Lula died Saturday morning at 7:30 am on the couch. I watched her take her last breath. My daughter slept while it happened. I woke her shortly after. I didn't know quite what to do other than sob into my hands. My daughter's visceral reaction was to be with Lula, even though she had passed. Determined to hold her warmth, touch her soft fur, and whisper to any life Lula had left; she kept vigil without caution. When I could form a coherent sentence I told her that she eased Lula into passing in a way that most people could not do. I couldn't do it. I was already lost in my own grief.
Lula was only seven. She was the happiest and funniest of dogs. She was a teacup chihuahua, minus the chihuahua attitude. We upcycled her at eighteen months from a dog hoarder in Washington. She was scared of us at first, but once she gained confidence, she loved to cuddle and and jester for her family. When we moved down to California, she played off leash extensively for the first time. She couldn't be stopped. We took her to the park down the street which was often empty, and she ran like nobody was watching. It was all at once amazing and goofy. Lula was shy, so she didn't like that she was so cute that she caused a ruckus wherever she went. We liked it. We took her places early on. After realizing that it caused stress for her, we kept her at home. She became our home-body-lovey-dovey exercise freak. She was never snappy, never snarly, always chipper, even when she got sick.
Which is why I should have known Friday night that it was her last night. I was not cognizant of the animal dynamic in the house. She sat away from me. She relented and came to me for a bit, I'm guessing she visited with me mostly for my comfort. I massaged her back and scratched her belly. She relaxed a bit, but retreated quickly. At about 4 am, she became so agitated, I moved to the couch to be with her and allow her to get up and down easily if she needed to do so. Dinah, who never slept near her or even in the same room, joined us the couch as well sat and stared out the window as if on guard. Zeke, her buddy, woke from sleeping in the bedroom about 30 minutes later and raced back and forth. Since Lula had finally fallen asleep in the crook of my body; I was frustrated with Zeke's panic. I put him in the crate. Lula didn't stir.
Mercifully, I fell asleep with her. She was just asleep in my mind, and we both needed sleep so badly. I didn't even check on her when I got up around 7:20 am to tend to the other dogs. I let them outside. I started to make them breakfast and I thought I'd nudge her awake to see if she wanted to some food. Her eating had been spotty, but she was always down for chicken and sweet potatoes. That was the plan for breakfast on Saturday.
When I tried to wake her, She was wrapped up in a blanket. I don't know if I had put the blanket on her or she had curled up in it. I am still not sure. She often cuddled herself deep into blankets, but this time it was different, she was convulsing. I lifted the blanket and realized quite quickly that I was witnessing her death throws. I pet her; I hid. I pet her; I paced. I didn't comfort her as I should have. I only hope that collectively, it was enough. There were a series of silent and almost peaceful waves, and I knew she was gone. I knew it in my logic brain, but my heart wouldn't believe it. My heart told me that my senses had lied to me, and I did not just witness a beloved pets death... or any real death... for the first time in my life. I've been sheltered!
That's when I woke my daughter.
For most of Saturday, I mentioned to several people that I think I was ultimately responsible for her death. I had several theories on how I did this:
1) I finally squished her. I was so tired, I rolled over on her.
2) I gave her way more medicine than I thought, and forgot that I did it.
3) I must have smothered her with the blanket
4) I dyed my hair on Friday, the smell must have been too much
5) For the first time, on Friday night, after a long night of no sleep and total sadness and confusion, I wished she'd just pass on her own.
If you know me, and you know how careful I am with her, you will shake your head and say "no way" to all of those scenarios. Logic brain agreed. The vet told me a month ago her heart was starting to cut off her breathing. We all saw the x-rays. We all knew the story. So, logic brain knew that was indeed what happened. My hurt heart continued to beat me up for my role in her death. Was I not on top of it enough? What did I do?
