I began this day-in-the-life post with enthusiasm. It was going to be an exceptionally busy day, and I thought it would be a great day to remember. But things took a turn fairly early in the day. I stopped my process of documenting and obsessive photo-taking as early as 8am, and I wasn't sure if I would ever write up this post. It didn't seem right during the day. But the day afterward, Brian encouraged me to back-track the documentation for this day. I was initially hesitant, but I'm so glad I did.
Date: October 19th (Wednesday)
Ma peeps: Ma self (37)
Ma man (1 month shy of 37)
Ma boy (4)
Ma lumps (10)
4:00 I've been tossing and turning for probably 30 minutes at this point. Weeeee! Don't you love starting out your day like that? Refreshing. I had been having a bad dream loop all night -- Brian and I were leaving for a vacation (that part is nice), and I was saying goodbye to JW, who would be babysat by my grandparents (who died in the 1990s). Freak creepy. Couldn't shake that, try as I might. As I toss and turn in an attempt to snooze the early morning hours away, I begin thinking about today's agenda and am excited for a fun day. I deliberate about possibly documenting today for the blog. I had been meaning to choose an October day. But today will be so busy. Toss. Turn. Ok that's it. I'm getting up, and today's the day.
4:30 Head downstairs. The house is dark and quiet. Grandpa Lumpy doesn't get up to greet me, but he does thump his tail once. I'm pleasantly relieved to not step in any puke piles as I make my way to the kitchen. Start coffee. Scroll through phone. Message Yvonne that I probably can't make it to her shopping day with Susan, which is a bummer. But I am delighted that she is making yet another cameo on the ole blog. I must keep up that tradition.
5:00 Scramble through some old blog posts, trying to remember how to start a new one. Why can I never remember how to do this? Finally refresh my memory and get the documentation rolling. Continue to have a nice quiet house, so I turn on the latest and greatest Pioneer Woman. Chicken fried steak, biscuits, and chocolate silk pie. Somehow her menu sounds delicious and disgusting simultaneously. Through all of this I hear Jonathan singing to himself and intermittently letting out dramatic yawns. When I'm already awake and somewhat caffeinated, the sound of his voice is so cute. Darling, really. I've always loved how articulate he is. Since he was a baby, he's enunciated everything so clearly. And his voice is actually kind of deep for a kid, which I love. I sip coffee and just listen to him. I'm thankful for his precious life, and I love him. Keep talking sweetheart; you are so adorable. But stay in your bed. It's way too early.
6:00 Mama? ... Mama?! MAMA!! I'm assuming the clock struck green. Brian bounces out of bed and retrieves the mini-human while I'm fixing a second cup. The guys come downstairs and we pile on the couch. I'm side-snuggling J, and then he climbs up into my lap. I squeeze and squish the 45 pounds of downright boy-not a baby anymore-someday he'll be a grown man with a prickly face-but oh, he's still such a baby. Squeeze and squish. He's watching a Minecraft video on his ipad. It takes me a few minutes, but I finally realize this video looks strangely youtubish. And youtube has been supposedly permanently removed from his ipad. I question how he gained access to this video. "Daddy enabled it." I glare at B from across the couch, and he just shrugs and chuckles through his coffee. "He wanted it?" "Well I want pizza and cookies." "Let's do it." "How do you two survive without me?" Chuckles. This family clearly has two ids and one superego. Ego yet to develop. B and I discuss the day. I inform him I've got the pleasure of getting cheap thrills from Shala's dad today (wait for it ... ), and he about spits out his coffee. A few minutes later, B realizes the Minecraft youtube has transitioned into something else not kid-friendly. Was I right? Or was I right? Or just right? B snatches the ipad away to change the settings, which understandably results in an outright tantrum. I can't blame the kid. What the heck is with Brian's impulsivity? Ugh. I'm irritated and passively aggressively do nothing about the tantrum. You started all this, dear husband. You can deal with it. B struggles to calm J, and I secretly like it. Soon enough, the ipad is restored to its proper kid-friendly non-youtube status, B and J have sorted out their issues, J seems to feel understood and resigned to playing kids' games, and B might have been humbled? Phew.
