Working on being here

Real quick-
Today was supposed to be cleaning and all the stuff I've been just unable to keep up with for the last month. (Has it been a month?!) Of course, instead I laid in bed for an hour and ran errands all day and when I was supposed to start cleaning, my feet hurt. It's how I do.
But somewhere around 8, I got the train moving, and have been picking up and putting away for 3 hours. My apartment is not cleaned but policed so that I can clean tomorrow, and I would not be horrified if someone walked in right now. I wanted to remind myself that this is in keeping with how I do everything, and while it's not for everyone, it apparently is for me, and it would be an incredibly kind gesture to not beat myself about the head and shoulders for it. Trust that the motivation will hit, and that it will probably happen at night. Make a note to look for jobs or schedules that allow you to take advantage of the motivation that often hits at 8 or 9 at night.
This weekend I let some of Riley's ashes go, and I want to tell you about that and share some pictures, but I will get that done when I get to it. :) I have been feeling so bad for not being motivated and productive and wondering if it's grief or just laziness, because I like to flog myself mercilessly. But HA, critical inner voice! Productivity wasn't lost forever, and besides- if a messy apartment comes along with losing my shadow, oh well, and I'm still doing the important stuff like going to work and paying bills. It can't all be up to par.
Tonight, while putting things away, I moved Riley's bed into the closet and found myself looking at things like the stroller and her leash and feeling a leap of panic, like oh my god, what the hell am I going to do with that... feeling all the guilt and sentiment and the mutual obligation to both keep things and give them to other dogs, and I had this overpowering and total unwillingness to let go...
Another day, another day. Leave that for another day.

Keep your circle positive

I went to a new Zumba class with Sarah this morning. It was intense and held in a studio designed strictly for Zumba, so there weren't a ton of mirrors, the lights were dimmed, the music was loud, and the instructor was animated. We want to go back, but of course it's intimidating for about the first 10 classes until you start to learn what's going on. Tracy, I really need you to come visit so you can come to class with me and show me what the hell they're doing. I am just going to have to go until it starts to look familiar. After the class, the instructor made his way over to us (in the back corner) and said he saw us trying and knows it's hard when you're new and can't see his feet, so he expects to see us up front next time. :o

So then I ran over to Walmart for a few things. I went to this specific Walmart because it's the only one that's got the trash bags I use and I'm pretty sure I was warned away from that one this weekend, because Burning Man is on. The parking lot was jammed full of rented RVs and U-Hauls and beautiful people were everywhere, decked out in their faux desert/steampunk/neon/Coachella wear. The Walmart had a trailer sized dumpster in the parking lot that was rounded over with cardboard boxes that were not broken down. Burning Man is carefully orchestrated and organized, and you have to haul out whatever you haul in, but some Burners can sure make a mess in Reno before they head out to the playa. I'm definitely not just talking about cardboard.

Walmart has pallets of water down a whole center aisle, and a sign that directs Burners to the garden section. They also have something like a two week no returns policy around this time every year, because a lot of the 75,000 people that will attend this year are flying in, so they buy everything here, then try to recoup some money by returning what they didn't- or did- use. The playa dust gets in absolutely everything, and some people have figured out how to take advantage of that business with specific Burning Man truck washes and such. For example, check out U-Haul's helpful advice:
https://www.uhaul.com/Burningman/

So not only was I at Walmart on a Sunday with all the Burners who are headed out to the desert today, but there were also some poor folks still trying to buy school supplies. I carefully navigated through the internal traffic jam and prepared to wait in line for a half hour. Some people behind me were getting seriously ansty, but it was really fine. Then I got outside with my few purchases, and some dickhead walking in with his friend makes a comment about my saddlebags. All I got in response was, "REALLY?"

Now, I know I shouldn't let that wide piece of shit bother me. If he really wants to ruin some stranger's day, his life probably sucks, and my guess is that he was coming from lunch rather than a workout, but I couldn't help but be mad and feel like shit. What a fucking jerk.

