another farewell

Yesterday I lifted Juliet into the car to drive to Waltham, Massachusettes--a suburb of Boston--where we had an appointment to discuss surgical options to address her cancerous tumors. The previous 36 hours had been rough for her: barely able to walk, no appetite, and collapsing hind legs had catalyzed a visit to our own vet the previous morning. A thorough exam didn't indicate anything of specific concern, though it did highlight some anemia. When Juliet clearly had not improved by yesterday morning the veterinary practice at Waltham--specialists, with emergency, 24-hour support--encouraged me to come anyway.

When we left the camper to go to the car, a collection of five turkeys greeted us. In the nearly three months that we have lived in the campground, the only wildlife I had seen were squirrels, chipmunks, and a lone turtle. The turkeys were a surprise, robust and clustered around the back of the car, turning their heads one direction, then another, as though trying to determine their path. On a whim I fished my phone out of my purse while they set out across the road, and took a couple of pictures.

The drive began in dawning light, and I was aware as we got underway of the continuing glow of sunlit color in the remaining leaves that still bore witness to the season on their tree-top perches. It was more color than I would have thought possible for early November, showcasing a darker, richer palette than the bright and showy leaves of early autumn. It struck me that what I was seeing were the elders of fall, the mature stands that remained after the young and energetic leaves had fled the scene, and I welcomed their companionship on this drive weighted by concern and a deepening dread.

The trip to Waltham, a little more than an hour without traffic, proved to be the last that Juliet and I would take together. Recognizing that her condition did not lend itself to a hopeful prognosis, I considered that she was manifesting a response to arthritic pain in her hips and back. I was not expecting the review of her vital signs to reveal an accelerated heartbeat, low blood pressure, or a fever. The moment I had been fearing was before me, and the decision to release her from difficulty and decline was necessary.

On my return home I was grateful for the reception on the radio of one of Boston's public radio stations that still plays classical music. The melodic strains were a balm for the raw grief that began in the vet's office, and continued to flow as I drove. I noticed again the color still clinging to the trees, and saw those mostly-tall sentinels as standing at attention, an honor guard to the life I had just bid farewell, and a show of respect for my loss. I remembered the turkeys, and marveled at their timely appearance, as though to escort Juliet from her earthly abode as she started her final journey as part of this life.

I write this not to chronicle these closing hours of her much-cherished life, but to acknowledge with deep gratitude the presence and comfort that the natural world offered to me on this saddest of mornings. Twenty-four hours later the sun has breached the horizon to bathe my surroundings with glorious light still caught in a few leaves. The sky is blue and the air is crisp. My pain cries out to these signs both of continuity and the shifting reality of all living things: that life begins, blooms, declines, and ceases. I am not expected to celebrate today, or tomorrow, though I can tip my hat to the beauty that surrounds me.

I am forcing myself to get out and walk the roads that I shared with Juliet. It hurts like hell that she is not with me. But these are our roads and our trees and our time together to celebrate the unique last months we shared together. It is what I have, and I will cherish it as a way to honor how much I cherished her.  Death reminds us of the fullness of life we experience, of the joy captured in our hearts, and the love that sings through our days. I feel it all to the marrow of my bones.

 

jumpin' jehosophat, part 2

continues today with part two of my hat tip to the special "Js" in my life!

Jill, friend with enthusiasm: When I find that I have some unexpected free time—sitting in traffic, for instance, or having an extended wait to board a plane—certain people come to mind and I pull out the phone and give them a ringy-dingy. Jill is one of those people. When she answers the phone and hears my voice her enthusiasm breaks barriers across cellular lines: “ANNE! (it takes her two full seconds to say my name) Hello, lovely one!” She may say that to everyone who calls her, but I don’t care. I love hearing the warmth and love in her voice when she says that to me. I consider Jill to be something of a free-spirit. She has spent years in theater-related work: acting, teaching acting, consulting in acting; coaching dialect; singing (she sang at our wedding, what a blessing!)… Whatever her mood or whatever cross she is bearing, she is never far from a smile and a positive word. She is fun and funny, creative and generous, hosts parties for any occasion or none. She is the only person I know who actually goes caroling through the neighborhood at Christmas (and on a couple of occasions I have joined her). She enjoys an eclectic set of friends and has a gift for making everyone feel as though they are the center of the universe. What’s not to love? She is a gem, sometimes with a cockney accent and sometimes drawling deeply southern. To think of her makes me feel good, to be with her does my heart good. Everyone should have a friend who offers that to others.

