Category Archives: Melvin

We are only human.

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I cannot tell you how many times I step in to console someone who has lost a pet and who feels they didn’t do enough. Didn’t see the signs. Didn’t make the right choices. And every time they ask me, why are you not second guessing everything about Melvin and Jake? My answer is the same no matter who asks…

…because I’m only human. I did the best I could. So did you. 

I lost two dogs to cancer. They were diagnosed less than one year apart.

I cannot say with absolute certainty that I did every thing I could do for them both so that they didn’t get cancer.  They both had really great care. The best food, excellent veterinary care and options. Whatever they needed, they got. If love alone could have protected them from cancer, I wouldn’t be writing this post.

I didn’t expose them to known radiation. I didn’t treat the lawn with poisonous chemicals. I didn’t let them drink from an unknown water source. I also didn’t wake up on any single day of their life and say, today I am going to be sure they are not exposed to carcinogens.

They were both rescues. I got one at three and one at five. The three year old lived to be ten and the five year old lived to be eight. They were both purebreds, a lab and a French Bulldog. They had regular vaccinations. During summer months, I did flea and tick treatments on both. They were both on medications for other health issues. If you want to know if I think any of the things in this paragraph led to them having cancer, I will say with absolute certainty that, I don’t know.

Traveling down the road of did I do something to contribute to their cancer, did I not do something that led to it…those paths, lead to nowhere for me. I love Melvin and Jake more than I love myself. I woke up everyday with one goal, to love them better than I did the day before.

I could not control the cancer. I could only control the love.

It was out of my hands that two different cancers found two different boys in one household. I could not control that Melvin had no treatment options or that Jake’s option didn’t work. I could not control that Melvin had 40 days or that Jake had five months. I could not control that both situations, broke me.

I will always wish that they lived longer, but time was never a guarantee. I am learning to celebrate that they were here.

There were a few brief moments during Jake’s cancer where the thought of his last year picked at me a little. His last year, was undeniably his worst year. I did all that I could to make it bearable. We’d lost Melvin and we were not the best versions of ourselves. He got health knockdown after knockdown and then just when we were turning a corner and getting back up, we got his cancer diagnosis. When thoughts of doubt about his last year try to creep into my mind, I stop what I am doing and say no. No! I stand convicted that we did the best we could. Both of us, he and I, even during the hardest of days, we did our best because every day, there was love.

For us, cancer is a chapter, cancer is not the story.

We have to be kinder to ourselves during loss. There are so many incredible parents who lose a pet and then turn on themselves and suggest they didn’t do enough. They missed a sign. They second guess it all. At the beginning and end of every day, we are human. We don’t have magic eyes that see cancer when it starts to form (if only!). There is not a manual called: “Do exactly this when your pet gets cancer”. Instead, we do the best we can with all the love in our hearts.

You did enough. You were guided by love. You did the parts that you could do, beautifully.

I would OBVIOUSLY much rather cancer not exist. I would much rather Melvin and Jake were both at my feet right now. I loved them unconditionally before cancer. I loved them beautifully during cancer. I loved them enough to let them go and my life’s purpose is to be sure that their love lives on, forever. Part of that is donating to cancer research in their memory, so that one day, maybe we can control cancer.

Jake’s name has been added to our project joy. #loveliveson

mpj-_mjprojectjoyv3

 

 

 

 

Hey Doug!

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I met 20 dogs over the past seven weeks.  Every single time, while I loved the dog (I love them all!), I’d come home and have a terrible breakdown because that dog, wasn’t Jake. The house was empty, but I wanted Jake. I wanted my boy back.

I kept trying. I kept having breakdowns. Why was I torturing myself? I finally decided to take a break. The moment I decided to do that, a weight was lifted. I knew I would find a dog when I found a dog and it would just have to be ok that there were no dogs here.

That decision, lightened me. My smile started coming back. I found my laughter. I cried when I missed Jake but there were no torturous breakdowns. I needed time to realize that there is no situation that could present itself, even the next dog, where I wouldn’t still want to have Jake back. I accepted that another dog would come and that there could be sadness over the loss and joy over the gain. It didn’t have to be one or the other.

I could breathe again.

A little over a week ago, I was scrolling through Facebook and I saw this:

I froze, in the warmest way. I saw Melvin in this dog. I saw Jake in this dog. This dog was their love child. My boys sent me this dog, I knew this to be certain. I applied for him immediately. I emailed them to say I must meet him. He was meant to be mine.

There were no breakdowns.

I had a home visit, didn’t cry once.

I bought him stuff (before meeting him), still calm.

Then last Thursday, my friend Virginia and I drove to meet him.

He came rounding the corner in his foster mom’s house and I felt Melvin and Jake. I felt them in his exuberance, in his clumsiness, in his joy.  I also, just saw him, as his own being. This new, beautiful change my life was about to take.

The moment I saw his face in the first photo, I saw a Doug. Face-to-face, he was still Doug to me. He’d found a new name. A new home.

Doug was found as a stray in rural South Carolina. He quickly became a shelter favorite.  The shelter called Pet Connect Rescue and asked if they could take him out or SC and give him a new life in the DC area. The rescue said yes, and Hooty/Doug made his way up North, into foster and now to me.

Here is what I know so far…

  • A lot of things in the house are new to him.  Like garage doors opening. And refrigerator ice maker noises. And mirrors.
  • He was neutered mid-August and the vet estimated him to be 1-2 years old. I worried a lot about 1-2 years old because that was by far the youngest dog I have ever considered. But he was already mine so 1-2 would have to be ok.  Imagine my surprise when I took him to my vet and she said… he is not a day over eight months. My eyes were crazier than Jake’s at that moment!
  • Doug is a puppy. He mouths EVERYTHING. When I try to walk, he tries to put my feet in his mouth. We go on 7,489 walks a day and somehow he still has energy.
  • He has not had a single accident in the house.
  • He puts himself to bed at 7:30pm, and I go get him to keep him up for fear that he will want to wake up at 4am.
  • He has yet to meet a person or dog he does not like.
  • At any moment, he could explode from joy.
  • He is not the dog I thought I wanted.  As it turns out, he is everything that I need.

Especially if what I needed was exhaustion! No seriously, how long are they puppies?

We start obedience training on Wednesday! Amen to training!

As for what breed he is, he’s listed as an English Bulldog mix. I ordered a DNA kit so we’ll def do a contest at some point for guesses.

I can only confirm he’s happy.

As am I.

Don’t be fooled by these photos, he only rests about 14 min a day.

 

Change is hard.

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The other day I was looking at pictures and I saw a photo of one of Jake’s MRSP spots and I thought about how I hadn’t checked on his spots in a while.  I realized he wasn’t here before I stood up to check on him.

I still get up throughout the day to change his diaper though.