So I stop at Home Depot amped up, just willing the world to throw another comment my way. I went to the building materials to find some cinder blocks for my new tiny grill, but couldn't find a cart, so I picked up two and headed to the checkout. The cashiers say nothing as I approach, but as I pay, my cashier asks if I want her to find me a cart. The checkout is already halfway to the car, so I say no thanks and grab the two blocks. "You make it look easy," says Cashier #2.

YYEEEEAAHHH!

At home, making my lunch, I still felt pissed at that turd, but no longer hurt. I felt strong and fine, and ripped the lid clean off my test strip bottle. Easy there, Muscles. :D

Good grief

I feel a little better now after a shower and tears. I'm feeling sad, disproportionately angry, and very lonely. I'm feeling very down on myself and struggling to keep it observational, but I do not like how I feel or the state I am in. The despair feels familiar and permanent, as if I always feel this way, but I don't believe that's true. I feel angry and shortchanged about everything except Riley, but I know that's not accurate either. I feel like I'm just now crawling out of a huge hole of grief and loss and now I'm headed into another, but I know it hasn't been a solid four years of grief. It's been four years of lessening grief with widening moments of happiness and gratitude, but in these moments, it feels like grief just lives here. It is so difficult to treat feelings as anything else than absolute truth.

For those who loved Riley

It's too early to be up before a long drive, but this time I've got a passenger who can spell me, and this time especially, I feel like I'll need it. I haven't really packed. I feel all hollow and sad and I keep coming back to her last moments. Riley was so good, as she always was. We spent about an hour outside under a tree. She laid down in the grass between Dad and I, and just smelled the breeze. It was a really nice day- warm like bathwater, and it was really comfortable in the shade. Nap weather. She watched and listened to the activity around us, and gave me pointed looks whenever I stopped petting her. She was clearly tired, and was ready to sleep. I carried her back inside and she went straight to my room and curled up.

Kate told me days ago to listen to my instincts, and that day especially, it was so important. I went to get a towel from the car and caught the vet as she drove in. I had given the people my building number, but that information didn't make it to her, and it's difficult to find me based on apartment number alone. Those were the kind of moments I had all day, when I listened intently to my inclinations, and it went so smoothly it felt like water. This, of all days, was a good one to be tuned in.

The vet came up and explained the process again. She made some suggestions, including having some treats available to distract Riley during the initial sedation. I had been able to give her her meds that morning in the continued efforts to keep her comfortable, but she had refused her last pain pill, even though it was covered in cheez whiz and rolled in bacon. I had asked about interactions between the meds, but I was told there would be none. I wonder if that pill would have affected her coherence or comfort, and I feel as though she didn't eat it because she didn't need it.

For Riley's last meal, we gave her what she craved and constantly scavenged for, the one thing she was never allowed to have: cat food. She required more and more enticing in those last few days, and at first she was all about that cheez whiz. She ate probably four pieces of bacon that day. I think it was Dad who pointed out that if she was after cat food, so be it, so we'd already tried that with great success. I woke her from her nap one last time and carried her into the living room.

I sat on the couch, and we settled in. Dad gave her a handful of cat food and she gobbled it up while the vet gave her the first sedative. She was briefly distracted by that, and it took only the slightest encouragement from me before she returned to her meal. Dad gave her another handful and she happily ate it right up. The sedative worked fast, and she laid her head down in my arms and I smoothed her crazy hair. I put my favorite sleep shirt over her and rubbed her belly as the vet worked on her back leg. I kissed her warm head and whispered my goodbyes in her ear and felt her leave this world as quietly and peacefully as snow falling.

I wake up at night and scan the floor for her. I put trash in Riley-proof cans. I go to bed without one last trip outside. I leave the house feeling like I am missing something, because I am.

Dad said it will be coming home that's hard, and I agree. Even old as hell, mostly deaf and mostly blind, passed out cold in my closet, she would always know I was home. She'd catch a scent in her dream and roll right awake, reaching her nose in my direction.

This dog.

