The first couple days, my biggest adjustment was establishing new routines. I have been so used to my routines revolving around Lucky, I didn't know what to do with all my 'free time.' Breakfast takes 10 min. instead of an hour, getting ready for bed also takes less than 10 min. instead of an hour. I'm still trying to break some well ingrained habits, like reaching for her water bowl to put fresh water in it when I get up in the morning or grabbing the can of wet dog food out of the fridge, when I am getting milk for my coffee.
Some of things I experienced were almost funny, like the realization that I hadn't eaten an entire sandwich by myself in almost 14 years. Lately, I get 3/4 of the way through a sandwich and feel full, or I get 4/5 of the way through my granola bar in the morning and then I don't know what to do with the last bite. Lucky always got bites of everything I ate. I never realized how much I shared my food with her until she wasn't here anymore to help me finish whatever I was eating. Apparently, I also always let her lick the plate after I was done eating, because it felt so odd the first couple of times I went to wash a plate and realized how much more work I had to do to clean the plate before putting it in the dishwasher.
Mostly what I noticed was how quiet the house is now. There is a stillness that fills the house that has left me feeling uneasy. It was especially intense the first week. When I thought about it, I realized that I bought my place 14 years ago this month, and I adopted Lucky 3 months later. I have almost no memories of ever being here without her. I wasn't sure how to be in my house by myself. For 13 years and 9 months, she had been my constant companion, the best roommate a person could ever have. Now I have to get used to the stillness. It's been difficult to get used to.
After Lucky passed away, I assumed I would sleep like a rock. After months and months of sleep deprivation, especially in our last week together, coupled with the grief I was experiencing, I figured I would do nothing but sleep for a couple of days but that wasn't the case. I noticed that I couldn't turn my ears off. I was so used to listening for her, listening for when she needed me, when she might be trying to move, or when she was thirsty . . . it had become so ingrained in me, it was impossible for me to not listen for her. Thus, sleep evaded me for the first several days.
Yet as time went on, I was still not able to sleep. When a friend told me how much walking had helped her after the loss of a loved one, I put the pieces together and figured the other reason I couldn't sleep was probably due to the extreme drop in the amount of exercise I was getting. I haven't "formally" exercised in at least 6 months because there just wasn't time for it, but I was getting exercise every hour of every day, lifting Lucky, carrying her, holding up the sling while she walked, etc. It was more exercise than I had ever gotten before, even when I was on the rowing team in college . . . but after she passed away, the amount of exercise I was getting dropped to zero. I decided that maybe getting more exercise would help. Since I had that realization, I have noticed that I definitely sleep better when I have gotten a lot of exercise and when I don't have time (or the motivation) to work exercise into my schedule, it's another sleepless night. Clearly, exercise is going to need to stay high on my priority list.
For all the adjustments I have been making, one of the most difficult things I had to get used to was going to a client appointment without her. Lucky went everywhere with me and my client appointments were no exception. She would wait patiently in the car for me while I was inside a client's house and on the way home, I would tell her how my appointment went. The first appointment I went to was three days after Lucky had passed away. I thought I was going to be ok . . . that is until I pulled my car out of the garage, and I felt her absence so intensely, I started to cry. I managed to pull myself together once I was on the freeway though and I did fine through the appointment . . . well, until I was getting ready to leave and my client gave me a gift to honor Lucky's memory.
It was a beautiful ornament . . . a german shepherd with angel wings. I said to my client "Did you know I always called Lucky "Angel?" as my voice cracked and I started to tear up. She said she didn't, as she started to tear up too, but she said she was immediately drawn to the ornament when she went to the store to find something for me. I told her I would be proud to put the ornament on my christmas tree and she said, "Why don't you put it in the car, so she's always with you?" With that, more tears flowed . . . as I realized that my clients aren't just "clients" . . . they are some of the kindest, most compassionate, wonderful people in the world.
I put the ornament on the dashboard when I got into the car and it instantly gave me comfort. I kept looking at the sweet face of the german shepherd and it made me smile. Now every time I get in the car, I talk to it . . . it makes me feel closer to Lucky. I tell it where we are going, or tell it how my appointment went, the same way I used to tell Lucky. And I trust that Lucky hears me.