By Sunday, I could admit that I did not have a hand in her death, but I realized it was more comforting to think I did. F@cked up, right? For me, straight up grief and acceptance of randomness and loss is WAY scarier than finding blame, even if the only person to blame is myself. Helplessness is a WAY worse feeling than guilt. With helplessness, you're admitting you have no real control, and personal tragedies will happen over and over, because that's life. Logic brain nods and says "of course." Hurt heart is already building the wall and calling for reinforcements at the idea of going through any of this again. As I have slowly moved into accepting helplessness and that my sweet little Lula died in front of me, I feel a little better in some ways, and little worse in others.
Let's back track a little over a month ago, to my Dad's passing. My dad and I maintained an uncomfortable relationship to say the least. This is something that I have logically accepted long ago, but still something that my hurt heart will react to no matter the acceptance. I saw him a few days before he died, and we had a good moment. It didn't make up for all the things left unsaid, but it was enough.
Prior to him passing, we had a conversation where he told me that he believed the world was going to hell. I know a lot of people share in this belief; it's not uncommon. Watch the news, listen to people on the street. I totally understand the feeling. He thought the world was full of thugs and terrorists, and he was glad that he owned a gun. I mentioned that despite me living in the city, I felt that our neighborhood was safe, and was pleasantly surprised to find out how safe people felt here. So much so, a lot of them have left windows and doors open since the 1970's. He said emphatically that "they'll be sorry."
This fear based thinking surprised me as my dad was such a free and open spirit in his early 30's. He never met an adventure he didn't pursue. We didn't "lock up tight" when we were over at his house, and for many years, the house was almost an open door policy.
It also surprised me because it seemed quite obvious to me that he was suffering and ultimately dying due to complications from diabetes. I wondered how he could be so fearful of a remote chance interaction with a evil stranger, and not recognize that he had been orchestrating his own death for so long. Was he not aware that his choices were perpetrating the torture of horrifying complications of diabetes? It's so much easier to focus on external threats than the greatest threat in many cases, the threat you pose to yourself. I'm just as guilty depending on the day.
Expectation vs Acceptance
I'm tying to random events together by a thin thread; I get it. It's all mixed up in this bag I can only open for a brief moment to examine, before I have to close it so I don't lose it on a daily basis. So far, when I peak in, I am coming to this conclusion: We're not promised anything, but we spend our life expecting everything. Even more mind-boggling, we deny that we do it. I expected that Lula would outlive my thirteen year old dogs. A lot of my ruminating over her diagnosis and death revolved my expectation that she would outlive the others. But, if you would have said that I held a specific expectation, I would have refuted that, saying " I never expected Lula to live to a particular age." I was completely unaware of my expectation until I was hurt by it. In fact, every moment of our lives is permeated by expectations, no matter how far fetched; no matter how mundane.
Dad seemed to expect that he'd be healed even after he went on dialysis because he had become a Christian late in life. I don't know if he always kept that belief, but he was very clear on certain occasions that he believed he would be fully healed. He may have convinced himself on some level that it was appropriate to be fearful of only external factors, because the internal factors would be eventually a non-issue.
Lula, being a more basic creature could not have weighed any of these factors, obviously. She just did what she did until she could do no more. I don't think she woke up expecting to live, nor did she expect to die. She just was. She walked until it was tiring for her to do so, and when it was, she just begged off walking. She tried to walk almost everyday until the end. She didn't expect that she couldn't, and she didn't expect that she could either; she just did it.
Fear Is Not Our Friend
Lula was fearful of appropriate things. Ok, maybe not all appropriate things. She was suspicious of Popsicles. If you put a Popsicle in front of her, she'd lean in like she was going to lick it, but ALWAYS chicken out at the last second. I regret not recording that reaction. More appropriately, she was fearful of large dogs, high jumps, being squished and being left alone. These things can kill you when you are 4 lbs. She wasn't fearful of a masked gunman, a shark attack or an earthquake. This wasn't in her every day, so she couldn't conjure up these fears. We're more evolved so we can do that, right?
