Lean

Jenny here. 

I am sorry to be absent for awhile. If you are a dog enthusiast you know how difficult it can be to lose a little one. I may be overly attached to mine...I guess it's all how you look at it. Regardless, Bella's tragic, and not in my time frame, passing just came at what felt like the worst time. 

I hope people know I am mostly optimistic by nature.  But the stress and ups and downs that is my dear hubby's treatment, keep me dangerously close to the floor most days. I just had no idea that this floor had a basement and I would fall through to it.  

Our sweet Tyson dog was a mess the first few days.  Accidents (which never happen for him), whimpering in his sleep, deep soulful breaths into her blanket.  In some ways he is saving me again from deep despair.  My crying makes him so worried.  And so we play extra long, hug extra tight. He now has a makeshift bed next to ours and is keeping the boundary because he enjoys being close, even if it's not in our bed.  The house is quiet without his sergeant to give bark orders. 

I have now been the crazy lady breaking down in the pet store while buying dog food, strangers gathering around to hug me. I'm now that spectacle in the Sonic parking lot, sharing a corn dog, bite by bite, with my puppy who was left behind. I am the one nearly collapsing from the weight of tears when I come in the door at night and it hits me again that she is gone or I automatically reach for her when waking up.  I am the one trying to figure out how to feel all the feelings: love, grief, betrayal, fear, hope...and actually be ok with them and the time it takes to deal with them.

Bella always knew how to lean into emotions.  Never shy away.  A friend said to me this week, she was a furry social worker.  Truer words I cannot find for her.  My niece said she wasn't just an ordinary dog.  Silly me had somehow thought of her as my back up plan.  It's morbid, but she had a greater statistical chance of living the next five years than Wil. I thought she would be there the next five no matter what happened.  What I carry with me is her spirit:  love without abandon, friendly spunk, ask for what you need, and stay with whatever you feel until it transforms.

UTSW, in all their wonderful ness, once again wrapped their literal arms around us.  I had more prayers and hugs last weekend than I knew what to do with.  The nurses and even the weekend attending oncologist, cried with us and loved us and took care of more than just Wil's physical needs. 

I think Tyson saw her one night.  He visually traced something moving slowly across the room. He didn't bark.  He was at rest but alert. 

This blog is really not just about Bella.  It's really about the deep sorrow that comes from losing a joy.  It is about the journey we now make from the basement back to higher ground.  Life is so short. You don't get over loss, but if the life within you is strong, you manage to move through it somehow.  I don't think this hole gets filled in.  Just like the holes left from the sorrow we've gone through the last six months. You can't be the same as you were before.  You just grow around the places left open. 

Wil is doing well.  Tired.  Counts have recovered well.  He is getting a weekend, 11th day of the cycle, chemo as I write. We have enjoyed a few days with his old roomie from college who was a surprise to him all the way from Wisconsin. One foot in front the other. There are some days, that in and of itself, is truly the miracle.  

Love Sorrow by Mary Oliver

"Love sorrow. She is yours now, and you must
take care of what has been
given. Brush her hair, help her
into her little coat, hold her hand,
especially when crossing a street. For, think,

what if you should lose her? Then you would be
sorrow yourself; her drawn face, her sleeplessness
would be yours. Take care, touch
her forehead that she feel herself not so

utterly alone. And smile, that she does not
altogether forget the world before the lesson.
Have patience in abundance. And do not
ever lie or ever leave her even for a moment

by herself, which is to say, possibly, again,
abandoned. She is strange, mute, difficult,
sometimes unmanageable but, remember, she is a child.
And amazing things can happen. And you may see,

as the two of you go
walking together in the morning light, how
little by little she relaxes; she looks about her;
she begins to grow.”