in the long run, for everyone, including Tyson. I held back the tears as best I could and went home and made the appointment.

The day of came and the whole family said goodbye with tears, kisses and hugs. And, yes, we even made him pose for pictures. The drive to the vet felt so long. My sister came with, my husband drove and I just sobbed in the front seat. You could feel the sadness heavy in the car. Sadly, I think Ty knew what was coming, even he was extra quiet and calm for the ride. At the vet my sister and I just held each other and my dear husband was the strong one for us, taking Tyson into the room and talking with the vet. The wait felt so long. I kept watching the shadow under the door, seeing his tail now and again and couldn't help but think "As long as I see his shadow or his tail he is still....in there....my Ty." As we waited a brand new puppy was brought in for their first appointment. The owner seeing my sister and I, the situation obvious, offered for us to hold the puppy. Such an irony holding this young new life and knowing another was ending in the other room and yet it was still a comfort. At last the door opened and my husband called us in.

Again and again I see the last time I saw him and although he was only sleeping, it sticks with me to my very core. I remember kneeling on the ground and burying my face in his fur, telling him I love him again and again, hoping to find some peace as I tried to explain to him why I had to do it. I told him I did all I could and begged him to understand and forgive me, guilt and love and sadness filling my heart. I told him to come say goodbye to the children and when he was done to go keep a friend, someone we both knew and had also recently passed, company till we could see him again.

It has been weeks and I still cry. Every now and again I try to picture those two together and hope they are happy, but my heart still hurts, still aches and the tears still win the battle The moments creep up on me when I accidentally call his name, or walk by his bed, or at night in the dark when I realize he isn't keeping his post in the hallway, or when I realize his deep bark is missing from the all dog alert when someone comes to the door.

I know time will eventually heal most of the hurt, but that place in my heart will always be for my beloved pet, my Tyson.

I miss you my Tyson. Rest in peace. I love you.

Of Wet Paint & Wedgies

2012-01-06T13:01:00.000-08:00

Last night my sister came over for a night of just hanging out and for whatever reason I said "Hey let's paint our nails!" And so we did. Woot! Fun times! And as most women know nail polish stays tacky for a while and even though they may seem dry can easily be mussed up with the slightest of contact. There is nothing quite like that period of time after having your nails painted where you attempt every task with fingers splayed stiff in front of you, the tension running up your arms as you try to daintily pick through your purse using the mere tips of your fingers- all in attempts to keep the paint un-mussed.

It was at this point I was just chillin' when of course mother nature had to call. Not a little whisper but a fairly urgent CALL and I new the next good cough or laugh would not be pretty. Not a happy place to be. So I turn to my dear, sweet husband and make my plea, "Honey, could you please help me go to the bathroom? Uh....my nails are.....wet." A look crossed his face of bafflement and humor and definite confusion at the fact that I was serious, but serious I was! This is a matter of messed up nails, come on now! A bit more pleading on my half, and heckling on his and finally he agreed.

All was going well, till the end. Perhaps I should have sensed it. Why didn't I see the red flags flying when these words escaped his lips, "You can't do ANYTHING with your nails like that right?" Was there a smirk in that sentence? Did he have a plan all along or did the lightening hit as he watched me struggle with the toilet paper? I may never know, but I do know this, the next moment I was NOT expecting. My sweet, loving husband was dutifully helping me with my pants when suddenly ZZZWWHOOOP! I was standing there in shock and a WEDGIE! This is not just any ordinary wedgie. Things are twisted and rolled and I can not move! It was like a SUPER WEDGIE! All I could do was sputter, "But...what....how...why....a wedgie, really???" And all he could do was laugh. My please for help fell on deaf ears.

"You can't leave me like this!"
"Oh but I can!"
"No....so not nice!"
Laughter and smirking.
"Just you wait mister! I will NOT forget this and I know where you SLEEP!"
More laughter.

Now what? Do I risk my beautifully painted nails? Could I fake it and make it work? I try to take a few tentative steps. Oh no, no, no. This is an uber wedgie and EVERYTHING is all twisted, even my pants. (How he did he DO that?) Could I bat my eyelashes and ask for help? No he is still laughing, definitely proud of himself. There is no other option, I have to risk the nails. As carefully as I possibly can I fix my pants all the while scowling at dear hubby who is watching and smirking. A few tense moments later pants, I and nails leave the bathroom intact and in good shape! Phew! Success!

And dear, sweet hubby- well just you wait Wedgie-Boy because as soon as my nails aren't tacky you are in SO much trouble! You don't even know!

Got Mom?

2012-01-04T13:03:00.000-08:00

Two simple words and a punctuation mark, a simple question and one of the most mimicked and to the point ads ever created (at least in my humble opinion.) Got Milk? Got Cheese? Got Gas? Got Water? The list of Got ___? can go on forever because the core of the ad is "do you have this thing you need or want?" Straight, simple and to the point....got it?

In my household Mom is a need and on some days a want and on some days a guess we're stuck with her, but either way Mom is a staple in this house. I am a household staple, even on the days that family doesn't think so. Often quietly, sometimes not so quietly, I keep things in the house running smoothly(ish) and create an unrecognized calm that everyone loves and I know this because if ever I am gone I soon get a call of when are you coming home with just the touch of panic in the voice. They don't got mom and they need her see!

As a woman I am also a staple in other ways. Got Friend? Got Wife? Got Driver? Got Woman? Got Cook? Got Encourager? Got Comforter? So many roles, so little time and that is what this blog is all about....LIFE and all the big things and little things that make it what it is.