My dad, as many of us do, reached into a fear bag, and pulled out something remote to move his focus. For some of us, it's a serial killer, other its terrorism, maybe even for others it's a natural disaster. Maybe it helps in a way to focus a fear on something far reaching and out of our control. This way we can reasonably expect that it wont happen and blame others if it does. I'm not saying we shouldn't prepare. However, if we're fearing it repetitively and not preparing for it, it does no good. If we're not moving on into something beyond fear, we're letting a statistically remote fear control us. We do this in lieu of an appropriate fear that we can control.
If my Dad was really interested in preserving his life, he could have changed his lifestyle for 20+ long years. He did not. He made some attempts, but it never stuck. And meanwhile, he grew more discontent with the external world and it's boogeymen. We all do it, don't we? I have an odd fear about someone putting sugar in my gas tank, but I often leave my car doors unlocked.... nobody is going to sugar the tank, but there's a high probability someone might just open the car door and take something, and I could have easily prevented it. We don't let our kids walk to school or play in the park for fear of kidnappers, but we're driving them around everywhere and filling them up on Starbucks... I'd argue both should be far scarier. And worst of all, we're teaching our kids to fear things that are remote and engage in things that could really harm them.
In fairness to my dad, and as learned by Lula, the death part isn't really something you can control always, but you can affect the life you live while you have it to live. My dad may still have died at 69, but with proper control, he could have REALLY lived up until then. Conversely, Lula might have lived until 14 if she never jumped, ran, put pressure on her heart. If I had known, I'd probably have stopped her from living, just trying to control the outcome. Pssshhhhh.... try to control that life? NO WAY! I am glad I didn't. There's a difference between living and over consumption. We often fail to live for fears sake, and over-consume instead...food, shopping or whatever.
So How Does This Have Anything To Do with Exercise?
I don't know. But, I think I'd rather choose to live a life like Lula, where I fear the right things, and control what I can, which is not much, and just leave it at that. I didn't know how to end this little project, but I'll end it here for now:
Lula, I will always you remember playing in the park and jumping up to give me kisses. How you wiggled!
Dad, I will also always remember playing tennis with you home town on a hot summer night. How focused you were!
I wish my dad kept it up. I'm glad Lula never stopped until the end. I think I found frolic again. I found Yoga. I found Pickle Ball, and I found Spin. I yoga it up almost everyday, with a class two times a week. I look so forward to the classes. I almost can't stand the breaks. I recruited my guy to yoga, and he loves it too. There's something there for me. It's more than exercise; it's a change of perspective.
I adore Pickle Ball. My daughter loves it too. I figure if she's the ONLY junior Pickle Ball player, we can get a good scholarship somewhere. Nah. I am just over the moon that a thirteen year old wants to get up Saturday mornings and play PB with some funny seniors and me. Spin is uplifting and fun cardio. It's not an everyday thing, but I'm down for the Friday specialty nights (this Friday was disco) with a glass of champagne at the end.
I have to watch out for things like diabetes, and being attentive while driving. These are all real things that I can control. But I can't spend my life trying to control outcomes or blame myself for outcomes that are natural or part of the randomness of life. Nor can I be mad it. Lula had my heart from the day I met her. She was so singular in nature. No mood swings, no grumpiness, no wanting to leave the pack. She was built to be a companion. She knew she was little, and there wasn't a lot she could control and so she stuck to what she could control. Would I have not taken her on if I knew the end of the story? No. I would have done it in a heartbeat over and over.
Sometimes the simple is good. Moving your body feels good. Enjoying the body you have while you have it is good. Accepting helplessness and fear in certain situations is required. Accepting learned helplessness while focusing on external factors you cannot control is dangerous.
My heart is going to stop beating someday. I'd like it to be like Lula's while it's beating.... Running like nobody's watching, playing big, and keeping those you love close.
So that's it for now. This project was a lifesaver for me during this time. I enjoy writing and love finding new things to do. Thank you for reading... it kept me focused. With that, I am going shake the leashes to see if Zeke and Dinah want to go for a walk, and go meet up with my guy for some restorative yoga. It's becoming a lovely Sunday tradition.