There has been a lot of change. It’s hard to face it all at once and it’s a lot to face piece by piece.  Sometimes I get anxious and overwhelmed. It’s usually in these moments that I feel Melvin the most, reminding me to wiggle my way through.

Just wiggle woman! 

The ‘on this day’ reminders in Facebook screw with my perception of time.  I will see a memory pop up and I feel like that memory happened more recently than losing Jake. Grief isn’t always logical. To be honest, I don’t really have that many memories of Jake right now, I just have a vision of my little bug, not a specific moment in time. I don’t really struggle or worry about this part too much.  I know that the memories will slowly return and fall into a beautiful timeline of our life together.

I remember the love, nothing could erase that.

 

In the struggle between sadness and no dogs here, well… I want Jake to be here. It’s the phase of grief where I still want my old life back. I have tried to meet other dogs. Oh how I’ve tried!  Each time I have a messy, painful breakdown. Sometimes this happens on the way home, sometimes it happens a few hours later, sometimes it happens in Home Goods. Usually I laugh after these moments pass, it’s like I’m channeling Jake through my reaction. I know there will come a dog that will be the dog. I know this with all that I am. The boys will guide me and that next dog and I will begin again, writing the next beautiful chapter of this amazing life. A chapter that allows my memories to fall into a safe place. Memories that bring more smiles than tears as I make new memories moving forward on the path of life. In grief you have to learn to carry your past in a way that doesn’t obstruct your view moving forward. It’s hard, but it’s the only way.

The sadness, it’s getting better.  I’m feeling stronger.  I smile more. There is laughter. Jake is slowly sneaking his way into my day. I feel him. He’s a part of me now. There are moments, when it’s just him and me again. At any mention of the word poop or meatballs, I smile.

I’m learning to live without Jake, without Melvin and Jake,  as I hold them both tightly in my heart. Carrying on can be hard work. Facing change is overwhelming. I just remind myself who fuels my heart and I keep on carrying on for them, for us, and for me.

 

 

 

OK.

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I’ve been honest with you. Losing Jake has been heavy and complicated. I thought I was ready to face it and I thought my grief journey with Jake would more closely align with my grief journey with Melvin.

I was wrong. It happens.

At some point last week, after a really sad night, I sat down and thought about all the parts that are harder, all the part that are holding me down, all the parts that make me unable to breathe. And so much of this, and grief in general, is about what I can’t control. In short, I can’t control that Jake is gone. I can’t control that he has been gone for one month and that this past month feels like a hurtful forever. Even before he died, I couldn’t control so much about his health. So I guess I’ve been out of control (but not in a Girls Gone Wild way), for a while. I thought about how I could get back on track.  Instead of thinking of all the things I was crying about, all the things that were out of my control, I instead made a list of the things I can affect. A list of all the things I can champion. It is exactly how I lived life with Melvin and Jake, not focusing on the things that we couldn’t fix, but focusing on all the ways we could shine. It is exactly how I need to continue to be, even in their absence.

No one said seeking joy is easy.

I tried to focus on, not on what is different about losing Jake and Melvin, but instead, what is the same. I tried to focus on the successes, on the things that could lift me up and remind me that it was OK and will be OK. And I thought for a long time and I came up with three things that were then and that are still now.

  1. “Love lives on” for me, was born the moment Melvin died. I honestly believe that it was my purpose last year to make sure that Melvin-love lived on and it’s my life’s work now to add Jake-love to that mix.
  2. Love and joy, are who I am. What guides me has not changed.  Part of it is perhaps lost in the grief shuffle right now, but it was the whole of me before and I still feel it at my core now. I just have to get out of my own way.
  3. Most importantly, the common denominator between last year and this year, is me. Sure, I could argue that is the hard part, but I survived losing Melvin. I went on to see Jake through last year, the worst health year of his life. I did that. I’ve been selling myself pretty short by focussing on all the things I can’t handle this past month. I got through last year. I’ll get through this year too.

So I added a new mantra to my day. Love lives on. Check. Go find your joy. Check, check. And now, I have to ‘make the not OK, OK‘. Part of that means that not everything will be OK…and that’s just how it is, but I don’t have to let those moments own me. I can acknowledge them and let them be for now. There are things I can make OK.  A new OK. A different OK.  OK is a town you pass through on the way to New Normal.

My GPS may be working again. I’ll keep you posted. Until then, here are a few things that brought me joy this past week…

My view into the washing machine last night. It was OK to wash them, they needed cleaned. 

 

Jake is ‘Dog of the Month’ at our local and most favorite pet supply store, Happy Hound!

 

And this.  These two are sorta the whole of everything.  #loveliveson

 

Flashback Friday – the letter to Melvin’s first family.

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I’m going to do Flashback Fridays every now and then as Facebook reminds me of a post from the past that I think is worth re-sharing. This post was from a few years ago, it was a letter to Melvin’s first family, who knew him as Riley.

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A thank you note, to Melvin’s first family.
Posted on August 12, 2014

 

I was torn when I got Melvin, I was happy he was mine but upset that his owners let his health deteriorate It took me a little while to just feel grateful. This letter might have been different if I’d written it when I first got him. With time comes clarity.

Dear previous family of then Riley,

Thank you for deciding to not be dog owners. It’s because of you that my heart is full and my life is happy.

I was told of your frustration with owning Riley, that everyday you’d let him out in a fence-less yard before you left for work and that he’d wander off. You’d probably met some wonderfully well-behaved dogs in your life and you likely assumed Riley would hang out and wait for you while you were gone. Let’s be honest, Riley was not wonderfully well-behaved back then. He was a need-a-fence kinda dog. (To this day his recall is only mediocre). I’m just so thankful he was never hit by a car. They told me how frustrated you were that animal control had picked him up so many times and that on that last time, when they called you said: Keep him. Those two words, changed my life forever. When he left you and came to me he had mange and giardia and massive yeast infections, not to mention his horrible allergies. I want you to know that he’s so much better now, I don’t think you’d even recognize him!

I know that someone, somewhere did something to him with hangers. If that was you, I hope that heavy regret has set in. I pray that whoever it was, if they ever consider getting another dog, that the universe puts a hanger in their path and they’re reminded that they are not dog people. I want to assure you, his current life is free from punishment, what is required from him is only what he has to offer. Some days it’s exuberance, some days it’s sleep. Today it’s regurgitation. It’s all good.

I didn’t like you at first.  But I know now that you and I were meant to unite.  I’m eternally grateful you didn’t allow the vet to put him down. I’m sure many would have seen ‘the worlds most allergic dog’ as a hopeless case. I’m thankful you said  – maybe someone else can help him.  I imagine defeat was hard to admit. Or maybe you celebrated his departure. Either way, that’s okay.

