I am not sure where to begin with this one. It’s been quite a week.
I was having back pain and it hurt to breathe so I assumed that I pulled something. I went to our local ER and that turned into an ambulance ride to a different hospital and that turned into being in the hospital for three days. I had a pulmonary embolism. Before you gasp and hurt yourself, this was not my first PE. In fact, I have had many, many blood clots find their way into my lungs. I’m not sure how I’m still here but I’m grateful that is the case.
The thing that is different about this time is that I was on medication to prevent blood clots. Yet here I was in the hospital with another PE. My blood clotting condition had gone to new heights, not in a good way. Three things owned my worry at that point:
Doug. I had left for a quick errand and now I would not be home for days. I called his tribe and they took over. His meals were made, he got walks, he got play time and I got lots of video proof that my boy was just fine. This was perhaps the best of all the medicine.
That I was suddenly not safe. That I could clot and/or perhaps die at any minute. This feeling has not gone away yet. Its heavy and scary and I’m still working on this one.
That there was a clot at all. After you have situations like this, the event itself is less scary. I knew it would be painful, I knew it would be some time of not feeling well but it occurred, I survived, and the doctors were taking care of it. This is not me making light of anything, it’s just a reality that I live with.
I came home to a well fed and very loved Doug. My not feeling well pretty much went unnoticed by him, he still wanted to jump on me and ride my back and eat my hair. In some ways, although more painful than usual, it helps to have a dog that is of the everything is normal and great, let’s go!.
A few days later, on Thanksgiving, I got a migraine, because why wouldn’t I. Then decided to decorate the Christmas tree and had to come face-to-face with all my Jakey decorations. One year ago I had to deal with Melvin’s ornaments and now dealing with Jake’s made pulling both of their decorations out of the box sting so much more. I wanted Jake to be here. I wanted him on the couch as I decorated the tree. He wasn’t supposed to die. So I cried and I got overwhelmed because the week had been hard enough and well to be honest, because I felt sorry for myself and I gave in that it was ok to feel defeated. Now, the tree is up. The boy’s decorations are on there. I survived a blood clot, a migraine and another painful grief moment. This week had to let go of me eventually. Then I looked at the calendar.
Yesterday was Jake’s gotcha day. I miss him more than I am afraid to die.
Here is the thing though, being scared and overwhelmed and sad, those are human emotions and I am going to feel those things because, well because last time I checked I am still human. But they aren’t who I am. I can’t stay there because I believe in joy. I’m committed to joy. When the boys died I promised them that I would carry on. When I feel afraid, my first instinct is to wonder when or how I can feel brave again. When I feel beaten down I think, I’m still here, get up. When I think of Jake and Melvin, I know it’s ok to be sad, but I desperately want to feel warmth during thoughts of them both. Joy takes work. Sometimes chasing joy is the last thing I want to do and often I have no energy to even try but then I realize, it’s the only way. Joy haunts me. When I look at the tree now, those ornaments that brought tears, bring smiles, because Melvin and Jake were here, they were right here with me and I had precious time with them and I also had a ridiculous amount of ornaments made with their names on them and that alone is both crazy and funny. I also think, poor Doug has no ornaments. YET!
I had written Jake’s last gotcha letter before the health events. I will finish that up and post it tomorrow. Everyday I will celebrate quietly that he came to me. He was here. That there was and always will be, great Jakey love.
And I’ll leave you with this. On the tree decorating day, after the hospital stay and the migraine and all the ornament ugly crying. I sat on the couch exhausted and Doug started jumping on me and I said out loud but calmly, I need Melvin. Five minutes later Doug allowed me to lay down and he snuggled with me on the couch as I cried and I napped, for the rest of the day.
After Jake died, my friend G reached out to me to ask if she could donate to Melvin & Jake’s Project Joy. I don’t have it set up as non-profit so up to this point, the donations towards the efforts have been from me and my parents (who donated generously after Melvin and Jake each died). It was sorta just this very-big-to-me, little effort I did.
My heart felt so full with G’s very generous donation and I additionally felt a tad overwhelmed to find the ‘perfect’ use for the money. It’s a great problem to have, right? I think it was partly that it was our first donation outside of my family and that it would be our first big gift of joy since adding Jake to the cause. I took a step back and a deep breath and reminded myself, as long as we are giving joy, it’s going to be right.
I looked at her check for a long time. My heart felt so full. I searched for a while for what felt the most right. In the end, a foster with the French Bulldog Rescue Network (Jake’s rescue) won my heart. Axl, a three-year old Frenchie had been given up by his family after his spinal condition and paralysis became too much for them to handle. I saw him and I knew. He needed some Jakey joy.
