Going to California With An Aching In My Heart

Change of plans 

I'm sorry I'll never be ready to let you go

Run free

Empty spaces

Dreams of you coming back to me 

Side eye girl

I knew it wasn't going to be a good day when you couldn't make it down the stairs. You stood up at the top landing looking at me as if to say I want to, I need to go out, but I can't do it. Help me. I bolted up the stairs and carried you down, placed you in the entry and opened the door. You made it outside, went pee, came in and dropped your body to the floor. Okay I thought, it might just be a bad start and once you get your medication or eat you will perk up. You got yourself in the orange chair but wouldn't eat. I used cream cheese to get your meds in, which I know you hate but what choice did I have? I did my home workout by your side as you followed me with those brown doe eyes. Still, you have made miracle rebounds before, right?

I decided to take you to my therapy appointment, which meant carrying you to the car since you wouldn't get up.  I was encouraged when you walked into the building on your own. You stood while I was checked in, though when we moved away from the receptionist's window I realized you had defecated without either of us knowing it. I felt so bad for you and the look on your face, which felt like shame. My therapist and I sat on the floor stroking you, and if we paused, you raised your head, asking for more. When the hour was up you couldn't stand. I carried you to the car and into the house. I brought your big green memory foam bed downstairs. I gathered my computer, coffee, and newspaper and sat by your side as you went in and out of sleep, hardly moving. Still, you have made miracle rebounds before, right?

The day dragged on. Every now and then your eyes would open and roll upward. You raised your head and looked up to the ceiling, locked eyes with me and lay back down. I kissed and held you, Pearl came over and kissed you. We were suspended in that in between space, trying to hold you down. Don't leave us. Don't let this be the day. Don't let this be the end of our physical life together. You didn't move off that bed for five hours. Still, you have made miracle rebounds before, right?

My tired girl

I went upstairs for a few minutes and heard a thump. I ran down to see part of you off the bed and Pearl standing over you. Did you try to get up and follow me? Or were you trying to tell me you were done and needed relief. I lay beside you listening to your labored breathing. I played soft music. Tears streamed down my face. You fought hard for so long. You doubled the average life expectancy for Multiple Myeloma. You rallied every time it seemed like you wouldn't make it. I began to adopt  a child like magical thinking, believing you have cancer but not really. The past three months had extreme highs and lows with a calm reprieve between the two. Still, you have made miracle rebounds before, right? 

Pearl watching over you

You are a side eyed girl. We laugh about it. You are a hoot when you shoot that look as if to say Not so sure about ya'll--must be careful. I put my face close to yours, half pleading with you to stay with us and half asking you if you wanted me to let you go. I didn't really need to ask though, I knew you had walked as far as you could on this earth. I called Jeff and asked him to please come--for real this time. I regretted it as I hung up, almost calling him back and saying maybe a few more hours. Still, you have made miracle rebounds before, right?

Our last moments...

Jeff came and we gathered around you, Pearl right there watching his every move, eyes darting to and for, never skipping a beat. Your blood pressure was so low he couldn't get a vein after five tries. You were part here and part there, transitioning and floating away from me. Could you see me baby girl? Trying to stay strong and hold back a full throttle sob. I held you, kissed you, whispered how much I love you. Could you hear me in that in between space? The only way was to inject in your heart. I'm so sorry Paula, Jeff said...do you want to leave the room? No way, I put my face on yours and held you as you went to a final resting place. We held hands and looked down at you, hearts swelling with the love you brought us. Jeff told me he had to do the same thing on Sunday for his 13 year old Irish Setter Penny, his best friend. I felt so bad he had to relive it with you but he assured me he wouldn't have it any other way. We talked about you, Azzie, and Pepsi and smiles appeared through the tears. What a crazy loving crew and how lucky I have been to have you all grace my life.

I dreamt of you last night. You came back to me. Pearl, you and I were walking on a city street through snow and slush. I  couldn't believe you returned. I wondered if you were a ghost and if anyone other than Pear and I could see you. I took you into a house, which as it turned out was my mom's place--not necessarily a place she ever lived but she was there and it was hers. I thought you had to be alive when I gave you a treat and you ate it. I asked my mom if she could see you and she said yes, I see her. While I left the dream but still in it I thought, of course she can see her, they are both dead. And then I woke up at 3am, as I have been most nights since you left.

I'm lost. Sad. Irritable. This house without you is a cavernous hole swallowing me up. I'm trying to inject levity for Pearl's sake. Walking her more, taking her everywhere I go and when I can't, I bring her across the street to Anna and Andy's house to play with Thunder and Teddy. She greets people and dogs with a longing that is so not Pearl. She's at my feet or in your chair as I write, holding your space. She has never been an only dog and I have not been a one dog mom since 2007. The combined personalities make a fuller, chaotic, and more wonderful life. I miss you melting into me, your quirky ways, and you waiting for me at the front door. Your soft side balanced Pearl's tough defender position, smoothing rough edges and making us laugh.