The funny thing about calling Lucky "Angel" is that I didn't even realize I was doing it until someone pointed it out. It happened a lot over the years . . . I had all these nicknames for Lucky and I wouldn't even notice what I was calling her until the kids we were playing with would repeat what I had said. They would say, "Give me the ball, Silly Goose" or "Do you need some water, Sweet Pea?" It would catch me off guard at first, and then I would smile to myself at the reminder that children really do hear everything we say.
And in recent months, when I was talking on the phone a lot to an old boyfriend of mine, he would frequently say, "Hi Gorgeous" in the middle of our conversation. At first I reacted with a "Huh?" and then it dawned on me that he said it every time he heard me say, "Hi Beautiful" to Lucky. Until that time, I wasn't aware that I said it to her every time I walked past her in the house, while simultaneously reaching down to pet her on the head. Until I heard my ex's "response" each time I said it, I didn't realize it had become another one of my "routines." If I was back and forth to the laundry room, to the bathroom, to the kitchen, it didn't matter . . . each time I walked past her, I would stop and say "Hi Beautiful" so she knew I was aware of her, even though I was doing other things around the house. It was such a sweet reminder of how special Lucky was to me and how I wanted her to know each time I walked past her that she was still infinitely more important to me than anything else I was doing.
This "unawareness" of what I called Lucky came up again last year on Halloween. The woman who runs the water therapy program that helped Lucky so much her last year and a half, brought special treats for all the dogs. There were little baggies of dog treats for each dog to take home with them and a whole box of "costumes" for everyone to choose from . . . an assortment of decorative items to put around their necks. The first one I noticed was angel wings on a elastic band. I tried it on Lucky but it was too small, so I began looking through the box to find something else that fit her, but everyone at water therapy stopped me and insisted she needed the angel wings. When I asked why, they all said, "Because you call her Angel all the time!" I had one of those "I do?" moments and then laughed to myself over the fact that once again, I wasn't even aware of all the pet names I had for Lucky. One of the gals offered to bring the angel wings home with her and add some elastic so that it would fit Lucky and I accepted her offer. After all, if I was calling her Angel that often, she clearly needed to have the angel wings. I've included a picture of Lucky wearing her angel wings, as she laid in one of her favorite spots, overseeing her backyard and making sure the squirrels stayed away.
Evenings still prove to be the hardest part of each day. The first few nights, I was so out of it, I'd wake up in the morning and find the lights in the family room still on, or the back door still opened. It was another "routine" I needed to re-learn. In our final months together, our routine consisted of me helping Lucky out back to go potty. When we were done, we'd walk through the house and into our bedroom and once I got her settled in bed, I'd then go back out and close the back door (since I didn't have a free hand to do that while I was holding the sling) and I'd turn the lights off, etc. I am having to retrain myself to do all those things before I go into my bedroom and it's been a little shocking to see how long it's taking me to develop a new habit.
It's also at night that I talk to Lucky the most and that's probably why it's the most emotional time of the day for me. The rest of the day, I think I do better because I can stay busy and not focus on her absence so much but at night . . . when the house is dark and quiet, I miss her even more. I lay in bed and tell her how much I miss her and how much I wish she was still here . . . and I cry. I find myself continually apologizing for the times I got cranky and tell her how I wish I could have done better in those moments . . . and I cry some more. I know she isn't upset with me for the times I was cranky. I know that it is me who needs to forgive myself and I'm not sure why it's so hard for me to do that.
Last night, I laid in bed and watched some of the video footage I took of her in our last three months together. It made me smile . . . as I heard myself repeatedly call her; Beautiful, Angel, Sweet Pea, Goose, Bunny, etc. each time I focused the camera on her and I was surprised (ok, maybe not surprised) by how often you could hear the subdudes music playing in the background. It made me laugh when I got to see Lucky do what I dubbed "Freeze Frame" . . . she'd be doing something cute, rolling around on the floor, biting or talking to her toys but the second I pulled the camera out she'd immediately stop what she was doing and she wouldn't move a muscle. It reminded me of when I was a kid and we played "Red Light, Green Light" and I would think to myself how well Lucky would have done at that game, because she was so good at "freezing." It was also comforting to see her alive, to see her darling personality shine through on the video, to hear how often I laughed when I was video taping her. It was nice to be reminded of how much joy she brought into my life, to be able to see it and hear it. The reminder was truly a gift. I am so glad she was willing to endure all the video taping I did, even if she did "freeze frame" a good majority of the time.