Here’s the truth:  I understand.  I know how much money his medications cost.  I know how expensive his food can be.  I know, that just when I think we’ve spent all we can on tests, more are needed.  He is not the dog for everyone and you didn’t know that when you went and picked him from the litter.  I will probably never be able to retire, but I was able to make that choice freely when I took him.  I really do understand.

His name is Melvin now. He is healthy.  He is happy.  He is my heart.  He knows true love. He personifies joy.  He and I were meant to be together which means you were meant to have him first. I rescue dogs, that means that they each have previous owners, a past that I have zero control over.

Thank you, for giving him up.  You did the right thing. If we were ever to meet you on the street, I know he would greet you with love and understanding and wiggles.

Sincerely,

Me.  His forever.

PS.  No, you cannot have him back.

Meatballs from Heaven.

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Losing Jake is hard in obvious ways and different in unexpected ways. It’s always different for each loss,  but as hard as it was to lose Melvin, losing Jake comes with a swell of other losses and disruptions.

There is the expected part where I am incredibly sad, I miss him so much and I still need to be taking care of him. This part…it’s the given. The price we pay for true love. I say ‘I love you, Jakey’ out loud, all day, because it’s everything that I feel.

Then there is this house. When I lost Max and Melvin, while taking up their things was hard, I still had water bowls and beds to leave out. Each time, there was still a dog. Jake has SO MUCH more stuff than just beds and bowls and toys. This home is set up for him. There are yoga mats running the width and length of this house. The mudroom is a makeshift vet treatment room. There are washable pee pads, diapers and diaper inserts, everywhere. And for one dog, there are more beds than I can count on two hands and just as many waterproof mattress covers.  I have slowly started gathering things up but with each thing I pick up there are emotions to work through. First, picking up the things that made his life easier feels like saying, ‘these things are in the way’. Jake was never in my way and those solutions brought us both so much joy. No one wants to have to clean-up joy! Secondly, picking up his things is a reminder that there are no dogs here.

There is no ‘our’ or ‘we’. It’s just me.

The moment Melvin died, I immediately felt him in a new way. I felt him become a part of me. I missed him and the ache was palpable but he wrapped himself around me and I carried him forward with me. I never I thought I’d say these words about anyone but…he imprinted on me.

I don’t feel Jake all that much (yet). I worry that his googly eyes got confused at the end and maybe he imprinted on the couch instead of me.

I think I know why Jake feels so far away.

While Jake most definitely knew I loved him and we felt love with no words…so much of Jake’s and my love was also through touch and action. He felt my love, literally by feeling me taking care of him. I channeled so much of my love through nurturing. My hands were on him caring for him. Love felt when lifting him, carrying him, holding him up. He’d look up at me with a single glance (and a single eye), and I’d reach down, knowing exactly what he needed, to help him maneuver. Now, my hands feel idle much of the day. I know that part of not feeling him is that, I literally can no longer reach out to help him. I don’t lean over or kneel down 50 times a day. My apple watch is probably worried I’m dead based on the drop in activity.

I never thought I’d miss meatballs.

The other thing is, and this one might not be one that everyone will understand and I may not do a great job of explaining it but even if you don’t get it, it’s the perfect example of how odd grief can be. When Max died, I could picture his old-dog body healed and him running again. I’d known Max his whole life.  When Melvin died (he’d only had cancer for 40 days), he looked exactly the same on earth as I thought of him at the Rainbow Bridge. The only difference was, he was cancer and allergy free, easy to see. Jake is different.  I was not Jake’s mom during his healthier years. The majority of time I knew Jake, he had progressive mobility issues.  I was wonky-legged-paralyzed-Jake’s mom. I saw those issues as challenges and together, we made a life where Jake lived his own version of normal and I thought we’d have many, many more years together so I had let go of ‘upright Jake’. I always wanted more for Jake, but I never wanted more than Jake. When someone says ‘Jake’s not suffering anymore’ or ‘Jake is running in heaven’…it is everything I always wanted for him, but I also feel…disconnected. I still see, my Jake. When I have visions of Jake now, he’s usually laying with Melvin or sitting next to him. Although he’s happy, I can’t (yet) bridge my mind to zooming Jake. I can easily see him with no diaper rash (yay), I can even see him with no hamburger eye (oh those gorgeous googly eyes).   I think this is just another reason why I don’t feel him as much yet (in the way I felt and saw Melvin). Grief has a way of making random shit more difficult than it needs to be and this is just a strange grief barrier I need to break through.

Maybe, maybe I’m just looking for him in the wrong places. I have faith it will work out.

This past week I have felt Melvin more than usual. I know he is letting me know he’s got our boy. It’s funny how roles can flip.  Now I’m the one who is somewhat paralyzed at moments. I’m the one with separation anxiety. I’m the one with wide-eyes, looking to be lifted up. The boys moved forward every day, no matter what.

That legacy will live on in me.

As for no dogs being here, well that will feel lame until there are dogs here again. I had to come to terms with Jake not wanting other dogs. I committed to that for him so it’s not easy to turn that switch and say ‘ok Jake’s gone, there can be other dogs now’. I am still the impassioned leader of Team Jake. This week, I’ve slowly started looking at rescue sites again. As always, there are dogs that make my heart thump. I know that rescue is my calling. I hear it.

I just wish Jake was still here. It’s only been two weeks.

There have been so many beautiful people; my family, my friends, you…who have been there, here, wherever you are…sharing stories of how Jake inspired you, that you miss him also, reminders that we made a difference. To say I am blessed, is to say love lives on.

I have been re-reading my post that talks about how ‘the one love’ should move forward (click here to read).  Trying to remind myself of who I am. Up until this moment right now, I have never lost a dog and not had a dog and faced how to go about moving forward with a new dog. I have always gotten a dog before losing a dog. There has always been a dog! So that post about ‘the one love’ was written by the old me. It’s still me, but since writing it there has been a lot of loss and there has been a wonky-legged-googly-eyed-I-hate-any-dogs-that-are-not-Melvin dog. So when I read that post now, I tend to laugh because up until Jake, all the dogs I have had wanted me to love again. Melvin and Max loved love. They wanted me to always be paying our love forward. Jake…well Jake loved being loved. But sharing was not his thing. Some with Melvin but definitely after Melvin, he did not share his neighborhood, his yard, his toys, his food, me or his Melvin’s our home. Something tells me Jake is in heaven being reminded that the F-word is absolutely not permitted…

‘Uh, F no mom. Step away from the rescue sites. We did fine without dogs when I was there and you can totally do this no dog thing without me. If you see someone with a F-ing dog, look away, you do not want what they have. We talked about this, NO DOGS IN MY HOUSE!                                That one-love crap, that ended with me!‘

Of course that is all said in his Barry White bark voice while he continues to flip and flail long after he’s done saying it and there are probably heavenly meatballs (made of glitter). Jake behaving exactly like he did every time I tried to bring a dog home to him. And in true form, Melvin is just laying next to him, calm as can be, rolling his eyes over the idea that Jake uses up so much energy on such silly things. And Max is thinking…there is no way we are related.

