God Sightings in a Time of Grief

I have a friend who has been to hell and back over the past couple years. Yet nearly every time I see this amazing woman she's telling me that "God is good." She has an incredible ability to see God in the little blessings that come her way and I am in awe of her strength and her spirit.

I've seen God a good deal myself the last few days and these God sightings have been a source of comfort and joy for me in what otherwise has been a sad and difficult time. While losing Maddie has been much more painful than I could have anticipated, I have been truly blessed by the love and support of family and friends, including:

• Phone calls and cards expressing condolences even from those who have never lost a pet
• Poems and stories of hope, heaven, and reuniting somewhere over the Rainbow Bridge
• Flowers from three Freakin' Angels (Rebecca, you're an honorary FA), just when I thought I couldn't bear the drab and dreariness any longer
• Kind words and advice from long lost classmates on Facebook
• A sweet note and massage gift certificate from a friend who wanted to help relieve my stress
• Dinner with friends who didn't want me to be home alone last evening after Rob left for Spring Training
• Lunch with a Freakin' Angel today

And I think the best gift I've been given in this experience has been seeing my children handle our loss with such grace and tenderness. They've been tender and kind not only to me, but to each other, demonstrating a gentleness that I didn't think was possible. Ian even told Abby he loved her the other night at bedtime. And they both will reach out to touch me or hug me when even a fleeting look of sadness passes over me.

Yes, each thought of Maddie still hurts, but I've been blessed by so many who have reminded me how much she loved me and more importantly, how much they love and care for me. Thanks for all you've said and done.

Saying Goodbye to an Old Friend

I've been meaning to write about my animal menagerie for some time now. We've got Snickers, the guinea pig who chews on the metal bars of her cage like an inmate in an asylum trying to work his way out. We've got Scout, the cat who has a paper fetish such that "the cat ate my homework" is actually a legitimate excuse from my children. And of course, we've got Maddie, the naughty yellow lab who has an affinity for Q-tips, cat poop, and all things edible.

When asked about Maddie's advanced years, I've usually responded with a smile, a laugh and the comment, "She's going to live forever just to piss me off." Well, this morning, my heart aches to tell you that Maddie did not, in fact, live forever. Last night we had to put her to sleep and my little joke in retrospect seems so cold, cruel, and foolish.

Yes, Maddie made me crazy. Whether she was bolting from the yard to devour the neighbor's trash, or taking a dip in the pond, sneaking on to the couch the minute we left the house, or peeing in the basement in defiance of us going out, she was always making a statement. No shoo fly pie, loaf of bread, or bowl of spaghetti was safe when Maddie was around, and the garbage can still has the rock on top of it that our little thief necessitated.

But while I could do without the missing food, clean up duty, hair balls, and stinky dog breath, I am mourning the loss of a constant companion. One whom I secreted enjoyed sharing my bed with, tossing a ball to, and hearing her teeth chatter when she got excited. My sweetest memory of Maddie was when I lay sick in bed several months ago and called to her in my time of need. Back then she was afraid of the wooden steps to our room and rarely if ever had made the climb, but hearing me call her she faced her fears and arrived at my bedside to snuggle with me when I needed a friend.

The pain of saying goodbye to my friend Maddie is much greater than I could have ever anticipated and I'm not sure when it will ease. Perhaps the only thing worse is knowing how much my children are grieving the loss. Abby wonders "will I ever stop thinking about her?" and Ian seems to be trying to balance his need to be a strong "man" with his broken heart.

If anyone can suggest means of healing, please share them. And I'll leave you with a couple pictures of our naughty but lovable girl:

Maddie, the bed hog, looking half human with Abby's legs

My Best Four-Legged Girl

In his sermon on Sunday, my pastor preached on the story of  Legion, the possessed man whom Jesus healed by driving out his demons (Luke 8: 26-39). Unfortunately, the demons were driven into a herd of pigs which then drowned themselves in a river. Seeing fit to add a bit of social commentary, my pastor suggested that after this incident, "PETA probably started protesting whenever Jesus was around." He added, "Based on where we spend our money, our society cares more about animals than starving children," and emphasized that, for Jesus, the life of one human being was worth more than those lost swine.

Pets and animals in general are a touchy subject. For some, including a number of my friends, animals are the equivalent of human beings. They believe they have feelings, thoughts, and other human attributes. I immediately thought of these folks when I heard this message in church. I knew that they would have been offended, based on the "they're only animals" tone of my pastor's comments.

As a rule, I'm in my pastor's camp on this issue. I do believe a human life has more worth than an animal's. I think the anti-PETA "People Eating Tasting Animals" t-shirts are funny. I don't get it when pet owners spend thousands of dollars on their animals or leave their inheritance to them. None of this means I don't love my dog, cat, and guinea pig, but they are not my equals.

Of course, this was what I was thinking on Sunday morning, before the growth on Maddie's eye started bleeding on Sunday evening. Maddie, as most of you know, is my yellow-lab. A second-(undocumented)- cousin to the infamous Marley. We have a love-hate relationship. She makes me crazy much of the time. When people ask how old she is I tell them she's 12, but that she's going to live forever just to piss me off. Now I'm not so sure.

I stayed home from work today to take Maddie to the vet, and I knew I was going to have a tough decision to make. How much was I going to be willing to spend to have this growth removed from her eye? "'They're only animals" thinking works just fine until one of yours is hurting. Well, it turns out the decision was more complicated than the dollars alone. The vet acknowledged that at Maddie's age, anesthesia could be too much for her. He questioned how her quality of life has been over the past year. ("Slowing down considerably. Her legs sometimes go out from under her.") He assured me that the bleeding was not going to cost her her life. I asked him how long labs typically live. He told me 10-12 years with rare exceptions.