Today, I pulled out an older tape, from 2006 through the first part of 2009, and laid down on the bed to enjoy from more reminiscing. I smiled as I watched her run on the beach, play in the surf, open christmas presents and birthday presents, and do a lot of "freeze frame." I am so grateful my family gave me a video camera on my birthday seven years ago, so that I could capture so much of my sweet girl on film. It was evident while watching the videos that there wasn't much in the world that made me happier than being with her. She gave my life purpose, she made me laugh and smile. She brought me so much joy.
It's one of the things I have been grappling with the last few weeks. I know I want to still feel that sense of purpose, I still want to laugh and smile and experience joy. I have realized that I feel that way the most when I am working. It is one way that I can continue to honor Lucky and all I learned from her. If it hadn't been for her, I don't think I would be doing the work that I do now and enjoying it so much. It was Lucky that taught me to trust my intuition, to trust that I could feel what an animal (or human) was feeling when I put my hands on them. It was Lucky that helped me understand the connection between mind and body and how our emotions can affect our physical bodies. I know that if Lucky hadn't helped me learn all of that, I wouldn't be able to help my clients when I work with them.
Unfortunately, I don't have client appointments every hour of every day, so I knew I needed other ways to feel connected to my purpose, to feel joy. Fortunately, I have discovered that writing is one of the best "therapies" I have . . . when I write, especially when I write about her, I feel closer to her. When I write, I feel more grounded, more at peace, more connected with what I believe I am supposed to be doing. I think I'll be writing a lot in the weeks to come and these posts on my blog may be longer than they have ever been before. ;-)
And still there are challenges. I have been surprised by some of the things I miss. I was almost disappointed to see the calluses on my hands healing up. In all the months I was using the sling to help Lucky walk, the straps of the sling would dig into my fingers and my hands looked more like those of a construction worker than an animal communicator. It almost made me sad to see my hands looking more "girlie." And as I have mentioned before, I was wearing shorts and flip flops exclusively so it was easier to clean myself up when I got tinkled on while lifting Lucky in and out of the car but on a cold day last week when I pulled out a pair of jeans to put on, it made me sad to be wearing pants. I never thought I'd ever say I missed getting tinkled on but I actually do.
I haven't been able to put all of Lucky's things away yet. Her toy basket is still overflowing with toys in the laundry room. I thought about donating her toys to other dogs, but I'm just not ready yet. My kitchen floors are still covered with the rugs I put down over a year ago to help keep Lucky from slipping. When a friend inquired the other day about why the rugs were still there, I told him if I picked up the rugs, I was going to have the scrub the kitchen floor and try to remove the stains on the white linoleum from her dog bowls that have been there for almost 14 years. As soon as I said it, I knew it wasn't the whole truth . . . I paused for a minute and then said, "I guess I'm not ready yet."
Other things have been easier than I expected. I donated all of Lucky's treats to a client of mine and it felt good to know that her dogs would enjoy all of Lucky's favorite treats. And when a friend took me to pick up Lucky's ashes the other day, it wasn't nearly as devastating as I expected it to be. As I held the urn in my lap, I knew she wasn't in there, not her soul anyway, and aside from it being a reminder of my new "reality" it wasn't as awful as I feared it would be. I found a nice place for the urn on a shelf in our bedroom, next to one of our framed christmas card pictures and pictures of me with members of the subdudes. It seemed like a fitting place for her. I guess that shelf will be an homage to some of my most favorite things.
So, all in all, I am doing alright. I know there aren't any rules for how the grieving process should go, that it's just something you need to go through in whatever way it shows up each day. I'm just trying to remember to let myself feel whatever I feel, to let the emotions come up and then release them. It's going to be a process . . . and I trust that as time goes on, the ache of her absence will lessen and I'll be able to focus more on all we learned while we were together and how she helped me become the person I am today.
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