6:30 Brian heads upstairs to get ready for his day. I make him a lunch. Make J a breakfast. Give Lumpy some pets and am concerned that he hasn't changed positions since I came downstairs two hours ago. He has been unusually lethargic lately, and he's just not himself. Feeling sad for ma old man. Scroll through the Loft website, thanks to Yvonne's suggestion, which is having a store-wide 50% off sale. Hem and haw about whether or not to purchase anything. Decide what the heck? Why shouldn't I? It's my turn to be the id. I purchase 4 sweaters and a dress and feel proud of myself for doing something so fun. I'm clearly in need of therapy. Brian heads to a deposition, looking dapper as ever, and I'm bummed I didn't get a photo of him. I share Anne's gorgeous photo, feeling extremely proud of her for completing her PhD in memory of Philipp. "Make" JW finish his cereal, who is happily busy with legos.
7:30 Discretely sneak into the laundry room to stab myself. This is it, people. The last hope. The fourth and final cycle of IVF. Fun times. I've been working very hard this time to keep my mind focused on things besides hope. The hope is there, and it's not possible to remove it. But I've learned the hard way that it doesn't help me to entertain the hope. This time, I'm focusing on gratitude that this 8-year chapter of life is almost over. I might not get the outcome that I want, but I'm thankful the uncertainty and emotional roller coaster of hope/devastation will finally come to an end. I'm ready for this to end. And I've noticed that with my new mindset and different focus this cycle, I'm not obsessing over it much at all, which is more than welcome.
7:45 Scarf down some cereal, against my diet. Bustle around the house in my normal straightening routine. Assure J we will look for his lost microscopic IronMan lego body piece in the afternoon. Run upstairs to shower and paint the barn. But remember that Grandpa Lumpy still hasn't gone potty today, so I run back downstairs for that. I call him to the door. Teeeeeddddddy. Teeeeeedddddy. ... Chunk? You ok? Come on! Let's go potty! Come on Teddy! Let's go! Man, I'm getting worried. He's always had a slightly rebellious streak in him, but this doesn't seem right. I'm concerned that he can't get himself up. He does finally scramble himself upright and make his way to the garage door. JW is there too, and we all step into the garage for the potty routine. Despite doing this potty route multiple times everyday, Teddy seems confused, disoriented. He trots through the garage and ignores my calls. Pees on the jasmine patch. I call him back to his dog run, and he saunters through the garage and loses bowel control on the garage floor. Oh no. This is not right. Something is wrong. JW is out there going wild and talking really loud. I shush him, saying "something's wrong." Teddy walks back into the house and walks straight into the laundry room wall. He hovers there for what seems an eternity (but is likely 15-20 seconds). I rush to his side, telling him everything will be ok. I'm gently petting him on the side, and he seems so aloof. His limbs start wobbling and turning in wonky directions. My heart is pounding now. JW is standing behind us, watching agape. Teddy suddenly collapses in a splat on the floor, his limbs all going in goofy directions. My poor Teddy. My heart. I try to rearrange his legs to get him more comfortable, but I'm hesitant. He seems to be in pain, and I don't want to make anything worse. Oh my god. I don't know what to do. JW has started chatting about something important in the 4 year-old realm, and I shush him again. "You need to talk quietly. Shhh. Teddy is hurting." JW gets the message quickly and quiets down. I text B that Teddy is not doing well and agree I need to call the vet today. I give Teddy lots of pets and tell him everything will be ok.