Axl is young, way too young to be facing paralysis. I knew that a wheelchair would do two things.
Give him his mobility freedom back (yay)!
Give his future forever family one less thing to worry about (the cost of a wheelchair) which would free them up to just love him more.
Joy at it’s finest.
As for Axl’s first family giving him up, hey, I understand. From the moment I saw Jake falter for the first time to him not having much use of his back legs at all, I never ever considered giving him up. But…taking care of him and the costs associated with that was extremely overwhelming at times and very expensive. Not everyone is going to say ‘we will figure this out’, some will have to admit ‘we can’t do this’. I think those cases are why rescue exists. There was a time when I would have much rather seen someone give up their dog because paralysis was too much to handle versus not having enough time for the dog. But then a family gave up Jake because they didn’t have time for him and well, Jake and I were meant to be. Maybe I love all the reasons that brought me Melvin, Jake and Doug. When you are trying to spread joy, its best to leave judgment behind.
Axl got fitted in person at Eddie’s Wheels. I called that night and paid for the cart, just as I had a few years back when I bought Jake’s cart from them. And it felt seven billion types of lovely to pay that invoice of joy with love and to send G the email announcing the joy she helped facilitate.
Without further ado, I give you, Axl. Every step he takes, love will live on!
Axl before his cart.
Axl in his new ride! Video below the two photos! If you look closely, you’ll see Jake in sunshine.
I was thinking about #loveliveson last night. How the day after Melvin died, that idea formed in my mind and got me out of bed. I didn’t know then what I know now, that it would become my purpose, who I was to become. Love living on is a force that drives me. Sometimes it’s a big gesture of effort and sometimes it is much more quiet. 100% of the time, I’m a required participant.
Joy can’t spread on its own.
Grief can tend to make a lot of things grey and dark. Being open to joy takes work. I sometimes have to dig deep to see the colors of a day fill in. I have to be open to seeing Melvin and Jake’s love, growing and blooming in unexpected places. While I may wake up on any given day with a strong ache of loss, the universe will almost always serve me up something beautiful to balance it. It’s not always obvious, but it’s always there. Like a note from a reader saying my grief experience is helping her deal with the loss of her dog. Or unexpectedly seeing a video of Oliver running around in the wheelchair that we donated to him. Sometimes, love living on is as easy as sunshine or a quiet moment that lets a memory of the boys take over. Love lives on in every sunset too. Last night there was a frost warning here, love exploded through that alert because for many, many years the first frost signaled the end of allergy season for Melvin. That alert was joy reminding me from where I came.
Love living on requires me to take action. To donate Jake’s things. To take in a foster, to donate to a cause, to be there for someone in need. Some days, love living on is through patience for Doug.
Love living on requires me to hold onto the fact that they were here, we persevered, love won; in the same moment it requires me to be present. If I had been the one to go, Jake and Melvin would have spread my love like a wildfire.
This is life’s beautiful work.
Of course, the boys live on through my efforts with Melvin and Jake’s Project Joy too. I was more public with how we reached out with Melvin’s Project Joy efforts. Since adding Jake to that cause, I have been a little more quiet about the ways we are helping. Melvin was loud and proud and exuberant. So were our efforts in his memory. Jake was more reserved. Our last year together was he and I leaning on each other, so for the last few months, my giving has been more quiet, like Jake and I were. But every single thing I do in his memory, sends loud joy outward and inward.
Every thought of them both, inspires me to always give more than I take.
When I get up each morning, there is a nanosecond where I keep my eyes closed and pretend Melvin and Jake are still here with me.
I have gotten up 562 times since Melvin died. Since that very first morning, I felt him with me. I will never be able to explain it but he has never really left me.
I have risen 100 times since Jake died. There is still sadness in those moments. Less air. There is still more healing needed, more joy to spread to be sure that mending continues.
I have woken up to Doug, 55 times. That makes me have a smile explosion.
Three different boys, two different losses, one beautiful love. I rise up every day to make sure that love lives on and grows and that I do my part to fuel our joy train.
This song lifts me, inspires me, calms me and brings me joy. This song is my battle cry.
Doug is boundless energy and exuberance. I tell everyone that he is powered by joy. Sure that results in a lot of walks and sessions out back to wear him out, but there are far worse things than being powered by joy.