I sorta like the vision of spirited Heavenly Jake. It allows the hashtag #lifewithJake to live on, just like the love does.

I pity the fool that gets another dog. 

Leaving.

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I had to leave Jake for a few days.  Leaving anyone towards the end of their life feels impossible and complicated and emotionally painful but sometimes other loved ones in your life need you also and you make compromises.

The only saving grace was that if Jake were able to make his own bucket list, the first nine out of ten items would be to have his dog sitter, Tayler (and her mom), come stay with him.  He may love her more than me.  And I’m fine with that. For the record, Jake’s tenth item on the bucket list would be for us to go live wherever Melvin went and for me to pack really good snacks for the journey.

Tayler has watched him many times before,the last time this past winter.  That did not stop me from channeling my inner insanity detailing every step of Jake’s day in notes. Here is a look at the note, the highlighted areas are items that are new/different since the last time she watched him.

Crazy, party of one.

The original plan was to take Jake on the trip. But sometimes life puts cancer in your day and you cannot add to your baby’s struggle anymore than it already does.

Jake’s bucket list: own a harem. Check.

 

Most of you don’t know this but I had to leave Melvin for a few days, just after we found out he was dying.  There was a very special and important family trip and although I could have canceled, there was the potential for regret no matter what choice I made. As it turned out, Melvin was just fine without me and he too got to spend a special last visit with his love, Vasha.

Even in dying and death, we have to live. It’s not always easy (I cried so much when I left Melvin for that trip but I also had some wonderful people around me, giving me strength to go back and face the hardest phase of my life).

So I left Jake for a few days, and there were tears (mine, not his!). I worried way too much, but I did relax some. I overthought everything and yet still found some clarity. I checked-in like a crazy person and even had the vet come by to check on him and of course, he did fine.

I would care for Jake until the end of time. I would change his diapers, care for his infections, carry him…forever. But it’s always nice to get a little break.  I came back rejuvenated and when Jake pooped on me as I was giving him my snuggly hello, I laughed so hard. That is what our love looks like and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

 

 

Opposite.

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Melvin and Jake’s cancers are completely different and my handling of them are also, almost opposite.

Melvin was, except for the cancer, very healthy at his end.  We’d beat and cured all his issues.  The one thing we struggled with was weight loss.  He lost 10 pounds his last month despite him eating a ton. His cancer type must have been hungry.  Jake on the other hand has a ton of problems to go along with his cancer. A cancer leg that refuses to move (and is changing color) and a TERRIBLE diaper rash, to name a few. He however, is one of the very few cancer dogs that gains weight — he gained one pound last week.  Woohooo!

Then there is me.

With Melvin’s cancer, writing about it kept me grounded. It gave me strength. With Jake’s cancer, I don’t always feel compelled to put the words to web. That might just be a round two issue.

When Melvin got diagnosed I was devastated (that is no different for Jake), but after seeing two radiologists, the oncologist, our regular vet and our holistic vet (all within one week), I knew he was terminal and I knew our time was going to be very short. I went from living mode to survival mode and everyday I focused on getting Melvin to his end with all his joy intact. I have zero doubt or guilt that letting him go when we did, was absolutely the right thing to do.  It was the worst day of my life, but it was one of the most right things I ever did for him.

With Jake, sometimes in my head I operate like his decline is just the normal progression of his spine. It is a plight we’d already begrudgingly accepted so my brain thinks it’s normal. And sure, you can argue that some denial is good, but I need to start being truer to Jake’s end. His decline, is due to cancer. My inability to cure this round of diaper rash, is due to his cancer.  When strangers see him and say ‘poor little guy’ my response can’t be ‘oh, he’s fine’ all the time. He is not fine. I can say he’s happy, he’s loved, and he has the best care imaginable but truth is, Jake is struggling. I need to become less ‘ok’ with what is happening to him in the sense that this is not our original diagnosis of spinal issues and become more ‘ok’ about the fact that he has spinal cancer.  I’m still so desperate to fix him. I still think that this is our normal progression and I still google solutions for everything. Which is the opposite of how I was with Melvin.  And that is not to say I give up or I gave up. It’s just a matter of learning where to put your energy. I wanted to save Melvin every minute that he was on this earth but when he got cancer, I understood (not accepted) the end was near.  He and I cured his life and although getting a terminal cancer with no options went against everything we were and had been through, it was what it was. With Jake, he has struggled so much these past few years that we now are used to it. We have really, solved nothing with him. We ‘saved’ his eye. We have products that help. But everything he has faced, we just sorta had to seek solutions to make it ok to live with. So when he got cancer, I probably thought the opposites would continue, that with him, we’d have options and maybe for once a cure for him. I have to accept some hard truths. It’s complicated to have a special needs dog and then have them get cancer and have that cancer affect the areas they were already special in. For Jake, It’s almost like I don’t comprehend.

So our vet(s) have suggested switching to a ‘hospice’ mentality.  It’s not Jake’s time yet, but the term hospice can sometimes help the human move into the necessary mindset. It helps me process things like ‘the radiation didn’t work as well as we hoped’.  My normal response to that is ‘what do we try next’ and I am fairly unable to process the words ‘nothing’.

Thankfully there are still some things we can try to ease the diaper rash. We may not cure it (but watch me try!).

I’ve been laughing about the differences between the boys situations (ahhhh, the ability to find humor in strange places),  and I know that most of the reasons there are differences is that they are not the same and neither are/were their cancers.  I’m grateful for the most remarkable ‘Team Jake’ vets and I’m grateful for all of you who read these posts and who understand why there might be fewer posts right now.

To conclude, there is always joy to be found.  The recipient of Jake’s wheelchair (Oliver) is going on tons of adventures in his new ride and he has gone from uncertain of how to get around to owning that cart like a boss!  Heart happy.  Heart full. Love lives on, even in wheelchairs!

Whatcha doing woman? When you gonna unroll that new carpet? 

Vets, ramps and rugs.

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In the last week, we have seen the oncologist, our holistic vet (for therapy and a check-in) and our regular vet (to get on the same page and decide what the heck that page is).

Here is what I know.