8:15 I am running so late at this point, and my mind is racing about what to do. I run upstairs to get showered and dressed. Whatever happens today, I'm still needing to get J to preschool by 9. I decide I can shower and think at the same time, so I do just that. I move quickly and think even quicker. Do I still go on the field trip? Do I take Teddy to the vet? Can he walk? How would I even get him there? Does the vet do house calls? What if today is the day? Are we putting him down? I can't do that alone. B has to be there too. Can he come home early? Should we do it while J is at school? Should I ditch the field trip? But J is so excited for me to be there, and I always wished my mom could have been at those types of things. I have a doctor appointment after the field trip. And we have a play date and library trip after that. I was also going to make popcorn balls. Should I cancel something? Should I wait? How is he doing right now? Is he in pain? What if I go downstairs and something worse has happened? What could be worse? I don't know. Damn it. I holler at JW to get dressed and brush his teeth quickly. Thank God he does. I think he senses the urgency.
9:00 I check on Teddy, and he's moved his legs into a better position. I pet him and try to console the beast. He's looking at me like 'what happened?' I assure him I'll be right back, and JDub and I scurry to the car. We arrive at school a few minutes late, and he shuffles in quickly. Drop off. Rush back home. Talk with B on the phone about our poor beast, petting him through the whole conversation. Tears come. They're dripping on him and the floor, and he doesn't lift his head. He's got his nose shoved up against the washing machine, and he seems so unlike himself. B and I begin mentally preparing that today is really the end. I assure Teddy that I'm still here but just going into some other rooms. I hastily finish the straightening of the house, while my mind races about how to handle the rest of the afternoon. Should I reschedule my doctor appointment? It would probably be find to do that. But B won't be home by then anyway. I guess I should just go. What about the play date? I already flaked on Larissa last week. I can't flake two weeks in a row. I should just go. But what about poor Chunk? I can't leave him alone all day. Ugh.
9:30 I give Teddy plenty of tear-dripped pets and assure him I'll be back soon. You just rest here, sweet boy. Enjoy this nice quiet house and let your legs rest. He doesn't lift his head. I head back to J's preschool to meet up for the pumpkin patch field trip. It takes a while, but eventually all the kids pile into cars, and we caravan to the pumpkin patch. JDub is in a great mood and chats incessantly through the whole drive. I do my best to listen, but I'm so preoccupied. My eyes are filled with tears, but I don't want to actually cry. I mention to J that I'm worried about Teddy and think he might need to go to doggie heaven today. He isn't bothered by this news in the least and continues to chat about superheroes. There are detailed descriptions about each hero's weapon.
10:00 We arrive at the pumpkin patch, and all the kids and moms head for a shady spot. The kids are adorable, racing around each other, picking up the mini pumpkins, showing off their strength, climbing hay bails, and shrieking with delight. The moms all chat and chuckle at the kids. We take some cute photos. There's a lame hay ride that the kids like. They all eat pumpkin cupcakes and run wild. I get to chat with one of the moms I had been wanting to get to know better, and it's a welcome distraction from my Teddy concerns. But toward 11:30ish I'm getting antsy. I'm done with the small talk and just want to go home. It's getting hot, I'm hungry, and I need to get home to my dog.
12:00 It's finally over. We say our thank yous and goodbyes and head home. J continues to be extra chatty, especially about superheroes. It's cute, but I don't have the patience for it. I try to bring up my concerns about Teddy again, but he's still not hearing it. Perhaps it's because of last week's fake-out. Or perhaps it's because he's 4. I'm not sure, and I don't care too much at the moment. My heart is with Teddy right now. I prep Jonathan that we need to eat lunch very quickly because we'll be going to Kaitlyn's soon.
12:15 We arrive home. I go immediately to Teddy. Still hasn't moved. Aiesch. My heart. He does lift his head up, though, which I'm glad to see. He seems a bit more cognitively himself now, but he can't move his legs. I call to him, just testing to see if he can move. Nothing. No budge. And I don't want to push it. Eff. I had been dreading that today was really the day, but this is making it more certain. I give him lots of pets and say that he might get to see Honey today. His eyebrows twitch at the sound of her name. My heart. I scarf down a rice cake with peanut butter and hurry J to eat quickly. I finally put in a call to the vet and explain what's happening. She says we can come in this afternoon, and they'll help us get him out of the car. Gulp. This is happening.