Additionally, even though he is the most active dog I have ever had, he is equally the most chill upon arrival. Active and chill don’t usually go hand-in-hand and for Doug they certainly do not go together at the same time. When I am home, he be cray, but when I leave, he is totally chill. When I first got Melvin and Jake, they both had separation anxiety. If I was outside, Melvin would follow me from window to window frantically so that his body could be as close to mine as possible. If I came home to grab something quickly, and then left again, Jake would flip and flail and shoot out meatballs. Eventually they would both relax and it got much better over time.
From day one, when I leave Doug, he lays down. If I come home and then leave again. He wiggles with delight that I’m home and the moment I leave, he lays down. Chill, chill, chill. In fact the moment I say gotta go bye-byes, he runs and hops in his crate in the mudroom. That is where I have been putting him when I leave, mostly cause we are still finishing up potty training. And because he chews my pillows.
It’s true, I find pillows to be delicious.
The mudroom is perfect for him. We had no reason to change-up our routine. Until we did have a reason. The mudroom is going to be out of commission for a little while and I needed to (sorta quickly) figure out how to keep Doug doing great when I left. I thought about moving his crate to another room but honestly, I think we are at the point where he can have free roam, at least over the main floor, while I’m gone. As long as he is comfortable with that freedom.
So yesterday, I left him in the house, un-crated and outside of the mudroom, and I watched him on the Dropcam the whole time. HE DID GREAT! He roamed around for a little while, checked the window a few times to be sure I wasn’t hiding and then after about ten minutes, he hopped on Melvin’s chair and went to sleep. I left him again last night and he did the same, only this time he took a snooze on the couch. He also did some redecorating.
I like to joke about how crazy Doug is, AND HE IS CRAZY, but sometimes I forget to share with you how incredibly smart and awesome he is too. He knows that when I turn the security alarm on, its time to go upstairs. He goes right to his bed. He knows that I push snooze every morning and he does not get up until he sees that I am really rising. He knows potty and walk and dinner. He knows sit, touch and down. He continues to do great with other dogs. He knows how our day goes and he’s learning to be more independent. Sometimes I open the back door (there is a screen he can go through in and out of the house) and he goes outside and plays and then naps on the patio and then will come in and check on me. When he’s not Zoomie Doug, he’s Really Laid Back Doug.
I love him. I have met him where he is and I love him for all his crazy and his good. In the same way I trusted him to be left out and about, he trusts that I’m coming back. He meets me where I’m at sometimes too. Jake has been gone for three months (today), and it feels like three months (like three rotten months). Doug has been here for six weeks and it feels like much, much longer. It feels beautiful, like he’s been mine forever. It feels like Doug must have been here when Jake was here. Grief and time and sadness and joy regularly collide.
It can be difficult and great simultaneously.
There can be tears and laughter at the same time.
There can be unexpected reasons why the mudroom is suddenly being re-purposed…
Doug is Doug. Although my first sight of him screamed Melvin and Jake’s love child, when I met him and decided to adopt him, he was his own dog. During that first half hour, he didn’t do anything that would lead me to believe that A Dog’s Purpose (best book ever) could be true.
Since living with him for a month, he is still…Doug. There are however, so many things about him that are exactly like Melvin. Not just things like, he devours his food as fast as Melvin used to, but specific things like:
Excitement about the Car: When I met Doug and took him out to my SUV to get in and take him home, he was afraid of the car. I had to pick him up and lift him in. I really thought we were going to have to work on the car since he was afraid to get in and out. The next day, as we exited the garage for a walk and were walking past the SUV, he started to spin with excitement and went right to the back door of the SUV – EXACTLY LIKE MELVIN DID 4,000 TIMES BEFORE WHEN PASSING MY CAR. It’s actually a spin/hop move and Doug has the same form that Melvin had.
His exuberance and how he is unable to manage his own joy: EXACTLY LIKE MELVIN. When we are walking to the mudroom to go outside, one door goes the back yard and one goes to the garage (for walks). Doug bounces off of each door, just like Melvin used to, spinning in between bounce (just like Melvin used to) to indicate he does not care which door we use, it’s all going to be great! This exuberance was/is also in their going up and down steps style. Go up a few steps, wiggle with glee, turn to make sure I am coming, repeat, repeat, repeat. Go down the steps by leaning into my legs and only taking steps when I do but I can’t really take steps because you are pushing me up against the banister and the space you are giving me is smaller than my actual foot and you are hopping due to pending joy implosion.
Sitting on my lap: While Melvin never tried to be my backpack, he regularly would crawl onto my lap and put his paws on my shoulders and hug me like a human would. Doug. Does. This. Too! This happens a lot in the purple chair, which I refer to as Melvin’s throne.