Lula was only seven. She was the happiest and funniest of dogs. She was a teacup chihuahua, minus the chihuahua attitude. We upcycled her at eighteen months from a dog hoarder in Washington. She was scared of us at first, but once she gained confidence, she loved to cuddle and and jester for her family. When we moved down to California, she played off leash extensively for the first time. She couldn't be stopped. We took her to the park down the street which was often empty, and she ran like nobody was watching. It was all at once amazing and goofy. Lula was shy, so she didn't like that she was so cute that she caused a ruckus wherever she went. We liked it. We took her places early on. After realizing that it caused stress for her, we kept her at home. She became our home-body-lovey-dovey exercise freak. She was never snappy, never snarly, always chipper, even when she got sick.
Which is why I should have known Friday night that it was her last night. I was not cognizant of the animal dynamic in the house. She sat away from me. She relented and came to me for a bit, I'm guessing she visited with me mostly for my comfort. I massaged her back and scratched her belly. She relaxed a bit, but retreated quickly. At about 4 am, she became so agitated, I moved to the couch to be with her and allow her to get up and down easily if she needed to do so. Dinah, who never slept near her or even in the same room, joined us the couch as well sat and stared out the window as if on guard. Zeke, her buddy, woke from sleeping in the bedroom about 30 minutes later and raced back and forth. Since Lula had finally fallen asleep in the crook of my body; I was frustrated with Zeke's panic. I put him in the crate. Lula didn't stir.
Mercifully, I fell asleep with her. She was just asleep in my mind, and we both needed sleep so badly. I didn't even check on her when I got up around 7:20 am to tend to the other dogs. I let them outside. I started to make them breakfast and I thought I'd nudge her awake to see if she wanted to some food. Her eating had been spotty, but she was always down for chicken and sweet potatoes. That was the plan for breakfast on Saturday.
When I tried to wake her, She was wrapped up in a blanket. I don't know if I had put the blanket on her or she had curled up in it. I am still not sure. She often cuddled herself deep into blankets, but this time it was different, she was convulsing. I lifted the blanket and realized quite quickly that I was witnessing her death throws. I pet her; I hid. I pet her; I paced. I didn't comfort her as I should have. I only hope that collectively, it was enough. There were a series of silent and almost peaceful waves, and I knew she was gone. I knew it in my logic brain, but my heart wouldn't believe it. My heart told me that my senses had lied to me, and I did not just witness a beloved pets death... or any real death... for the first time in my life. I've been sheltered!
That's when I woke my daughter.
For most of Saturday, I mentioned to several people that I think I was ultimately responsible for her death. I had several theories on how I did this:
1) I finally squished her. I was so tired, I rolled over on her.
2) I gave her way more medicine than I thought, and forgot that I did it.
3) I must have smothered her with the blanket
4) I dyed my hair on Friday, the smell must have been too much
5) For the first time, on Friday night, after a long night of no sleep and total sadness and confusion, I wished she'd just pass on her own.
If you know me, and you know how careful I am with her, you will shake your head and say "no way" to all of those scenarios. Logic brain agreed. The vet told me a month ago her heart was starting to cut off her breathing. We all saw the x-rays. We all knew the story. So, logic brain knew that was indeed what happened. My hurt heart continued to beat me up for my role in her death. Was I not on top of it enough? What did I do?
By Sunday, I could admit that I did not have a hand in her death, but I realized it was more comforting to think I did. F@cked up, right? For me, straight up grief and acceptance of randomness and loss is WAY scarier than finding blame, even if the only person to blame is myself. Helplessness is a WAY worse feeling than guilt. With helplessness, you're admitting you have no real control, and personal tragedies will happen over and over, because that's life. Logic brain nods and says "of course." Hurt heart is already building the wall and calling for reinforcements at the idea of going through any of this again. As I have slowly moved into accepting helplessness and that my sweet little Lula died in front of me, I feel a little better in some ways, and little worse in others.