  • Jake’s cancer leg no longer works. I am a very positive person but I think that leg is probably done. I don’t blame it, I’d quit too.
  • Jake has lost 5 lbs. since February.  I know that cancer requires a lot of calories and I think that for Jake, eventually his body won’t be able to keep up on the eating.  As for now, he eats fine, so that is great. We are increasing his food intake and that makes him very happy!
  • Jake is fairly stoic when it comes to pain. He showed no response to having a cracked tooth or various split nails. We do believe we are starting to see signs of him experiencing pain (and nausea) so we are treating both and will continue to monitor him closely. I want him comfortable.
  • It was time for a few of his vaccinations and to refill his heart guard. We had a realistic conversation about his prognosis, that his cancer is not treatable and that his body is weaker with every passing day. I told our regular vet that I only wanted to do the vaccinations he truly needed. We ended up opting against some. I don’t think that his cancer is from vaccinations or from any preventative (I don’t know that for sure but I do believe some of them are important) but I do feel like there is no need to throw any unnecessary treatments at cancer or his body right now. I am Jake’s voice. I have no veterinary training but I am trained in the art of loving Jake and love makes decisions sometimes and right now, love decided that we won’t be putting some of those treatments into his body. These decisions we face are big, insurmountable, giants. But I believe with all that I am that at the end of our pet’s lives, relying on love is the best guide.
  • He still has joy, and for that, we have everything that we need!

Put more food in my belly.

This weekend I continued my quest to find a ramp that Jake can use to go outside. I can carry him, but lifting him up and setting him down so many times a day is not good for his spine (or mine!) and sometimes it seems to bother cancer leg so the ramp is still the most ideal option. The steps to the outside are brick and Jake gets too scraped up going down them on his own.  I have tried carpet pads, nothing has worked. We are now on ramp four. I found a ramp with a Melvin look-alike on the box and I took that as a sign that it was the one!  Then I went to a sporting goods store to buy some yoga mats (one for the ramp since it’s lined with a sandpaper type gripping and that would just result in Jake dragging his then BLOODY stumps).  I told the salesperson I wanted the cheapest ones they had since at some point, it would be pee’d on. I felt bad for him but welcome to my world sales guy!

The good news is, Jake is using the ramp!  I still hold-guide him but it seems to be the one!  Thank you Melvin-look-alike! And of course the cheapest yoga mats are the light ones. The ones that show black mulch paw prints and pee very clearly.

Since getting Jake, he has ‘gone through’ roughly 15 rugs. I clean them, you have no idea how well I clean them(!), but there comes a point when the rug has taken its last beating and we have to let it go. When we got Jake’s diagnosis I decided that I would keep our current rugs and replace them all at once after he went to ‘see Melvin’. Well, Jake’s body had other plans for one of our rugs so its departure came early. Unfortunately it was a rug that covered a lot of ground. So now, instead of matching rugs, I have matching yoga mats, all throughout my house.  They are MUCH easier on Jake and MUCH easier to clean. It’s odd to have random yoga-mat-walkways, but it’s working so I have let go of the decorating fight and embraced the ‘just make it easier for everyone’ approach.

Follow the yoga-mat road! 

Goodbye, fifteen. I remember the very first day I had you and Melvin threw-up pumpkin on you.  It took me three hours to get the stain out. I have a feeling you will be happier at the dump. 

Hey, brother.

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Dear Melvin…I miss you. I mean like, I really miss you, not just your butt. She said it was a year ago that we said goodbye, I don’t understand the concept of time but it feels more like seven years, am I right?

I looked for you, for weeks.  I would howl in case you were lost and needed to hear my sweet Barry White voice to find your way back.  She and I were really sad.  I couldn’t even be around her because she reminded me of you.  I think she felt the same way about me. Eventually I had to stop being alone and start being there for her, just like you told me I would need to be. I try to love her as much as you love her, I think it’s working. She laughs a lot more now.

Lately, she has started saying, ‘you can’t go see your brother yet…’.  Wait, what? Is going to see you an option?  Truth is, I see you all the time. Like every time a sunspot shows up.  Or when I’m outside and the breeze blows my beautiful hairs around, it’s you.

She tried to bring me other brothers. She is funny.  I sent them packing.  I know, I know, you believe in ‘give peace a chance’ and no one appreciates that about you more than me. It’s why I am still alive.  But you know me, I shoot first and ask one question later: “Are you Melvin? No? Then GET OUT!”. I pledge allegiance to the brotherhood of Melvin and Jake.

You are my true love. You made me feel like Super Jake. You always loved me just as a I was. Losing you hurt real bad. I’m going to try to stay with her for a little while longer, she needs to soak in some more Jake awesomeness, but something tells me I may see you soon.  It’s going to be the most epic reunion ever! When I see you, I will run so fast with all my legs and I will jump straight into you! You might want to get protective padding.

It’s you and me and her. She says she wouldn’t change a single thing and I agree. We love you and miss you but are way more better for having had you here with us.  We will always be, three. Well, maybe four if you include your delicious butt.

I will take care of her and you know she will take care of me.

Be on the lookout for me.

I love you.

Jake

PS: We decided to only show the last part of the video, the part about all the love.  There is music so be sure you have sound, music makes everything better!  

Song credit is State of Grace by Taylor Swift, we hope she does not sue us!   

 

 

 

 

 

One year.

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Tomorrow marks the one year anniversary of losing Melvin.  One time around the sun without him, which is poetic way of measuring it since he still shines so brightly in our lives.

I miss him. The all of me misses the all of him. It’s a permanent ache. There are moments that stop me in my tracks and the weight of the loss sits on me and I cry.  But that does not happen every day anymore.  Not even every week.  It just happens now and then, as I’m sure it will for the remainder of my life.

Losing him was hard but I love him more today than I did a year ago. I love him more than yesterday. The journey of grief is so strange.  Sometimes we forgot to applaud ourselves for the growth that occurs during it.

I have been working on a video, a chronological trip down photo lane of his life.  The video was therapy for me.  I started with the very fist photo I had of him and ended with the very last one taken of him (I’ll try to share it with you tomorrow if WordPress allows the large upload). I looked at every single photo and I reflected on our seven years together and a lot on the last year. A year where there are no photos of Melvin, an acceptance that there will be no more.