Bathroom breaks: Doug goes to the bathroom with me (I know a lot of dogs do this) but like Melvin, he knows when I’m going to the bathroom before I indicate where I’m going and runs in ahead of me and sits down before I ever make it in. Melvin did the very same thing.
Nervousness about fall weather: Both Melvin and Doug were/are spooked by blowing leaves and the need to eat the leaves that scarily blow by them. The same exact reaction when one blows by (to freeze and look from leaf to me) then the same action (to pounce the leaf and eat it).
To fit their large bodies on a small pillow: exactly the same need and approach.
No photo of hug-Doug (yet).
Mostly, I’m reminded of Melvin through Doug because both of them are tied (currently) for most unruly dog I have ever had. Of course Melvin grew out of that phase but not before owning it like a boss. Something tells me Doug will be more challenging, but you never know! I think Doug’s mystery 12% DNA is Melvin, with the perfect sprinkle of Jakey.
P.S. This photo of Jake by the door is one of my favorites because it captures a vulnerability about him that most photos do not.
Doug has been here for just over a month. Every week, he surprises me in new ways of how he is settling in. I don’t even think he fully knows he is staying just yet. I am guessing he hopes so, but there are still so many things that are new to him and our routine is ever evolving to accommodate new issues so we are still in the ‘settling in phase’. I cannot stress enough, when you rescue a dog, the first few months are not the dance. The first few months are you two finding the rhythm you will dance to, then the dancing begins. Along the way, the tune will change, many, many times. It’s called life.
Every morning when I wake up I say: time to mold me and Doug more. We are both works in progress.
Hey lady, wanna breakdance?
Doug and I currently take two training classes each week. One is a group class outside of the house and one is private training inside the house. The outside of the class training is mostly to keep him social and work on him focusing on me. The private lesson class is the really important one, as it focuses solely on what Doug needs (and what I want).
Doug getting in a suitcase – prior to this was jumping through a hula-hoop, to which he said, no thank you.
Doug’s current challenges are:
Impulse Control. He is almost always in a heightened state of excitement (or he can get there very quickly). This is where mouthing comes in. The moment he escalates, he needs something in his mouth. His first impulse is feet and his second impulse is hands. He does not bite, but it still hurts likes hell and it’s not cool. He does this when people come over or when we meet them out and about. MUST PUT HUMANS IN MY MOUTH. Toys are not as awesome as hands or feet for a redirect, but treats earned, are starting to help.
He considers me the ultimate playmate and the living room is apparently the epicenter of joy. When I sit on the couch, he leaps onto my back and uses his mouth to climb up my hair. If I lay down, he runs up and down my body. If I stand up, he tries to jump up on me. If I take ten steps into the kitchen, he leaves me alone. WHYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY can’t I sit on my own couch Doug, why?!
He knows his harness = a walk. The moment it comes out, he is unable to stay still or to remain within a ten foot radius. Also, he thinks step one is eating the harness. It can take up to five minutes to get his harness on. My neighbors don’t understand how I’m already sweating when we exit the garage when the walk has not even started yet. Also, the first ten minutes of our walk are him trying to eat the leash and me trying to play it cool. Oh hey, yeah it’s totally fine, that he is hanging from the leash as I walk. All the cool kids are doing it.
His other big challenge is that he does not know that any of the above is an issue!
So we train. As we should and as we will, likely for the next several years. And Doug is doing great.
I still have feet AND hands. His mouthing of me has gone from 100% of the time to about 10%. YAY! The problem is, he does not translate that to other feet or hands. He only knows not to mouth me, others are still totally edible. We will get there.
We are also slowly making progress in the couch area. He still escalates the moment I walk in, but that is exactly the time we do some training and try to refocus his need to use me as human rock wall or treadmill. I still don’t watch too much TV sitting down but its great for circulation and my apple watch loves that I’m constantly upright! Try to see the positives, even when your dog wants to be your backpack.
The harness, well the harness is just something that will take time. Melvin was the same way with the leash. I’d rather have a dog overjoyed to go on walks than one I have coerce!
He has done INCREDIBLE with every single dog we have met, even the ones that did not do so great themselves. He is very social and wants to meet all the dogs and all the people.
One month! One month ago I was afraid Doug would eat my limbs. I still have bruises healing from that time with him. Doug and Tracey takes time. Doug will never be more or less perfect than I am. We are a team now. I think he’s starting to trust that.
Doug continues to be the most energetic animal I have ever encountered. Here are some updates on how he/we are doing.
We are starting to make progress on him not mouthing me. My feet are less afraid to walk by him and my old bruises are healing nicely.
I have embraced our attempt to walk across the country as often as needed and he now only tries to eat the leash for the first ten minutes of the walk.
