My Fire Hydrant

Four weeks today.

My girl is now three weeks gone. My eyes tear up and my nose stings as I write that. But my tears are now more easily controlled. I miss her with an ache in my heart. But the exhaustion of standing upright has lessened. I’ve started to make plans on ways to remember her. I’ve made a change to her Dogster page. Friends continue to send condolence cards as the news spreads, and each new one brings on my tears–but it’s more like leaky eyes instead of a sobbing waterworks. Small steps.

I have not had an uninterrupted night’s sleep in four weeks. Her bed is still at the foot of my bed, the imprint from her body from that last night still there. Saying “Goodnight pup” has become a part of our bedtime ritual.

We realized tonight that we need to sweep the kitchen more–there’s no pooch to “vacuum” up the crumbs from under the table after we’ve eaten.

My heart continues to ache, but the ache is starting to get a little numb around the edges. Small steps.

I am trying to pick up the threads of my online life, but it’s difficult because Bailey is so deeply embedded in every profile or avatar I’ve ever created.  I haven’t been on Twitter in what seems like years–just don’t have the heart. I’ve tried to catch up on my favorite blogs on Google Reader, but I just loose interest. The closest I’ve come is to enter into a couple of arguments on a couple of forums that I haven’t messed with much in the past. But even there I feel like “Yeah. Right. Whatever.”

As I write this, I’m sitting at my desk. Bailey’s bed is gone from underneath. But I still have the urge to put the plate that had my toast on it down on the floor so she can lick the crumbs off. I am a little desolate that I don’t “see” her–don’t people always say after they’ve lost a family member that they “see” them in the usual places? I sometimes “hear” her–a rustle in the newspapers, like she’s getting ready to rip a piece away and run with it because she knows I’ll chase her to try and take it away so she can’t eat it. Or a soft little inquiring moan, “Why aren’t you paying attention to me?” But I don’t “see” her.

Bit by bit, the little evidences of her life are being moved or disappearing. I have a box of meds on the kitchen table that I’m going to take to the GDHS, along with her left-over bags of food. It’s been there for over a week. Don’t have the energy to do it. We’ve moved her 2 dogbeds into our spare bedroom in preparation for “putting them away.” I don’t have the courage yet to do that with the bed at the foot of my bed. We’ve picked up all the ugly scatter rugs we put down so that she would have sure-footing over the wood floors. The babygate to my mom’s bedroom is now always open, which feels crazy because I know Bailey will get in there and tear into the toilet paper and anything else she finds. Not. I still close the babygate in my bedroom door when I go to bed at night. Not that I needed to for the past 5 years because once the lights were out Bailey would snooze and not get up to explore in the dark.

Oh my girl, I miss you so!

I can have a conversation about her without crying–that’s a step forward. My ability to concentrate is better than it was, and yesterday I found myself laughing over something. But my head still feels like I’m recovering from a bad head cold, and I continue to have an off-again-on-again low-grade headache.  I feel empty, but my head feels like it’s so full it might explode. And the greyness of January is doing nothing to pick up my spirits.

I’ve made a half-hearted attempt to gather some of Bailey’s stuff together to give to the shelter. It was easy to gather up the things she never used–the little tee-shirt that says “Leashes? We don’t need no stinkin’ leashes!” She hated that shirt! And the squeaky ball that she lost interest in several years ago (when I worked in the phone center on Saturdays, Bailey and I used to play soccer in the hallway outside of my boss’s office–she was a very aggressive player!). Her left-over meds. Her leftover food. The blue harness and leash that she hardly ever wore (she preferred her black set).

But there are still some things I can’t move–like her bed which still has the indentation of where she lay those last couple days.

I miss her cuddles, and the sunshine of her cheery little doggie smile.

Four years ago, just after Bailey had her cancer surgery, I purchased a digital camera that also took videos. At the time we thought her life would be very short because of our choice not to do chemo/radiation, and I wanted some good photos of her. Silly humans! Of course my contrary little dog would live longer than the dogtors said she would!

Five of the videos I took back then ended up on my YouTube channel. I see a difference in my girl between that time four years ago, and recently. The videos are Bailey in her prime–demanding, noisy, and singing for cookies. This is the way I want to remember her.

This last one has had over 40,000 views!! All I can think of is that it’s sitting on somebody’s website racking up views.

OK, if you really want to make yourself nuts, hit the go button on all five videos at the same time.