Pearl and I carrying on

I bought a ticket to California. Without you there is no need to make the drive. I just want to get there so Pearl can play with Picasso and Mouchi, and be surrounded by her family. She had an ultrasound last week and she is stable--the tumor hasn't grown and overall she looks good. We will go in style, first class flat bed like we did the summer before last. When Pepsi died I called it our "three quarter life" and the three of us had to adjust without her diva presence. It was never the same but we carved out a new way of being, expanded it for Aslan, then resized it again. Three dogs in three years, two in six months is a big hit. This is not how I wanted to start the sabbatical or go to California with an aching in my heart.

So how do I manage this grief? I serendipitously came across this article by David Michie about how to help your pet in the seven weeks after their death from a Buddhist perspective.

In the immediate aftermath of our pet’s death we may have a feeling of release, relief, of shifting energy, perhaps even of freedom as our pet moves on from an aged or sick body. Or we may simply be bereft at the loss of our beloved companion. Whatever our emotions, what’s important is to recognize that while life has changed for us, it has changed in an even more dramatic and potentially challenging way for our pet, and it is within our power to continue to help them. In the bardo state, your pet may still have some awareness of you, and perhaps other family members, irrespective of where you are physically. They can still be positively influenced by your practice of meditation and mantra recitation, particularly if you dedicate any virtue arising from the practice for their benefit. For seven weeks after the passing of your pet, you are still able to help them, and should do so to whatever extent you are able.Given that ‘mini-death’ is experienced by a being in bardo every seven days, this is a particularly vital time to focus your attention and practice on your loved one—by the way, this applies to all beings, human and animal. You may wish to mark a calendar with the day that your companion died, and on the weekly anniversary of that day, for seven weeks, redouble your meditation or recitation activities for their benefit. This is particularly the case on Day 49, which you may regard as your last chance to be of support to the one who has passed, before they move on into their next life—and you move on with yours.

By this practice of the meditation/virtue/generosity

May Pandy, and all beings, quickly enjoy higher rebirth.

Meet the perfect teacher, and attain enlightenment,

For the benefit of all beings without exception

Of course it’s natural to hearken back to the way things were. To wish for one more cuddle. One more walk through the woods. One more evening of contentment at the fireside. It’s entirely normal for us to wish this and to hold onto cherished memories.But by Day 49, the mind of our companion, that formless continuum of clarity and cognition, is experiencing a different reality—and so are we. We are richer for having known them, and wiser for having accompanied them through the most important transition of their lives. It is time for both of us to embark on adventures new.

Run free Pandy girl to your next adventure

So I am not done taking care of you. Every Tuesday I will recite a dedication to you until Day 49. Your bed is back in its place for you to come and rest in. We are here to love and receive you. Your energy is everywhere. I glance over at your chair as I write this and see you there, attentive to me, ready to jump up if I leave the room. I will be with you in your transition and when the time comes, hope you will run fast and free toward your next adventure. And know you will be safely tucked in my heart as I embark on mine. See you on the other side sweet girl, or perhaps another life?

Sabbatical Fantasy Meets Reality

Academics dream of the day they get tenure, and running a close second is a sabbatical to focus only on their passion projects uninterrupted by teaching, committee work, and other time draining obligations. I was granted a semester sabbatical for Spring 2020 to complete a case study of a veterinary clinic looking the human-animal bond. I had a plan and was well prepared--IRB approval in June 2019, began interviews in September 2019, and by December 2019 all 14 interviews were transcribed and ready for analysis. Working my colleague and friend, Diane Rhodes, and former graduate student, Morgan Wheeler, we are on track with my sabbatical proposal timeline. But that's only half the story.

My Oakland cottage

My sabbatical fantasy was brewing for months.  In this fantasy I would pack up my car in Portland, Maine before Christmas and drive to California with my two Golden Retrievers, Pandy and Pearl. I have a 400 square foot cottage behind our family home in Oakland California where my daughter and son-in-law live in the main home, and my husband (another story) lives in a downstairs unit. In my mind I have been decorating the cottage with new rugs, hanging my paintings, and purchasing small scale furniture. I would return to working on the long oak table my mom bought in Vermont for $75, which was once used to read sheet music at the old Barre Opera House. I logged many hours painting at that table while my baby daughter napped, listening to LPs on the record player. I planned adding new shelving above the table for my art supplies and books. I found the small table and chairs online that I would sit at sipping coffee and writing on my laptop while my dogs lay at my feet. The Bay Area is not particularly warm in winter; however, I walk my two loops though the neighborhood every morning without fear of slipping on ice. Having time to walk several times a day in the hilly streets of our neighborhood or in the grove of redwood trees a five minute drive away were all part of the sabbatical fantasy.

Walking in the Oakland neighborhood 

Another big part of the fantasy is the ability to travel. My dogs blend into an existing pack of two other pups at the Oakland family compound, and my son works for United Airlines, which means I have flight benefits to see friends in Europe, Hawaii to visit my son, and seek new destinations. I used to travel regularly, and solo, for the sole purpose of focusing on painting and writing--and discovering. I want to feel that awe again, be a bit uncomfortable in the unfamiliar, and soaking life in more as an observer. My tendency to work on paper was born out of necessity as a traveling artist--I had to be able to roll it up and work in small spaces, which was often right on the street to the amusement of locals. I made many friends that way, as well as earn the reputation of a hard worker. I also took solo road trips to places of natural beauty, singing to myself, or driving in silence for hours clearing my mind or thinking deeply. This sabbatical was going to be a way of recapturing a part of myself I felt disconnected from and focus on creativity.