He does great in the crate (both when I’m gone and at night). I’m not sure when he will be a dog that can sleep with me (see next bullet point)
Doug views me as his playmate. But only in certain rooms, and for the life of me, I cannot figure this out. If I am in the kitchen, he will walk over to see what I’m doing but then he will go do his own thing. If I am in the office, he will either go play and entertain himself (between walks) or he will lay down in the bed in my office. If I go into the TV/couch area, he turns into a maniac and thinks I’m there to play with him and he will bounce off my body from all directions to try to engage me non-stop. He does the same thing in my bedroom (which is why the crate sleeping arrangement is currently in play). I’m going to be honest here, I really miss the comfortable areas of my house. Like my couch. I guess I will just have to cook or work in the office if I want to relax.
He is doing great with training. He sits on command, most of the time. He still won’t sit when I’m trying to sit on the couch though, apparently he does not believe in synchronized sitting.
He continues to do great with housebreaking!
We went to my nieces soccer game this weekend. There were tons of people and a lot of activity and he did awesome! He does great in the car too.
I was thinking about what a handful Doug is and how different he is from what I expected. I’m not sure expected is the right work, he’s just different from what I’ve had so I guess my idea of how he would be was based on wrong things. Anyway, I know some of us get up in arms when someone adopts a dog and then has doubts, or calls in a panic that the dog is not what they thought they’d be or that they are not sure if it can work.
If we want a dog to growl, to give us that warning sign that all is not ok, then we have to be more prepared when a recent adopter calls with the same type of alert.
As committed as I am to the dogs, Doug is a lot more work than I ever thought he’d be. He has so much more to learn which means I have so much more to teach him and that can be overwhelming and exhausting for even the most seasoned dog lover. There have been moments with Doug when I think, a first time dog owner would cry with him. And the thing is, Doug is a great dog. He’s a normal dog. He’s got more energy than I’m used to but it’s still probably a normal amount. He has made me realize I need to figure out a better way to support new dog rescuers. When the dog is biting at your feet and you are worried they will never stop, I can’t come back to them with it won’t always be this way or it will get better. When someone is overwhelmed in that moment, they need a more immediate idea. Telling them it gets better will only make them worry more in the here and now because the future feels so far away.
It’s like if you are crying and someone says, don’t cry. Don’t cry? That is all you got? I mean at least go get me a tissue.
To all of you out there just starting off on your rescue endeavor, if you are overwhelmed or unsure or tired beyond recognition, here are some of my truths:
It’s hard! You are not imagining how hard it is! You are both new to each other at first yet somehow you already love this crazy stranger. It takes a while to find a grove, even something resembling a grove. They don’t know what you want and you don’t know what they need. When you hit an a-ha milestone though, it feels so sweet.
It is A LOT of work. It is not always going to feel rewarding, in fact sometimes it feels like you are being tortured and maybe on a secret reality TV show. Crying is ok.
Some new dog owners do not go through a hard phase. Some of them just continue on as they were pre-rescue and it’s blissful and joyous. And you will be happy for them and still want to make a voodoo doll with a strand of their hair. Not everyone’s path is going to be the same.
There is a reason I didn’t blog during Melvin’s first few years with me; it’s because he was even harder than than Doug is now. I didn’t have time or energy to blog becaue I was begging him to sit still. But you know how Melvin turned out. Melvin was worth every injury, every moment I hid in the bathroom because I was afraid to walk him. Every time I sat in my car for a moment’s peace before walking in to deal with his exuberance. My love for Melvin is anchored in those early years, from those seemingly impossible rough patches, from those tearful ‘what the F was I thinking getting this dog’ moments.
This dog, yes this Melvin, my Melvin, was a full fledge nightmare the first year I had him. The first time I had him the car, he busted through the SUV barrier and hopped into my lap while I was driving down a highway at 65 mph. Poetically, we were on our way to see a behaviorist when that happened. Worth. Every. Single. Minute.
This weekend it will be two months since I lost Jake.
I miss him. Pretty much all the minutes and all the hours and all days. The ache is constant, but it’s no longer overwhelming.
I miss the meatballs, oh how i miss the meatballs. Why do I miss the meatballs? I miss the diaper changes, his face, his paws, his eyes. I miss his strange smell. I miss all his noises. I miss him needing me. I miss his glance. I miss him in my arms, kissing my face. I miss cooking for him. I miss our evenings on the couch. I miss waking up to his wiggly, wonky body.
I miss the all of him and the all of us.