12:30 It's time to drop off at Kaitlyn's, but my heart is full of dread. I'm trying to move quickly because I don't want to be late to my appointment, but I'm realizing this will likely be the last time Jonathan sees his buddy. My eyes are filled to the brim with tears, and my voice is high and shaky. But I tell J that Teddy is probably going to doggie heaven to find Honey this afternoon. Is there anything you want to say to Teddy before he goes? "No. Why are you crying, Mama?" "Well I'm sad because I'm going to miss Chunk a lot. But I'm happy for him that he gets to see Honey again." "Oh." "Why don't you give Teddy some gentle pets and tell him how much you love him." "Ok Mama." Ugh. I'm struggling to hold it together, but this is not the time to lose it. I get a picture of my two wild boys. One last picture. I quietly and tearfully assure Teddy that I'll be back soon, and he's going to have so much fun seeing Honey soon. His big round eyes are so cute, and he seems to perk his ears at the sound of Honey's name. I don't know if he really responds to her name or if it's just wishful thinking, but I don't care. It helps me feel better that he might have her to look forward to. Jonathan and I head out. Drop off at Kaitlyn's. She is gracious about the Teddy situation and says it's no problem for J to stay as long as we need.
1:15 I arrive promptly for my appointment at the House of Romance, hehe. I get myself checked in, and I'm hoping everything goes quickly. I normally have a strange enjoyment of these appointments -- I like chatting with the nurses, there's some excitement about knowing the status of my lady bits, and it's one step closer to that hopeful baby outcome. But not today. I don't want to be here. I am worried sick about Teddy and heartbroken about whatever happened to him this morning. I don't want him to suffer, but I don't want to say goodbye either. The waiting room is getting full. Really full. I've never seen it like this before. Every chair is taken, and there is a couple that can't sit together. I think about offering my chair so they can sit together, but I decide I'm not going to be that nice today. I bury my face in my phone. I text Larissa and apologize that I'll need to cancel our wiggle bike play date. I hate being a flake, but it's completely necessary today. I text B about his timing, and he says he'll be home by 3:00. Good. I'm called back for bloodwork. Quick prick. Done. But Rocio explains that Dr. Salem isn't here yet. Wut? I was already bummed I had to see him today instead of Shala, but now he's late? Stuck in traffic? Not the day for this. Damn it. I need to get home. He better hurry.
1:45 Dr. Salem finally waltzes in like nothing happened. The whole waiting room seems to glare at him, and he just slowly walks through the waiting room into the clinic. No rush for him today. Nice. Awesome. Great to see you too, ya jerk. Within 10ish minutes, I'm called back for some cheap thrills, ha! I get into formation. He strolls in and thankfully skips any weird small talk. Grabs the wand and shoves him in. Ugh. He clearly hasn't had the pleasure of an internal ultrasound before. But without even a second of orientation or thought he exclaims "Your uterus is beautiful! Too beautiful!" Barks a measurement to Rocio and yanks out the wand. At least he's quick. He instructs us to change the transfer date. "Get her started on the progesterone now, and let's not delay. Her uterus is perfect now. Transfer next Tuesday?" "Fine with me! Sure!" And before I can blink my eyes, he's gone. I get dressed and schedule the new transfer with Lolita. Well that turned out to be a pleasant surprise, and it was nice to have a quick break from my Teddy heartache.
2:30 Head home. I talk with B while I drive. We're both somber. He will get home soon, and today is the day. I arrive home about 2:50ish and rush to Teddy's side. His big brown eyes are so precious, and he seems to be saying "hey let's play!" But the beast can't move. He's truly stuck, and my stomach hurts. I curl up with him for some last snuggles. I snap a couple selfies and let the tears flow. Talk with him about what a great dog he's always been and how much I love him. He's helped me be a better person, and that's the truth. He's helped me be a more accepting person, and I'll always be thankful for that. He's also helped me be more active and see how fun it is to be playful. He's been such a great buddy, especially in the last few years. Always right by my side. Always begging. Always happy to get pets. Always happy to be included in whatever we're doing. Ten years sure went fast. I'm going to miss him so much. But I'm so happy he'll get to see Honey soon. The tears are free flowing, and I just keep up the pets while we wait for Brian.