Here is what I have come to know…

  • Grief has a terrible job. It shows up the moment you couldn’t need it less and it’s required to stay with you until you are ready to let it go, which sometimes is never. We blame grief for a lot, when the reality is, it’s not griefs fault. Life sends grief in to collect on the debt of love. Life can be a real jerk sometimes.  Grief poured sadness down on me some days and I begged for mercy. Then it shined moments of happiness on me and made me feel more capable. Then sadness, then happiness.  Grief gets stuck on a hurtful loop some days. Grief stayed and guided me and in some ways kept me company. It did its job and a few months ago I felt grief waving goodbye. It left a part of itself with me in the form of sadness I will forever feel for Melvin’s absence. That sadness will always be a part of me, but it no longer rules me. Grief taught me that, life will be a new version of ok if I let it be. And I did and it is.
  • For the first time in my life, I did grief right.  I let it guide me. I let it make me feel whatever it was that it was going to make me feel. I didn’t apologize for it, I just went with it. The only thing I wouldn’t let grief do was to drop anger off (trust me, it tried). From the moment Melvin got cancer to today, anger has not been a part of our journey. I know it’s not that way for everyone, grief is unique, you have to follow your own path. But for me, I cannot associate anger with anything regarding Melvin.  It wasn’t always easy, but we won in life and I am a stronger, kinder, and more understanding of how life goes after losing him. I channel my inner Melvin.
  • When you lose someone, even though they are gone, the relationship continues. After death, love lives on. I can say with absolute certainty that in this past year, my relationship with Melvin has grown. There is a spiritual bond, he is a part of me in the most beautiful ways.
  • I missed spring last year,  I must have been crying.  But this year, warmth and blooms and longer days remind me of Melvin.  This is the first spring he will be completely allergy free. That makes me really happy.
  • I always wanted a bonded pair.  I had no idea how connected they would end up being. In looking at the photos I realize now, that in the beginning, it was actually Melvin who would seek Jake out.  It was Melvin who would inch closer to his brother, even at risk of Jake lunging at his face. It was Melvin who opened up the door for their beautiful love. Jake, having lived a life before of us of having very little love, took a leap of faith with Melvin, and hit jackpot. Years prior, Melvin took the same leap with me.
  • There are very few photos of Melvin and I together.  That doesn’t upset me. As I was going through the photos I realized that in 99.9% of them, I’m the photographer.  That look on his face, is him looking at me.  And that look is what I remember and that look is everything.
  • Jake and I are so alike, it took this year for me to realize it. Jake and I suffered the same great loss, and in our grief, the only thing we wanted was Melvin back.  For a while, that meant that each of us needed space from the other, to be alone. But there came a time that we realized we needed each other more. Our love is forever cemented in the  year we traveled together, learning to live without our best friend.
  • A year can feel like it passed in the blink of an eye at the same time it feels like infinite time and space.
  • You can never predict what will break you.
  • I get why people say ‘I will never get another dog’.  I say it now, just thinking about losing Jake and going through this all over again.  But the truth is, the love is always worth the grief. Always. Love is strong and wild and soul changing. Grief can’t erase it. And I know, eventually, there will be other dogs and I know that Max and Melvin and even Jake expect nothing less of me.
  • Love is why we are here.

Thank you, all of you, for standing with us this past year.  For following along and holding space for us. I love this blog, I love coming here to put my thoughts together, I love that I can share just about anything here and I love the love you give us.

A year later, we are good.  We are happy, we are joy seekers! Melvin is a part of every day and he does now what he has always done, he guides us forward and fills us with love.

We are blessed.

#lovesliveson

Photo credit: Kate Juliet Photography

 

 

Oh, Jake.

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I am currently staring at Jake. I don’t know about others but after a cancer diagnosis, staring time picks up. Since Jake doesn’t know he has cancer, he probably just thinks I’m stalking him. He’s so vain, he probably thinks this blog post is about him.

I don’t think about his cancer all the time, he and I have agreed to just exist (ok fine, I decided for him). Every now and then reality knocks and I’m reminded our time is going to be cut short. I’m not counting months, but I know it’s coming. I watch that rear left leg falter and I’m reminded that sadness is looming around the corner.

Losing Jake, feels impossible on its own.  Jake is my  baby, I don’t know if that is because he is little or because he needs me so much or because he wears diapers or because I have to carry him. He is my little, big baby. Jake is also a connection to Melvin. He is the only living creature who loves Melvin as much as I do. There is the difficult reality that both Jake and Melvin will be gone.  I’ve committed to letting Jake be an only dog for the time he has left so there will come a day that I walk into this house and there are no dogs.  And that feels…well it feels a little impossible.

These moments, where all these realities collide, they don’t own the day.  We are in fact, enjoying spring, finding reasons to laugh and living like cancer is not our roommate. I am operating under the assumption that I will be changing his diaper for many, many more months to come.  Joy still owns this joint.

I’ve been working on a project with Melvin photos and videos.  It’s a win, win – I end up with something special and it has helped me so much to go through our lifetime of photo memories. From the moment I got Melvin, I felt we were destined to be together.  In going through the photos I realized that Jake and Melvin, were also meant to be.

Jake continues the completion of my life for me, but I think in order to complete Jake, I just had to get him (in this life) to Melvin. Not that being with me hasn’t been spectacular (doy!), and obviously as Jake’s ONLY CARETAKER I’m needed, but Jake’s greatest joy, was always Melvin. It is so evident in the photographs. Melvin gave him calm, and confidence and purpose and love. Melvin made Jake whole. Even the behaviorist said that, Melvin healed Jake in a way we will never understand.

I was Melvin’s joy. Melvin is Jake’s joy. They are my joy. No matter what happens, we won.

When Jake’s time does come (in hopefully 55 years), it will be so bittersweet.  He’ll be leaving me but at that very moment, he will see Melvin.  And for Jake, that will be everything.

These boys, they give me strength, even when they are breaking me. Love is strange and strong and for us, always worth it.

Lastly, life lessons can occur at any hour of the day. Jake poop’d in the middle of the night last night. I leapt up to clean up and ended stepping barefoot into it. I started laughing hysterically. I don’t know if was insanity or truly a commitment to love, but I realized these moments, even the crap moments, our life is unfolding. Life doesn’t wait for us to live it. You have to march forward, through the poop, and keep giving it all that you have. Hold on tight, cause it might just be glorious!

Happy weekend!

My new cuff bracelet…

Jake’s new outdoor bed (still too cold to go outside) and I think the mat being there (it goes outside too) is poetic.  We say ‘nope’ to cancer! 

Melvin’s Project Joy: April 2016

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Time for more giving! As we come up on the year anniversary of losing Melvin, and as Jake and I move together on his journey, this month we celebrate our cancer dogs.

As a reminder, each month, we do a giveaway that celebrates the unique nature of our furry friends. There are monthly categories (so far we have done: seeing impaired, hearing impaired, less than four legs, anxiety stricken and senior dogs).

Here is how it works…

This goes beyond just a giveaway (but yes, there is of course some loot!). Our goal is to remind each other that we are all in this crazy life together. That through these giveaways, we can all bring empathy into play. As you share stories of your cancer dogs, read the stories of others. You may nod, and realize just how much we all have in common. You can message others and share your experiences and advice. Friendships will form. Support can be shared. Joy will be spread!

Share your cancer dog (or dogs) (their name, a photo. and the story about their awesomeness) on either our Facebook page containing this post, on Sirius Republic’s Facebook page when they share this post. If you are not of the Facebook world, you can email your info to ohmelvinyojake@gmail.com. No matter how you submit your info, you will be entered to win. You can nominate your dog if they are still with you or if you have lost them.

READ ALONG AS OTHERS POST. DON’T FORGET TO REACH OUT.

In celebration of the blog turning five, we will pick five winners at the end of this month! Five dogs will win a Sirius Republic gift cert!