Pearl and Pandy

In my fantasy sabbatical my two dogs with cancer are healthy with no major setbacks. As I roam I get only good reports with no need to cancel or shorten trips. The past three years have presented one hit after the other beginning with my mom's death in July 2016, my surrogate dad Frank Quan in August 2016, my beloved Golden Retriever Pepsi in December of 2016, and most recently Pepsi's littermate brother Aslan in May 2019. During this time, Pandy was diagnosed with multiple myeloma in 2017 and in 2018 Pearl with anal gland cancer. Both have fared incredibly well, beating the odds and average life expectancy of their form of cancer. Pearl is still being treated with chemotherapy; however, Pandy had her last treatment three months ago due to symptoms of the drug. Since then Pandy has experienced several dips, which have upended the fantasy sabbatical plan. So instead of departing for California in December, we are still in Portland where I have an amazing team of veterinary providers who treat us like family. Possibly we will leave soon, or perhaps not.

Pepsi 

Aslan and me at Higgins Beach, Maine

When Pepsi died after a six week battle with hermangiosarcoma, I fell into a deep depression and experienced a profound grief, which was compounded by two more dogs diagnosed with cancer and one with a brain tumor. My day to day life became consumed with care taking, hyper vigilance and anticipatory grief. I also learned to live more fully in the present, not to sweat the small stuff, and take nothing for granted. Fewer things can take me down. The combination of these experiences led me to teach a class in veterinary social work and begin research on the human-animal bond. When people compliment me on this work I tell them to thank Pepsi, it is her legacy to me.

Pearl, Pepsi, and Pandy at Higgins Beach

I live alone with my dogs and they provide me emotional connectedness and joyful companionship. My research and frequent visits to the veterinary clinic, where I spend lots of time in the waiting room observing people with their pets, has confirmed the significance of this relationship. People who love their pets bond with other people who love their pets. I have made friends with people in an online dog cancer support group and shared sorrow and support with strangers sitting near me in the veterinary clinic. It feels like those of us that are caretakers are part of a culture, like we live in a different country even if we live in different countries per se, or we live in the same actual one. We become citizens of this floating country, and after a while we don't know what it's like to live outside of it. My functioning in the world is informed by my dog's health at any particular moment. I was packed and ready to go to Copenhagen on my birthday to meet up with friends when Pandy took a turn for the worse. I deliberated for several hours, eyes darting from my suitcase to Pandy laying on her bed. In the end I stayed, and glad I did as she got worse before one of her now famous rebounds. Since then it has been more of the same.

New work, mixed media on paper 22' x 30"

Reality has collided with my sabbatical fantasy but is that all bad? Not really. I am painting meaningfully for the first time in over year. I started this blog. I am sketching for at least five minutes most days per an agreement with my friend Kim and we text each other our rough sketches. Diane and I FaceTime to discuss analysis of our data, which is rich and exciting. And there are many things on deck-- I was asked to submit a book proposal, I am working with four colleagues on a research project in Greenland and Denmark, which involves a preliminary networking trip in June before we take two students each in June of 2021. A new idea has cropped up with a Ghanaian colleague/friend who is a historian to do a multi modal project about the slave trade focused on three ports in Ghana, Brazil, and America. My son wants to join on as the filmmaker. My cup is overflowing and still being in Maine because of Pandy prevents none of this from moving forward.

New work on canvas, oil bar

There are wide swaths of unknown, and while my fantasy is not exactly playing out as planned, I feel like a huge wave of artistic, intellectual, and spiritual possibilities are coming--well beyond this sabbatical--but I am uncertain of what or when. Perhaps some of the above or something completely different will evolve. I am tethered to the ground with my pups and maybe that's just what I need before the wave breaks. Perhaps they aren't holding me back at all, rather they are preparing me. At 63 years old this may sound strange, to feel possible a whole new chapter and body of work forthcoming.  I used to lament the loss of my younger self, the wandering young mother of two, traversing with a backpack and roll of paper feeling like a jumbled ball of excitement and conflict as she prolifically painted and wrote, far from her children, missing them while reveling in her life away. She seemed to never tire, a contrast to the weariness I often feel, yet that fatigue has made me more selective and deliberate, able to say no and care less about what others think of me. I am not obsessed with accomplishment or credit, rather in investing my energy and time in things I am passionate about, that interest me, and benefit others.

Large canvas, oil bar

Time is both dense and fleeting. And while I can plan like the best of 'em, I hold little conviction in actual execution. And yet, I am perhaps foolishly optimistic in what lay ahead in this sabbatical and beyond. I have committed to this blog and documenting the journey, whatever it brings. Join me as I share my fantasy meets reality sabbatical. Maybe our paths will cross along the way--you never know, right?

xoxox
Paula