I still get up in the middle of the night to check on him. Doug’s snoring, which is not nearly as loud as Jake’s snoring, reminds me that Jake is gone and Doug is here. I smile for the here-and-now and go back to sleep.
After one month without Jake, he felt so far away from me. It felt like he’d been gone forever. At two months I can start to admit that while he was loved and happy, his body was not built to last. Now, he’s a part of me. Now, two months feels like, two months. It’s not that long from a sadness perspective but its long enough for some healing to begin.
I’m still processing the last year.
We lost Melvin.
We had the hardest year of both of our lives.
I lost Jake.
It’s OK. Love is hard and beautiful and wild and complicated. I carry the heartache. I cry the tears. But I also find great comfort in them being together again. My angel dogs.
Three days after Jake died, I ordered him and Melvin matching urns. Jake’s arrived on time, about three weeks after the order was placed. It’s lovely and everything that I wanted. Melvin’s did not arrive. I called the post office and they set out on a search for it. They had been having some ‘troubles’ and a lot of packages had ‘gone missing’. I asked them who would open a box and realize it was an urn and still keep it? They did not have an answer.
Melvin’s original urn never came. The tracking still says delayed in transit. There is a beautiful hero in this story though. The very awesome owner of Vitrified Studios made me another one. She is amazing in all the ways we like people to be amazing! Melvin’s urn arrived last night. My boys are together at the bridge, together in my heart and now together here:
If you’d like to get your very own, you can learn more about them here. Tell them Oh Melvin sent you!
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
Doug has been here for a little over a week now. His energy could provide power to New York City. I’m exhausted! He is exuberant, mischievous and a complete love bug.
A lot of my photos of him look like this:
I’d be lying if I said he was easy. As a reminder, I went from Jake, who was paralyzed and loved to nap to Doug, whose idea of a good time is pretending like he’s a backpack (on my back) when I’m trying to sit on the couch and rest my weary bones. So some of the challenge is me and what I’m used to.
He be cray, but I love him.
He’s doing great with housebreaking, he’s only had one accident. It wasn’t really even an accident because he had already been out and he seemed pretty purposeful in his actions. Dude does not realize that I know intentional peeing when I see it.
We have gotten our walk schedule down. I’m not sure who thought it was a good idea to get a young dog during an East Coast heat wave. For the past 10 days I have felt perpetually sweaty and my Apple watch alerts me everyday that I have met my exercise goal, by noon. His energy has been a challenge, a little due in part to the fact that I work from home and when I say work I mean I REALLY DO WORK. The challenge is, I’m here, so he wants me to play. We are slowly working out together time and independent time. We take our first walk in the morning after he eats. We take a 2nd walk around lunchtime, our 3rd walk late afternoon and our last walk after dinner. In between each walk I will take him into the backyard and play Jolly Ball or fetch with him. Sometimes he just runs zoomies on his own and I stand out there asleep with my eyes open. The rest of the day he plays in the house and even sometimes takes load off and rests.
We started back with our trainer. I cried when I was waiting for her to arrive. She has only ever trained Jake. In fact, our first session for Doug was paid for by a left over session from Jakey. It just felt odd for her to be here and for Jake to be gone. I am coming up on two months without Jake, I still have many more of these types of moments to go through. But Doug did great on training day one and we have practiced our homework of touch and sit every day.
For the most part, Doug is a lot like Melvin. A lot. The early-years-Melvin that used to leap off the back of the couch and fly into the glass french doors (that were closed) to try to chase squirrels. I recall having to call upon a lot of patience for that Melvin, the same way I am calling upon it now for the Dougster.
Doug is young. He doesn’t know any rules, or any commands and doesn’t know what is expected of him. When I say words to him that the boys used to know, he just runs zoomies at the sound of my voice. He went from being a stray, to being in a shelter, to being in foster to me. It’s easy to get frustrated when he mouths my feet with each step that I take (trust me, I walk into the bathroom, shut the door and count to ten a lot. Sometimes I count to 50). Or to curse when he jumps on my back while I’m resting my bones on the couch (instead I take some deep breaths and I stand up and wait it out). Instead of yelling or correcting his every move, I look at a photo of Melvin and I recall our journey from wildebeest to soulful boy. From crazy to sweet. I recall what’s possible. Then I look at Doug and I know that he does what he does, out of pure joy for life. A life that I am responsible for guiding. He just has to learn to focus his joy on good, not my feet.
I still wake up and wish that Jake were here too. I wish Melvin and Jake were both here to help me guide Doug. But they are not, so I will lead him. Doug keeps me in the here and now, the here and now where I have to stay very hydrated!