 

Does a blog about dogs age in dog years or calendar years?

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April 1st is the blog’s birthday.  No fooling. I have never missed the anniversary, until this year.  In fact, had Facebook not sent me my daily-memory-reminder-for-years-past, I don’t think I would have remembered at all!

Losing Melvin softened some of my Type A’ness. At first it drove me nuts but now I just go with it!

So yay us! Friday marked five years of blogging! Woot woot!

The very first thing I felt when I realized the anniversary was gratitude, for all of you.  I love writing, coming here and sharing our life and having a repository for my thoughts, is my happy place.  You are part of our village!  This past year has been hard and having this blog and having posts to look back on has been a source of great healing and inspiration for me.

So thank you, for you!

I don’t know what this next year and blogging will bring. Jake’s time with me is going to be short. That is a reality. And even though this blog was my outlet for grief this past year, I don’t really want to write about grief…again. Heck, I don’t want to feel grief again but that is a whole different set of emotions! I’m not sure how long of a period there will be when there are no dogs here.  This clearly falls into, ‘we don’t know what we don’t know’.

For now, this blog is five and this blog is incredibly special to me and you, each of you, make my day regularly!

Thank you for following along, for loving my boys and for laughing and crying with us. Thank you for all things you! High-five to five!

In year one, there was just me and Melvin. And his girlfriend, fluffy pillow.

In year two, there was a new house and Melvin clearly hated it. 

In year three, Jake joined.  He has always been so comfortable and natural in front of the camera. 

In year four, there was so much love, we almost imploded. 

And in year five, it was this guy and me. He is still so relaxed when the camera comes out. 

Melvin’s urn.

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Who in the world wants to type the title of this blog post with their dog’s name before ‘urn’? No one, that’s who. I personally do not want to pick a casket or an urn for any loved one.  Also, I pretty much refuse to say urn or casket and almost always go with ‘container’ which also confuses people but it just feels gentler. But ‘Melvin’s container’ might have left some of you wondering if you should read this or not.  I guess to be fair, you still may feel that way!

When it comes to pets and cremation, I have not found there to be (although to be honest I have never asked) a choice of container.  Sure, there are tons of options online, but I think each crematory probably delivers everyones ashes back in their standard container and if you don’t like it, you might search for a different one.

Ok, now that I have gotten that out of the way (and it was sorta necessary for this post) maybe we can shake of the chills that the word ‘crematory’ brings.

Melvin’s ashes came to me in a wooden box.  It was a fine wooden box.  I mean, there is nothing wrong with it, but to be honest, there is nothing right about it either.  I think that would probably go for whatever container they put his ashes in at first.  Since my plan does not involve scattering his ashes, over the past year I have looked at (and yes talked to) that wooden box and always, every time, felt…I need to find a different container.

Then I recalled a container idea I had seen a while ago.  When I had first seen the idea I thought it was brilliant but at that point I thought Melvin had such a long life ahead of him that I would surely forget it.  Not the case, but still a win.

Melvin loved Kongs.  LOVED.  Kongs were a part of his every day.   This is a snapshot of our collection from a few years back.

I had gotten both him and Jake a Kong wobbler (only to have them destroy drywall when they were flinging them around the house) so I quickly took them away and put them in a cabinet.  It’s funny looking back.  At that moment when I took them away, I knew with certainty that I was never letting them play with them again (seriously, I had to have drywall replaced!) but yet I saved them. Sigh.

And from this…

Became this…Melvin’s ashes are now inside it.

For the first time, his container feels as right as possible.  What I love most about it, is that Kong Wobbler was dinged, and scratched and all Melvin’d up.  Just the way I like it.

I did have to transfer his ashes out of the original box AND the velvet pouch they came in, into one of my socks (the pouch was way too bulky).  This didn’t really cause me too much anxiety except I did reach in to make sure the ashes were in plastic inside the velvet pouch (they were, whew!).  I stared at the ashes for a bit, reminding myself they were no longer the all of Melvin, just a tiny piece of him left behind. I transferred them to the sock and as I was fitting the pouch into the Kong (a feat way easier said than done) I kept saying ‘just squeeze in a little more bud, I almost have it closed’.

Crazy, party of one!

Leaving.

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I went on an annual family vacation this past week.  We spent 4 days in the Bahamas, soaking in sun, adult beverages and family time.  Last years trip was impacted by Melvin’s cancer (and that’s ok) but this year I was able to go, and breathe and relax a little.

Leaving Melvin was not always easy, not so much the me leaving him part but the him being left part. From the moment my suitcases would come out for packing, Melvin would get antsy and sad.  He’d cling to me in a ‘no, don’t go, how could you leave me?’ way.  He’d whimper when I’d say good-bye and he’d try to come out the door with me as I left. When I’d return, he’d greet me with whole-body-wiggles and kisses and then give me the cold shoulder for a week. Punishment at its finest.

Jake is different.  When I get the suitcases out, Jake sees them a new bed. When I give him an extra long good-bye hug, he get’s annoyed and tries to break free.  When I give him one last glance, he gives me the ‘are you still here’ look.  And when I come back, it’s as if he didn’t even notice I was gone.  He comes waltzing out as if he just saw me ten minutes ago.

 

Here are some photos of Jake’s time with his sitter and my view in the Bahamas!

‘Are you my new mom now, cause I’m cool with whatever?’

 

If this isn’t a bobble head, I’m not sure what is. 

Paradise Island…

 

The plan.

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Jake’s treatment plan has been outlined and scheduled. Sometimes when things like cancer come up, you have plans with the oncologist and you have plans with the vet(s) and you have concerns that need addressing and you have to act as the liaison between everyone and be sure that it’s not just about each doctor’s responsibility, it’s also got to be what’s best for Jake overall.

For instance, this week I am having a consult with a vet nutritionist in CT. My goals are to be sure that Jake’s nutrition is right during radiation, right after treatment and right for all his other issues. Right?!

Next week, Jake will have three intensive days of radiation.  He’ll have to be anesthetized each day. Three days of treatment, and then, we’re done. Side effects, if he were to have any, would occur 7-10 days after treatment.  The side effects, which should be minor, are the only non-joy things I’m wiling to proactively take on. If a few days of discomfort give us six months, I’ll take it. If it was going to be months of pain or discomfort, that is not road I’d take us down.

I cancelled our upcoming behaviorist appointment. He can be as horrible as he wants! The behaviorist agreed.

I’m handling Jake’s cancer very…tactically.  It’s not at all how I handled Melvin’s cancer. There is no guide (is there?). My goal is to remain upright. I don’t think about him having cancer 24/7.  In fact, wile I think about it more right now due to all the appointments we have scheduled, I’m hoping/thinking that we will have some time where cancer is just a thing, not THE thing. Honestly, I have no idea what I’m doing but I’m guided by love so it will be ok.