3:00 Brian arrives. He rushes upstairs to change clothes, and we then spend a few moments on the floor with our first born. It's so hard to see him like this. It's not right. This isn't our Teddy. Teddy is the one running circles around us, not laying helplessly crippled on the floor. Ahh, my heart is hurting. Brian and I discuss how we can move this 80 pound beast, and he runs upstairs to fetch some beach towels. We inch the towels under our mutt and prepare to heave-ho him into the car. I am holding on to my tears for dear life and barely get him to the car. But Teddy seems to kind of like the ride. Weeee! Brian climbs into the trunk with him and says he doesn't trust his driving right now. I go back into the house to get my keys, and I linger at the kitchen sink while I cry. I'm so sorry Teddy. I hope you're not hurting. And I hope you're not afraid. Everything is going to be ok, my sweet beast. We're going to miss you so much, but you're going to be great in just a short while. I don't want to leave the house, but I force myself to get in the car. It's a short 1 mile drive, but I wish it were longer. We both talk with him about what a good boy he is and how Honey must be waiting for him. We arrive at the vet's much sooner than I'd like. I park close to their entrance, and leave the guys in the car for a second.
3:15 I walk toward the vet's entrance, and the secretary meets me at the door. "Is it Teddy?" "Yes." "Ok we'll be right the to help you." I wait outside in the sunshine for what seems an eternity, and eventually two cute college-looking girls come out. "We're so sorry" they offer. "Thanks. Thanks for your help." We all hover around the beast in the trunk, and Teddy licks the girls' hands profusely. I notice his tail can't wag and fight back more tears. The girls ooh and goo over him for a minute and then carefully scoop him up. We all head inside. They whisk him into a side room, and the secretary shuffles Brian and me into an exam room. There's a dark green blanket folded into a little pallet on the floor. We sit in chairs and cry together. We don't talk. Just cry. Brian's hand is on my knee, and I hold his arm. The tears are flowing for both of us.
3:30 It starts feeling like we've been waiting forever. Ugh! Bring him in here, already! We're about to see him die. I think we can handle seeing him get an IV, for crying out loud. The secretary is in and out with paperwork and payment stuff. She is tender and kind. Finally the cute girls bring Teddy in. Yes! Hi Chunk! You are so adorable! They try to get him arranged on the pallet, but Teddy is trying so hard to scramble up. He seems confused that he can't run and play. Brian and I move in closer and hold him. You just relax, Chunk. Let's lay down here. The two girls quietly exit, but Teddy immediately starts whimpering and wheezing. I hate this. I don't want him to be nervous or afraid. It's ok Teddy. It's ok. You calm down; everything is ok. You're such a good boy. We're here to find Honey. We're just hanging out on the floor with you. Profuse pets and attempts to calm him down. He finally settles. More tears. More cries. It's surreal too. I can't believe he will only be with us for a few more moments. We pet him all over and lavish him with praise. He's truly a wonderful dog.