Let's back track a little over a month ago, to my Dad's passing. My dad and I maintained an uncomfortable relationship to say the least. This is something that I have logically accepted long ago, but still something that my hurt heart will react to no matter the acceptance. I saw him a few days before he died, and we had a good moment. It didn't make up for all the things left unsaid, but it was enough.
Prior to him passing, we had a conversation where he told me that he believed the world was going to hell. I know a lot of people share in this belief; it's not uncommon. Watch the news, listen to people on the street. I totally understand the feeling. He thought the world was full of thugs and terrorists, and he was glad that he owned a gun. I mentioned that despite me living in the city, I felt that our neighborhood was safe, and was pleasantly surprised to find out how safe people felt here. So much so, a lot of them have left windows and doors open since the 1970's. He said emphatically that "they'll be sorry."
This fear based thinking surprised me as my dad was such a free and open spirit in his early 30's. He never met an adventure he didn't pursue. We didn't "lock up tight" when we were over at his house, and for many years, the house was almost an open door policy.
It also surprised me because it seemed quite obvious to me that he was suffering and ultimately dying due to complications from diabetes. I wondered how he could be so fearful of a remote chance interaction with a evil stranger, and not recognize that he had been orchestrating his own death for so long. Was he not aware that his choices were perpetrating the torture of horrifying complications of diabetes? It's so much easier to focus on external threats than the greatest threat in many cases, the threat you pose to yourself. I'm just as guilty depending on the day.
Expectation vs Acceptance
I'm tying to random events together by a thin thread; I get it. It's all mixed up in this bag I can only open for a brief moment to examine, before I have to close it so I don't lose it on a daily basis. So far, when I peak in, I am coming to this conclusion: We're not promised anything, but we spend our life expecting everything. Even more mind-boggling, we deny that we do it. I expected that Lula would outlive my thirteen year old dogs. A lot of my ruminating over her diagnosis and death revolved my expectation that she would outlive the others. But, if you would have said that I held a specific expectation, I would have refuted that, saying " I never expected Lula to live to a particular age." I was completely unaware of my expectation until I was hurt by it. In fact, every moment of our lives is permeated by expectations, no matter how far fetched; no matter how mundane.
Dad seemed to expect that he'd be healed even after he went on dialysis because he had become a Christian late in life. I don't know if he always kept that belief, but he was very clear on certain occasions that he believed he would be fully healed. He may have convinced himself on some level that it was appropriate to be fearful of only external factors, because the internal factors would be eventually a non-issue.
Lula, being a more basic creature could not have weighed any of these factors, obviously. She just did what she did until she could do no more. I don't think she woke up expecting to live, nor did she expect to die. She just was. She walked until it was tiring for her to do so, and when it was, she just begged off walking. She tried to walk almost everyday until the end. She didn't expect that she couldn't, and she didn't expect that she could either; she just did it.
Fear Is Not Our Friend
Lula was fearful of appropriate things. Ok, maybe not all appropriate things. She was suspicious of Popsicles. If you put a Popsicle in front of her, she'd lean in like she was going to lick it, but ALWAYS chicken out at the last second. I regret not recording that reaction. More appropriately, she was fearful of large dogs, high jumps, being squished and being left alone. These things can kill you when you are 4 lbs. She wasn't fearful of a masked gunman, a shark attack or an earthquake. This wasn't in her every day, so she couldn't conjure up these fears. We're more evolved so we can do that, right?
My dad, as many of us do, reached into a fear bag, and pulled out something remote to move his focus. For some of us, it's a serial killer, other its terrorism, maybe even for others it's a natural disaster. Maybe it helps in a way to focus a fear on something far reaching and out of our control. This way we can reasonably expect that it wont happen and blame others if it does. I'm not saying we shouldn't prepare. However, if we're fearing it repetitively and not preparing for it, it does no good. If we're not moving on into something beyond fear, we're letting a statistically remote fear control us. We do this in lieu of an appropriate fear that we can control.