These days are emotionally complicated for so many reasons. Jake has cancer. The cure for his cancer is removing it which is not an option for us. I’m being reminded by Facebook about  where we were with Melvin last year. The year anniversary of losing him is coming up. I’m trying to live in he moment — which is hard when during this month I do want to look back and honor Melvin and I want to look forward past the radiation to how I can give Jake joy. There is one thing that is exactly the same between last year and this year — nights are hard. I cry. I worry. I try to have the next day planned out so I can wake up and go.

Our new reality and the timing of it, makes me miss Melvin even more.

This weekend, Jake did something and it made me laugh and for no reason my eyes filled up with tears and I was still laughing but I was also crying and well, who hasn’t been there. But then my phone lit up, a post popped up in my memory update…the one about Jake knowing Melvin had cancer before me (click here). And just like that, it made me remember that we were meant to be.  No matter what comes our way, we stand by each other. Laughing or crying, just show up.

Many have suggested that we do a bucket list.  I love to read about humans who do bucket lists for their dogs!  The problem is, Jake does not enjoy adventure. Like not at all. Jake hates change. If I switch up the door we walk out of, he hyperventilates. He does not enjoy going to new places (although he does enjoy being in the car). The only thing Jake would put on his bucket list is if I could take him to a field where he could hunt (and catch!) squirrels and bunnies and frogs. (I’m working on this one). And we are planning on going back to the beach this summer too!

Here is the little chicken, being adorable…

 

 

March on.

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One year ago today, the day after Melvin’s birthday, I took Melvin for a ultrasound at a specialist and heard the words ‘I have terrible news, I’m so sorry’ followed by, ‘…probably only days’, when I asked how long he had.

The days that followed were the some of the most impossible moments I have known. Those weeks when the prognosis was ‘any moment’, I was grasping at time, and love and air… I never knew how dark the night could be. I spun, out of control. I was afraid to leave him. I tried so hard to hold onto him and love him.

The knowledge of pending death is confusing and overwhelming and terrible and sad and you are forced into mourning, before the death even occurs.  One year ago, we weren’t given good news, much time, or any treatment options. But we were given love. So much joyful love. And that love is everything and trumps anything and everything we weren’t given. Seriously people, there are no guarantees.  We suggest love. Love is a solid plan.  Seek love, give love, love love.  Create reasons for others to love, high five love, shower in love. Let love own you and guide you and let it light up all the darkness.

Love can get help you through. Love can heal you. Love lives on.

Melvin was diagnosed a year ago – Jake was diagnosed 19 days ago. 8,328 hours separate the words ‘he has cancer’ between them.  Brothers in life. Brothers in death. Brothers in cancer.  These two have an odd sense of timing and really take their bond to the extreme!

Thankfully, last March does not define all the others. It does not represent this March.  Even though we are embarking on a cancer journey at the same time this year, we have opportunities we did not have last year.  Last March is over.  This March has just begun.

“Hey, psssst, lets get cancer one year apart.” “Ok, sounds fun!”

Happy Birthday, angel!

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Today would have been Melvin’s 11th birthday.  I am infinitely happy that he was born, that he proved to be too much for his first family and that he ended up on small lab rescue site that I happened to stumble upon.

Aside from the one-year anniversary of losing him (coming up in April), this birthday, is our last ‘first’ without him. In fact, we found out about his cancer the day after his birthday last year. I sorta like that his birthday is our last hurdle of all the firsts, because there are very few things in life I am more profoundly joyful about than the fact that he was born. Today, we celebrate that he was here, that he was ours!

Melvin, Jake and I miss you every minute of everyday, but we also feel your love and guidance.  You are with us, we know it.  A beautiful part of our soul and happiness and joy. Happy Birthday my sweet, angel!  You and I (and Jake) were written in the stars. We love you, forever!

Today, in honor of Melvin, please go hug a senior (dog or human).  But of course, ask first!

And here are my past birthday letters to Melvin (since starting the blog)

7th Birthday

8th Birthday

9th Birthday (this one may be my favorite)

10th Birthday (even if I had known what was coming the next day, this is still the letter I would have written).

The grief calendar.

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There are a few milestones coming up on the grief calendar, Melvin’s birthday, the day we found out about the cancer and the one year anniversary of losing him. Those dates are pretty close to each other in proximity.  They are just sitting out there, waiting for me. I’m not sure if I should run towards them with a white flag, or like I’m crossing a finishing line, arms flailing in the air. Or maybe, karate kicking my way over them.  Where is the guide on all of this?

I think the one year anniversary is a ‘you made it’.  I mean, we usually make it, right?  I think it’s a date where you can say, I have officially made it through most of the firsts without my loved one and that the hardest of the grief is behind us. It’s not really a yay or a wow, just a fact. It’s a different trepidation/anticipation than the other firsts (first day without, first week without, first Christmas without). Those are more ‘how will I get through’.  The one year anniversary is more a day to reflect on ‘how I got through’. That day is still a little ways off, and I’m not really sure how I feel about it, or if I feel anything at all about it.

Facebook has been reminding me where we were last year.  Melvin always went to the vet regularly but last year we were going for new things.  Constipation, weight loss, hind leg weakness, him sleeping in a different position (true story, this is what I told the vet the reason for our visit was: “He has been sleeping in a different position”.  When you know your dog, and I knew Melvin, a change like this means something). Oddly enough a year ago, his liver test values were holding, despite the fact that the cancer had started and large tumors were growing in his liver.  His values didn’t tank until late February.  That is how sneaky Hemangiosarcoma is.  We didn’t know yet (a year ago) about the cancer, but in looking back at the posts there were some signs something was coming.  I have no regrets about not knowing sooner, I am only human, I found out when I was supposed to find out.

But Facebook has been reminding me of something else.  Last year at this time, I posted about Jake ‘stalking’ Melvin (more than usual).  The reality was, Jake knew it was coming. He was so obsessed with Melvin’s smell that when his scent changed with the cancer, Jake became more tied to Melvin than ever.  I wonder what that was like for Jake.  To smell something new.  To sense it wasn’t good.  I bet he tried to burn a whole into my brain with his goggly eyes to tell me!  As I re-read those posts, I’m thankful for Jake knowing. I imagine the months leading up to my finding out, there was a special bond between them. Each knowing that they had the other.

It’s easy to look back with 20/20 hindsight and say ‘I should have done this, I should have done that, I should have known’. But that is not going to get anyone anywhere good.  Instead, I look back and say ‘THANK YOU FOR WHAT WE HAD’.  I had two dog-kids that were there for each other, what more could a mother ask for?!

Here are two post from last year at this time when I joked (lovingly!) about Jake being Melvin’s stalker!

Post 1

Post2

And my newest necklace which I LOVE!!!