3:45 The vet finally comes in, holding several syringes. It's the new vet. The one who dealt with our fake-out last week. Damn. I was hoping for the other vet, who helped us send Honey to doggie heaven. But whatever. I'm too sad to care much. She is kind and keeps telling Teddy she's sorry. Teddy is licking her hand profusely. She asks about this morning, and I tell her about the possible seizure. She agrees it could have been a seizure. She pinches his back leg, and he doesn't move. She explains he's likely lost feeling in his hind quarters and goes in for a deeper pinch. Teddy flinches and retracts his leg. That pisses me off. Why would you do that to him?! The poor dog is dying; does it matter if he feels your pinch? Leave him alone. Ugh. But again, whatever. I'm too sad to care much, and I keep quiet. She explains the process of the medication; the first syringe is for sedation, and the second one is an overdose of anesthesia. She asks if we're ready. We nod and tell Teddy it's time to go find Honey. She's waiting for you, Teddy! The first syringe goes in, and it seems to take 10 years for the medication to be administered. I'm sitting behind Teddy, holding his head/neck from behind. He very slowly starts slumping into my arms. There we go Teddy. You're nice and sleepy; now it's time to go play. The second syringe goes in. This is it. Brian and I are petting him through all of this, with tears dripping onto his beautiful blonde fur. The medicine is in. We sigh. Goodbye sweet boy. The doctor leans in with her stethoscope to listen for his heart beat. "Oopf. Not quite," she says. "Oh my god! Are you serious? That is SO him!" I say. Brian and I laugh through our tears. That's our Chunk! Stubborn and determined to play, even in his last seconds. We all chuckle and seem to have needed that comic relief. The vet administers another syringe and confirms there is no more heart beat. She offers condolences and leaves the room. Brian and I let out some more cries and sighs. After a few moments, we decide it's time to go. Brian goes first and sets a brand new container of dog treats on the counter as a donation. Why'd we have to go buy a shitload of treats and food right before he dies? Anyway. I follow behind and turn to see him one last time. He's so peaceful. And big. Laying on his side. Looks like he's just taking a nap. Goodbye Teddy. I'll always love you. Close the door.
4:00 We get in the car and head to Kaitlyn's. The drive home is fairly quiet. We chuckle again about how he hung on and refused to die. So like him. Hund! We pull up to Kaitlyn's and I say how much I'm not in the mood to chat. "Just get him, and let's go," says B. I would love to do that, but it's not that easy. I head to the the door, keeping my sunglasses over my tear-stained face. Kaitlyn answers the door, all smiley and giddy. Hi!! Ugh. She is so sweet, but I just can't. Jonathan comes running over, and I hold it together. Anne and Kaitlyn ask how Teddy is, and I explain what happened. They are kind and supportive. We small talk and chat longer that I'd like, but J and I eventually make it back to the car. We start telling JDub that Teddy is now with Honey in doggie heaven. "Oh." He seems aloof and unphased, which is fine. "Are you crying Mama?" "Yeah. I'm sad." "Stop crying, Mama." "Well it's ok to cry. It's a sign of how much I loved Teddy." "Oh. ... Are you done crying now?" All of this during the 1-block drive home. Man. He's so cute with his 4 year-old mind, but I also don't have tons of patience. We arrive home and walk into a strangely quiet house. No one is at the door greeting us. No tails wagging. It's still.
4:15 Brian is crying in the laundry room. We give each other hugs and kisses and fetch kleenex for each other. Brian starts immediately moving Teddy's things around -- cleaning out his water bowl, taking down the gate. I'm not exactly ready to remove all traces of the mutt, but it seems that Brian really needs to do this.
4:30 I say I'm craving Indian food (which had been our original dinner plan for this busy day). He suggests I take Jonathan with me to pick up some food. I'm not entirely thrilled to have a car ride with an inquisitive and demanding mini-human at the moment, but I can tell Brian needs to be alone. J and I leave, and he's thankfully pretty quiet during the drive. Toward the end of the drive, he's drifting off to sleep. Great. Lovely. But whatever. I don't have the energy to deal with keeping him awake.
5:00 We arrive at our favorite Indian place. I wake the boy and carry him inside. He perks up right away because the guy behind the counter is holding out his hand for a fist bump. It's a Cheers moment, and I take comfort in being known. There's no small talk, which makes the moment even better. I put in our order, which will take 15 minutes to prepare. J and I head across the parking lot to Heavenly Donuts. Sadly, they are closed. But it's for the better. I shouldn't be eating donuts anyway. We hang out at a picnic table while we wait. J is enthusiastically playing with a Lego Marvel superhero, sweeping the hero through the air and making engine type roars. I text my sisters and mom the news about Teddy. They immediately write back with kind words of support and sadness. I also receive a couple texts from friends saying how sorry they are. Huh? How do they know? Ahh, Brian has already posted the news to good ole Facebook. I read his post, which brings tears to my eyes. "Why are you crying again, Mama?" "I'm still sad, sweetheart."