If my Dad was really interested in preserving his life, he could have changed his lifestyle for 20+ long years. He did not. He made some attempts, but it never stuck. And meanwhile, he grew more discontent with the external world and it's boogeymen. We all do it, don't we? I have an odd fear about someone putting sugar in my gas tank, but I often leave my car doors unlocked.... nobody is going to sugar the tank, but there's a high probability someone might just open the car door and take something, and I could have easily prevented it. We don't let our kids walk to school or play in the park for fear of kidnappers, but we're driving them around everywhere and filling them up on Starbucks... I'd argue both should be far scarier. And worst of all, we're teaching our kids to fear things that are remote and engage in things that could really harm them.
In fairness to my dad, and as learned by Lula, the death part isn't really something you can control always, but you can affect the life you live while you have it to live. My dad may still have died at 69, but with proper control, he could have REALLY lived up until then. Conversely, Lula might have lived until 14 if she never jumped, ran, put pressure on her heart. If I had known, I'd probably have stopped her from living, just trying to control the outcome. Pssshhhhh.... try to control that life? NO WAY! I am glad I didn't. There's a difference between living and over consumption. We often fail to live for fears sake, and over-consume instead...food, shopping or whatever.
So How Does This Have Anything To Do with Exercise?
I don't know. But, I think I'd rather choose to live a life like Lula, where I fear the right things, and control what I can, which is not much, and just leave it at that. I didn't know how to end this little project, but I'll end it here for now:
Lula, I will always you remember playing in the park and jumping up to give me kisses. How you wiggled!
Dad, I will also always remember playing tennis with you home town on a hot summer night. How focused you were!
I wish my dad kept it up. I'm glad Lula never stopped until the end. I think I found frolic again. I found Yoga. I found Pickle Ball, and I found Spin. I yoga it up almost everyday, with a class two times a week. I look so forward to the classes. I almost can't stand the breaks. I recruited my guy to yoga, and he loves it too. There's something there for me. It's more than exercise; it's a change of perspective.
I adore Pickle Ball. My daughter loves it too. I figure if she's the ONLY junior Pickle Ball player, we can get a good scholarship somewhere. Nah. I am just over the moon that a thirteen year old wants to get up Saturday mornings and play PB with some funny seniors and me. Spin is uplifting and fun cardio. It's not an everyday thing, but I'm down for the Friday specialty nights (this Friday was disco) with a glass of champagne at the end.
I have to watch out for things like diabetes, and being attentive while driving. These are all real things that I can control. But I can't spend my life trying to control outcomes or blame myself for outcomes that are natural or part of the randomness of life. Nor can I be mad it. Lula had my heart from the day I met her. She was so singular in nature. No mood swings, no grumpiness, no wanting to leave the pack. She was built to be a companion. She knew she was little, and there wasn't a lot she could control and so she stuck to what she could control. Would I have not taken her on if I knew the end of the story? No. I would have done it in a heartbeat over and over.
Sometimes the simple is good. Moving your body feels good. Enjoying the body you have while you have it is good. Accepting helplessness and fear in certain situations is required. Accepting learned helplessness while focusing on external factors you cannot control is dangerous.
My heart is going to stop beating someday. I'd like it to be like Lula's while it's beating.... Running like nobody's watching, playing big, and keeping those you love close.
So that's it for now. This project was a lifesaver for me during this time. I enjoy writing and love finding new things to do. Thank you for reading... it kept me focused. With that, I am going shake the leashes to see if Zeke and Dinah want to go for a walk, and go meet up with my guy for some restorative yoga. It's becoming a lovely Sunday tradition.
I loved reading this. I'll miss you while you're not writing...because it was fun to read your sarcasm. I'm sorry about Lula. and a guy? hmmm
ReplyDeleteJeri, thank you so much for reading and commenting! It meant a lot to me. I'm sure I'll be back to writing snarky thoughts shortly... I'm just running on empty at the moment. And yes, he's been around awhile; he's just not a social media guy... I'll sneak a pic in sometime. ;)
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