Dad said I should give her that last month and call her 16 years old. So I will. My 16 year old, lovely, silly, grumpy, loving, spoiled, happy, crafty, sweet little girl. I will miss finding her waking up with bed face, sprawled halfway off her bed, not ready to get up yet. She moved 12 times with me, rode across the country in my lap and went on countless road trips to fun places. She went missing once during a big storm, and survived many other incidents through her life, including a phenobarbital, red ants, a 15 foot fall off the porch at Topaz, a foxtail in her ear, raisins, dark chocolate, and two leaps from a moving RAV4- one intentional, one not. Her happiest day ever was at Yosemite, hiking all day and scaling boulders to chase squirrels. She caught two squirrels in her life- both here in this neighborhood- and once surreptitiously tasted a pet ferret at Topaz when she thought no one was looking. She lost a bottom tooth on the vacuum cleaner when she was 6 months old and they remained sworn enemies. She loved barking at splashes at the lake and fell into the water many times while trying to bite them. She loved boat rides and wandering freely along the shore where she would find sticks or something disgusting to chew on. She liked to sit up on the back of the couch like a cat, and you had to be careful because she might start humping your head. She'd eat Tracy's mac & cheese if it was left alone for a nanosecond, and she knew and loved her aunt long after we'd moved away. Her favorite spot to be petted was just under her hip, and she'd raise her leg, sending all the kids screaming because they thought she was going to pee on them. She did pee on many vets and groomers and once bit a FedEx delivery man.

Riley loved cheese puffs and broccoli, little male dogs, and napping in a towel on my lap after a bath. She liked to comb the dog food aisles at PetSmart for loose kibble, and would drag me to the cashier for a cookie, pushing through anyone in line. She preferred walking on my left side, off leash. She loved cats and was very good at making friends with them. She was such a food hound that she would jump up on the couch, put her front paws on your leg with as much pressure as she could manage, and stare into your eyes. When Ant was little, she'd eat his afternoon snack right out of his mouth, which entertained them both to no end. She liked to rub her face on her bed after a particularly good meal. She had a great mohawk and a curly butt. When she got really happy and excited, she would bite my nose. She was part mountain goat.

She was my ladybug, my little girl. I know now why I'm having a hard time leaving today. When I come back, it will never be the same.

“You know that place between sleep and awake, that place where you still remember dreaming? That’s where I’ll always love you. That’s where I’ll be waiting.”

― J.M. Barrie, Peter Pan

The shortest days

Alright, well... sad updates. I called the vet today for the pre-determined check in, and considering her condition, he felt it was time. I have a home euthanasia scheduled for Tuesday afternoon. I'm going back and forth on this, but then she'll wake up and I can just see it's true. The mass is causing her pain and she doesn't close her mouth all the way because her teeth are cutting into it. It's getting harder to get her to take her pills and I've increased the pain pills to the max on their directions. The vet said to keep up the meds if she'll take them, but not to fight her. He told me that the meds are only buying time, and a few weeks at most- the compassionate thing to do is let her go.

I've been crying most of the day, but Sarah and Amanda just took me out for food, beer, and ice cream. I had maybe half of a Like It- some lovely peanut butter and chocolate combination. The rest is in my freezer. I took Riley out around 5, and we sat in the shade on a little hill. I think I've been a pretty good dog mama, but of course right now I just feel guilty and inadequate.

Dad is coming up to be with me through this. I'm really grateful for that. I feel like I know how much this is going to hurt, but I know anticipating never covers it. I'm trying to absorb as much of her as I can now- pets and cuddles and kisses. Sometimes she wants to tackle the stairs on her own, but mostly she just waits for me to carry her. I use every time to kiss her and feel her weight, try to make her feel as supported and safe as possible. We've switched to entirely wet food and I don't count the soft cookies. If she wants more peanut butter than what covers her pills, she gets as much as she wants. I'm thinking about getting her one of those puppuccinos from Starbucks. What else can I give her? Bacon? Steak? Spray cheese? Mostly just time to sit outside in the shade, enjoying the breeze, the smells, and the company.

Right now she is sleeping peacefully on the floor in the middle of my bedroom. The lights are on and I've been puttering and singing along with my iPod a little. I imagine these muffled goings on are normal and comforting to her. She's resting her head on the right side, just like she's done every time she's slept in the past week. Her breaths come in almost sighs, and sometimes those puffs will fluff her eyebrows.