5:15 We retrieve our delicious dinner and head home. J munches on naan while we drive, and the entire 30 minute drive is filled with questions about crying, sadness, Teddy, and I don't like it when you cry, Mama. It's a tender conversation. I recognize how important it is to help him feel secure while I'm grieving. I do my best.
5:45 Arrive home. Get J's dinner plated. B gets his plated. I head upstairs for jammies. No more clothes on a day like today. Grab my dinner and we all head upstairs to the TV, as tonight is a special night: the third and final presidential debate. Whoo hoo! I'm glad we're home for it, and I'm hoping there might be some comic relief. We all approve of the wonderful dinner. Hillary looks surprisingly pretty tonight. The Donald is actually calm and composed. Damn. I was hoping for a sludge fest that would crack me up. I text with Anne and Carolyn throughout the show, each of us sending our favorite quotes. It does get more heated toward the end; Donald calls Hillary "a nasty woman." Haha! JW is getting restless toward the end and is done with his ipad. He desperately needs to go to bed, but I don't want to miss the end of the debate. We stave him off until the end of the circus.
7:30 Teeth. Potty. Books. Bed. I tuck him in. Time for Brian's nightly chat. I settle down with my phone to post a picture collage of Chunk. I'm arranging photos, but I'm distracted by Jonathan's cries from down the hall. He seems to be escalating. Ugh. I can't hear what Brian is attempting, and I'm too tired to deal with it. I let it go for a few more minutes, but the cries continue. I eventually head down the hall to investigate. "I want another dog!! We'll never have another dog!! Teddy is gone!!" Oh man. My heart begins to crack again. I didn't realize he was upset about this. Brian and I talk with him about how much fun Teddy is having now with Honey. They're running and playing. Maybe they're eating chocolate cake too? What do you think they're doing? "I don't know. We'll never have another doooooggggggggg!!!!!" Poor kid. "We'll get another dog someday, sweetheart." "Like tomorrow?" "Well, no. Not tomorrow. We're still sad about Teddy and Honey. But someday." "Whaaaaaaa!!" We hug and kiss him and attempt to get him settled down. I hate seeing him confused and overwhelmed. But it's also been a long day, and I'm ready for it to be over. "Let's think of some other things that make us feel happy now. We can cry some more tomorrow. Let's think about happy things now so we can have happy dreams." We brainstorm some happy things -- Minecraft, Lego Marvel superheroes, ice cream, and camping. It seems to work. He's exhausted. He settles down and snuggles his bunny. Night night my darling boy. B and I close his door and breathe a sigh of relief.
8:00 We plop down on the couch and scroll through Facebook. It might be cliche, but Facebook makes the world such a small place. I post my photo collage, and the sweet comments start rolling in immediately. Brian's post is filled with supportive notes, and people near and far are commenting, messaging, and texting. We are fortunate to be surrounded by such compassionate people. We start last night's Colbert and get some decent laughs in about his interview with Obama.
9:00 We're spent. The tears have dried up for now. We both head downstairs for water refills and the customary potty routine. Oh. Wait. There's no dog to potty. Ugh. The house is quiet. Too quiet. We exchange comments about how it feels so wrong to not have either of the dogs here any more.
9:30 We turn out the lights after a very difficult day. Offer prayers of thanks for all the great years we had with Teddy and Honey. Reflect on many things that have happened over the past ten years, and the dogs have been such an integral part of our lives. They've always been right there. It's surreal to close this chapter of our life. We chuckle about some of their idiosyncrasies. Oh Teddy. Oh Honey. Goodnight sweet doggies. We hope you are running wild and having the best reunion.
I drift off to sleep actually feeling happy, remembering these special members of our family. I'm so glad we got to have them. I'm also ready to have a cleaner house, but I'll save those selfish thoughts for tomorrow. Love you Teddy and Honey.