This is the song I sang to Jake during his battle with cancer. I’d pick him up and dance around the house. I’m pretty sure he hated it but he must have felt I needed those moments so he gave in and for the most part, didn’t pee on me.
Now, sometimes when I’m missing Jake hard, I ask him to come sit with me. Almost every time, this song plays shortly thereafter.
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.
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.
There are no words to thank everyone who has reached out, sent messages, sent cards, sent flowers and gifts and held space for us. I can only say, it means everything to me.
Several of you have made donations in Jake’s name. I am so thankful for each and every one. Love lives on through your kind and generous gestures.
I wanted to share some of the gifts I have received…
My friend Virginia had pencil sketchings of Melvin and Jake done. The detail is incredible. I got Melvin’s shortly after he left me and she gave me Jake’s while he was still here but nearing the end. I have them hanging in my kitchen, a reminder of where my heart is.
A few days after Jake died, I received a package from a reader (Michelle) that I have never met, although we have a mutual friend in common. She made this. She made this for us. Our motto, hand-done by her with love. I sat on the floor sobbing when I got it, because I was reminded that we are so blessed to have you all.
I received this from our dear family friend, Mary. It arrived the exact moment I needed a pick-me-up. And it lifted my heart and brought me so much joy.
My sister-in-love got me these. When I wear them, they loop together just like the boys did when there were snuggling. The pendents rest close to my heart, right where the boys are now.
Jen over at Sirius Republic had a print made that has a photo of the boys and across it is printed ‘love lives on’. She also handmade this heart for me, it’s a visual of my heart. I squeezed it so hard, I’m shocked I didn’t damage it or myself.
Emily, over at Our Waldo Bungie, had this drawing done of the boys. The first thing I thought when I saw it was -‘my superheroes’! I am going to have it framed with their Super Melvin and Super Jake collars.
I got these from my friends Tayler and Melissa. The rainbow bracelet represents my life and love with Jake and that fact that he is waiting for me, with a piece of my heart, at the rainbow bridge. The white bracelet represents Jake’s life and the mark our love left on my heart. The 22 white beads represent 22 dogs who were fed a meal in Jake’s memory.
This community and blog, this space heals me. You bring me joy. Thank you. Yes, you, thank all of you for everything.
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.
“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.
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.
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
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 togetherwhich 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.
The only thing I know for certain right now, is that losing Jake is not at all like losing Melvin. The difference is not about emotions, those are exactly the same, but my navigation through the loss and the day is completely different.
Sadness and missing them aside, when I lost Melvin, I had a strange sense of hope. I felt a lot of purpose. I felt him guide me. Jake was here when I lost Melvin. We survived it together. With the loss of Jake, I am trying all the things I tried last year, they are not as successful this go around. I am paying things forward (his things) and while it makes me so, so happy to do it, it makes me miss him so much more. Probably because I’m donating his things and wishing they were still needed by us.
You can donate my things, but not to other dogs. You know how I feel about other dogs.
I know that having no dogs in the house is a 25-foot wall roadblock to my grieving process; it gets in my way every time. I’ll have moments, normal grieving moments, when I’ll think about Jake and tears come and then a funny memory will pop into my head and I’ll start to laugh. If only I could have that little moment. Instead, right as I’m having my teary-laugh, this loud, scary, bully of a voice screams – THERE ARE NO DOGS HERE, YOUR LITTLE FAMILY IS GONE. That voice is ruining my life. I know in my heart that it is way too soon to think about getting another dog but I also know that trying could alleviate the empty house issue and that even if it’s hard, it might make grieving easier. I’d be rescuing someone who also lost their family.
So, I went to an adoption event this past weekend. Let me explain me and adoption events to you…it’s not my thing. I don’t make life decisions that quickly. I need to meet a dog then go home and think, and think some more and plan and make some checklists. So I knew it would not be a fit for that very reason. That’s mostly why I went, to just get out there and test the meeting waters.
I cried after leaving the event. For two impossible and opposing reasons. It was way too soon to be looking for a dog and it feels way to long since a dog has been here. I cried because no matter what I try, nothing feels right. Jake not being here breaks me and there being no dogs here takes a lot of the air away. Grieving Jake and dealing with the empty house has been… a bit complicated.
I will find my way.