I am going to miss you so much, little girl.

Me and my shadow

I took Riley to the vet yesterday, and while I know that she’s old and is falling apart, the news of the latest diagnosis landed like a brick. It is technically possible that it’s just an infection, but they don’t think so. They think it’s a tumor in her jaw. This development came on quickly, and felt especially horrible because I have always been able to judge how she is by her appetite. She can still eat for now, and she still wants all the cookies, but the vet said she’s probably chewing on the other side of her mouth, so I have started putting water into her kibble. She’s back on antibiotics and pain meds, but they said it’s probably just about making her comfortable. The vet said it will be time when the bad days start outnumbering the good days.

I found a scale online that’s very simple with a range of 0-2 on each category, like mobility and interaction, with each rating clearly defined. Can you imagine trying to rate those things from 1-10? You can track each rating in a table with the daily total. There’s room for notes, and the totals give you a clear answer in pretty simple terms, kind of a red light, yellow light, green light with suggestions for how to proceed. The table has the date and rating for each category plus the total, so you can track deterioration.

So I was a minor mess yesterday. It’s amazing how hard it is to keep it together, considering this isn’t really news. Riley has had a long, full, happy life, and that is the goal. I was trying to think about it from a nicer perspective and came up with this: I can make sure her last days are not her worst days. It’s horrifying how many people actually surrender their animals to the shelter because they are old. Now’s the time to spoil her even more than usual, and to make sure that she gets her time outside, sitting in the shade and smelling the air.

But arrgghhhh, it is awful. I got some prices- the euthanasia is totally affordable, and it’s not much more to have the vet come to my place, which is SUCH a relief. The cremation is expensive, but I don’t like the alternatives, and if I get her ashes, I can let her go at Topaz, a.k.a. Dog Heaven. That’s been the plan for years.

The other awful thing about all this is how alone it makes me feel. I keep looking at my phone for someone to call, but this is really nobody’s but mine. It’s not as if I’m alone- I feel a lot of love from a lot of people who are really supportive, but I keep looking to that empty space next to me. I know I can do this alone, and I probably will, and my friends and family will buoy me up when it happens, but it sure does make me feel lonely. Even if there was someone in that space, it’s still going to be awful. I can see spending a few days curled up with Solo, who will also be feeling that loss daily. I printed out months’ worth of those tracking sheets, and noted how optimistic that was. I don’t get to know how long she’ll be around, and she could bounce back and outlive us all. This news yesterday reminded me again how it’s never the problems you expect. I know that, but I just cannot stop anticipating. That’s why we both needs those daily breaks to go sit outside in the sun or the shade and just be there together.

Like a diamond in the sky

Today was a wholly frustrating day. It should have been a lovely and productive day, and I wrestled it back in that direction, but it was definitely not going well. Nothing awful happened, it was just not working. I'm doing a neat editing job, and you would not believe the difficulty I've had in just printing a damn document. I will not get into all the time or programs or logins or blank pages or nonsensical page numbers or computers or emails or devices I have head to deal with, but I may or may not have been the one cussing in FedEx today.

It is possible for me to edit on a computer, and I do often, but this one I needed in my hands. By the time I got it, I was mad and hot and tired and crampy and in serious need of a cookie. Nothing else went that well today either- just a pile of inconveniences, like how the car wash didn't help the view-obstructing water spots on the windshield, or that the postage machine was busted after I finally drove my ass over there, AND Riley definitely has something else going on now, so it's back to the vet tomorrow. It was a full day of frustration.

What's nice, though, is that there are clean sheets on my bed, resting comfortably (just like I will be soon) under my new cotton quilt that Mom and Marty sent for my birthday. I slept under that quilt last night, and it felt so nice- nicer than I could have imagined. I've been all sweaty under my duvet even with the AC on. And no, I cannot sleep without a blanket on- everyone knows that's how the monsters get you.

It was lovely under that quilt, and it's a lovely quilt- a neat pattern and a good color. Solid choice, you two. I slept much better than I have in a long while, and I didn't want to get up this morning. I guess I shouldn't have.

Thank you!