I've decided to do what I can to make Maddie comfortable and to accept the fact that she probably won't be with me much longer. During this time we have left, I'll continue to make room for her in my bed and on my couch. I'll slip her that piece of my peanut butter sandwich. I'll sit outside with her when she's tired of being in the house and just wants to lie in the sunshine. She may not be my equal, but she is my faithful best friend whom I promised to love, sustain, and protect on the day I adopted her.

The Time Has Come to Say Goodbye

I've tried to make this relationship work, really, I have. I made a commitment and I take that seriously. But after years of sacrifice, I think it's time to say goodbye.

I feel taken advantage of on so many levels. I handle all the meals. I do all the cleaning. And what do you do? You lay around and never lift a finger. And you create most of the mess, which really makes this an unfair arrangement.

Your eating and drinking has become a serious problem. You just don't know when to quit, and you don't care what you put into your body. I can't believe you're still able to get out of bed in the morning.

And speaking of bed, you're completely selfish in that regard. You take up more than your share of the space. You're concerned that the sheets and blankets are just to your liking, but you don't show any consideration for my needs. You snore. And when you're awake, you think I need to be up too.

Communicating with you about our problems is hopeless. You never seem to be listening, and more often than not I get the silent treatment. When you're not silent, you're barking at me. It's just uncalled for.

Emotionally, I think you have real issues that would benefit from serious therapy. I know you do your own thing when I'm at the office, but if I leave you to go out for an evening, your insecurities get the best of you and you make a mess of things to get even with me.

Then there's the running around on me. I never thought I'd accept that kind of behavior in a relationship and I've put up with it from you on more than one occasion. I chase after you which I something I swore I'd never do. Every time you leave I wonder if you'll just stay gone, but no, you torture me by coming back every time, after you've had your fun. And what's worse is that I know the neighbors see what's going on.

Maybe I should have tried harder, but it's just too late for that now. I know the kids will hate to say goodbye and it will be an adjustment not having you around, but we'll survive. And I think my sanity and happiness is more important at this point.


I hope you find someone to take you in who will treat you like the dog you are.

I'm An Angry Freakin' Angel

It's official. I'm too angry and irritable to be an angel, even a freakin' angel. While I'm often irritable (just ask my family), I'm not generally an angry person. But talking to a surly NJDOT employee about a missing license plate from a car you drove when you lived there 16 years ago would probably even tick off Mother Theresa. It seems they sent me a letter 16 YEARS ago following a car accident, asking for proof of insurance or the return off my license plate. Well, I never received said letter (and I'm super responsible and organized so I know this was not my fault), and they therefore suspended my license. Did I mention this was 16 YEARS ago? Now the Federal government has instituted some national policy that requires states to check to make sure there are no issues with a license holder from any other states they lived in. So lo and behold, PENNDOT passes along this good news. But hey, for a faxed letter and a $100 restoration fee, all will be right with the wold.

And I should take comfort in knowing I have my *&^!(%!@$ dog to cheer me up. That is when she's not whining and woofing at me. Have I mentioned lately how much I hate my dog? Yesterday she ate three cupcakes, including at least one wrapper. Her legs aren't strong enough to jump up on my bed without assistance, but she can reach to the back corner of the kitchen corner to eat food that doesn't belong to her. Among her recent treats? Three-quarters of a Shoo Fly Pie, about two dozen dunker cookies (of a consistency that makes biscotti look mushy), and chocolate chip pancakes. And don't tell me dogs can die from chocolate. If that was the case, she'd be long gone by now and I wouldn't have all these problems. I could go on and on on the Maddie issue, but I've got other fish to fry today.

Like the fact that I'm allergic to my house. I'm fine everywhere else but in my own home. I'm even fine in certain rooms of my home, but not every room. Could be the cat, the dog, or the guinea pig. Or maybe it's my responsibilities as a mom and wife that I'm allergic to. The mere thought of making dinner tends to make me sneeze uncontrollably. I've literally gone through a box of tissues in the past 24 hours. How long before my nose falls off and when it does, can I get a smaller one?

And then there's being home for three days with a sort of sick kid. Abby's been battling a cough for weeks, but about a week ago it started to cause her to gag and choke and vomit. Nice, huh? Well, the good mom that I am decided it might be time to visit the doctor (again). So off we went we me grumbling about wasting $20 when all they were going to tell me was that  (insert your own sing-songy pediatrician voice here) "It's just a virus, nothing we can treat. Blah, blah, blah." Instead, it turns out she has a mild case of bronchitis or walking pneumonia and we're treating her with antibiotics. Oh, and yes, that stuff she's coughing up is probably contagious so she should stay home a couple days. Well that's all well and good except that she only feels sick and down for the count when she's actually hacking up a lung. Otherwise she feels fine and BORED. And while I'd love to play the entertainer, I happen to have a crap-load of work as a result of being out of the office for three measly days during which we went and released two new books. Oh, and LogMeIn, which I use to connect to my work computer when I'm home, should today rename itself LogMeOut because I've been bumped offline more than I've been on.

So what's an angry, irritable Freakin' Angel to do in a case like this? Vent and rant on my blog, of course, so you can all get a good laugh at my expense. Go ahead. You know you want to.