Jill, Juliet and Judy

Johanna, goddaughter: There are many blessings in my relationship with Johanna, the daughter I never had. She was six when our relationship began as members of the same church, but unlike other adult/child relationships that often wane and become warm reconnections, Johanna and I kept our bond intact and vital. One of the wonderful ways she affirms her affection is through her own initiation. She has come to visit me on a number of occasions, and one lovely October we shared a few days of vacation together in New England while she was there on business and I was there for continuing education. When she married I was honored with a corsage as her second mother. Of particular delight to me is the friendship we have. When she graduated from college she took time out from her celebratory party to take a walk with me so that we would have time together to get caught up. She listens, has compassion, prays, and is full of centered wisdom and counsel. She is my joy.

Judy, matron of honor: I met Judy in the fourth grade when we moved to a new house in a new town, which meant a new school. We’ve been friends ever since. We’ve shared vacations, weekends away, season tickets to the ballet, lots of letters, and a lot of dinners. We’ve laughed, cried, confessed our secrets and absolved each other’s sins. In our teen years when life at home felt empty and chaotic her family absorbed me as one of their own. It is through them that I fell in love with hockey, was introduced to the Episcopal Church, and got my first taste of sisterhood. We share a love of language and art, food and family, and though distance and time may separate us, the roots of our friendship are deep and strong.

Johanna, Jules and Junior

Jules, scrapping buddy: One of my first online friends through scrapbooking, Jules refreshes me with a lighthearted look at life. She never fails to offer an encouraging word when my chips are down, and she is a faithful and frequent supplier of sheep for my collection. She pays attention to the details of my life, evidence that she listens, and is constant with her invitation to visit and take refuge in her home when I need escape. She, too, is fun and funny, creative and generous, and she encourages and inspires my creative streak. She is sensitive to my sensitivities and knows that I need a hug before I ask.

Juliet, beloved dog: I had two dogs when I met Juliet, with no intention of expanding my canine household. But when this wee stray puppy appeared at an event produced by Jill (above!) and attended with Johanna (above!), I found her irresistible. Part Akita, part greyhound, Juliet is graceful, beautiful and soulful. She is affectionate on her own terms, yet in spite of that is such a love that she would make ice melt with a turn of her head and a glance in your direction. Her tail thumps loudly, and at the vet she earned the nickname of “Happy Girl.” She is that, and to me, so much more.

Junior, son (I dispense with the “step” reference): I give abundant thanks for the opportunity to be Mom to Junior. We have little in common, but a love that is strong and penetrating. We began to bond while we waited together through a surgical procedure that Ken was having. I knew I was a goner when, after my second visit with him he got in his car to drive home to be deployed to Iraq, the tears stung my eyes, my throat tightened and my heart grew heavy with missing him. He has given me a sense of family that I never had the joy of experiencing, and he and Trisha together deepen that blessing. Our Christmas together last year was one of the richest times I have known, and the bond of our hearts is responsible for that. I posted this video last winter after we had seen Cherryholmes at the Opry, and it continues to reflect my heart.

enough already!

You know I'm on overload when I get grouchy. The little things are what put me over the edge. Like a dog who, after eight ears of being so good and easy (this is evident by how seldom she appears on this blog!) has decided to act out. Juliet has been trained to the invisible fence since she was six months old, and has been obedient to it. Until recently.

The first few times she disregarded the collar correction she had merely ventured a few houses down the road, and it was always after dark. A few shouts of her name and she was home before worry could set in. Then she began to go farther. Then in the daylight. The last time I found her over on the next block, and this morning a drive through the neighborhood bore no sign of her. We've been careful to monitor her time outside, to keep an eye on her. This time she was out for mere minutes before she left the yard.

I don't know what's gotten into her. The collar works, but she doesn't seem to care. I can only think that it's McKinlee, which gives me pause. We can no longer trust Juliet to be out by herself at all. It looks like I will be returning to the pattern of pre-fence days at this house, when I walked her and Dooley twice a day. That was only three years ago, but I feel so much older than that now. Or do I have to make a choice between her and McKinlee? Juliet has little tolerance for the newest addition, which makes canine management a challenge.

Sigh. I don't need this. I need my energy for other things, like getting my Pampered Chef business going again so that I can bring some additional revenue into this house. (Ken does have a plan to work again, but he has had an awful spring and like me, lacks energy and motivation.)

Here's a thought: maybe this is Juliet's way to get me walking again. Hmm... now that is looking on the bright side.