It’s been three weeks. I miss him. After losing Melvin, Jake made me laugh every day. I miss my little comedian. Melvin traveled through life spreading love and joy; Jake scooted along spreading love and comic relief. If you are having visions of me sitting around crying all day, there is no need for worry. I go about my day, I’m keeping busy, I’m honoring Jake in as many ways as possible. When a sad moment hits, I close my eyes to calm down and I have a vision, pretty much the same vision every time. It’s of a line of dogs that have touched my life. Not just my dogs, but dogs that impacted my life in some way too — my heavenly dog army. They are all sitting in a straight line in a field of grass, facing me. In front of the line of them sits Melvin and Max. And in front of my first two angels sits Jake. And they sit, still as can be. I know they are coming together for me and Jake. Jake is so close in this vision, I can almost touch him. He can almost reach me. And almost, at this point, is everything.
I know that everything will work out. I know that this home will not be empty forever and I know that the grieving process for Jake, while complicated is somehow just as it’s supposed to be. For all the beautiful love, I will carry all the heavy grief. I will continue paying love forward in Jake and Melvin’s memory and I will keep going to meet dogs that in no way could ever be Jake or Melvin. One day, one of them will say to me, I am not them I’m just me. And that will be the one.
A look back to my little bug, using his good eye to conduct neighborhood watch.
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 hisMelvin’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.
Let me start by saying, this post is sad. And it’s happy. But it’s sad. No matter how hard I try to inject joy or humor (I gave it my all!), the answer to the question that so many of you have reached out to ask, ends with some obvious heartbreak.
I thought Jake and I would have a little more time together. I had also hoped that I’d be able to share with you when his time had come, but as I realized what was before us, my mind and heart and existence only had space for Jake. In our last few days, I gave myself fully to my boy.
You knew Jake’s health plight, oh so well. He had a crappy spine that took his hind legs down. The mobility part, was a lot. But we worked towards solutions and he learned to move forward, literally and heroically. When strangers would see Jake they would always say, ‘poor thing, he really struggles’ and I’d say, “he’s fine, he’s Jake”. And that was truth. But the secret life of a special-needs pet-parent is that you are constantly evaluating the current state of struggle and being. I was always tracking the balance of joy. Jake always just kept finding a way to move forward in his spunky little way. It was my honor to join him on his journey and share in such an incredible love.
He taught me so, so much.
Jake’s challenges did not end at his legs. If only they ended there. The universe seemed to single him out sometimes, with issues that we tried so hard to overcome and we could almost fix, but not really. He had a strain of MRSP with no compatible treatment. He developed not one, but two eye ulcers at the same time, one that formed a hole in his pupil and while emergency surgery helped keep the eye, his eyesight, his beautiful wall-eyed eyesight, suffered. So he had a hamburger eye. Yet, still he kept going. He lost control of his pee and meatballs (to be fair, this did not bother Jake!). Even though diapers helped, they also weighed him down and he battled many diaper rashes.
The spine and leg issues were enough. Add in all the other things and as his mom, I sometimes cursed the universe for unloading on my boy. But for every issue, we worked out a solution. For every single situation that made his eyes look at me with worry, I came back with something that helped it. My goal with Jake was that his balance always went towards joy. He returned my every gesture, with laughter and love.
Teamwork at it’s finest.
We even found our way after we lost Melvin. In the past year, we were each other’s everything. Our little family, was perfection.
Then came spinal cancer and the soft tissue cancer in his hind leg. The universe bearing down on him, again. A cancer that we couldn’t treat and one that would be painful. A battle we were not going to win or solve. My evaluation structure changed. I no longer had to balance the struggles, I just had to monitor the pain.
Or so I thought.
When Jake was diagnosed with cancer, he still had some upright moments in his hind legs. Not many, but he could wobbly stand to eat sometimes, or he’d do a walk-drag (a move that earned him a ‘drunk uncle’ nickname). But the cancer took his left leg down pretty quickly and then his right leg tried hard, but it too lost that fight. The odd part about this chapter was, the hind legs part was always going to happen to him. That was a plight we’d accepted after figuring out his wonky spine. So sometimes, I’d forget he had cancer or that it was actually the cancer doing the current damage. In a way, having had accepted his mobility plight before the cancer, helped us stay strong and closer to joy after he was diagnosed.
Yoga mat runways throughout the house helped a lot too. He strutted his stuff like a boss.
Over his last few weeks, Jake became less active. Some days much less, but some days were better. When we’d go out back, I’d put him down to go potty and he’d just sit at the end of the ramp and pee there. I’d pick him up and put him in the yard and try to get him to move around but he’d just sit again, looking towards the door to go inside. I’d carry him inside. If it was a mealtime potty break, I’d go in and make his breakfast or dinner. Prior to this time, if I said ‘dinner‘ he’d come ‘running’. But now, Jake would still be sitting in the mudroom. So I’d go and get him and carry him to meals. His pain management was constantly reevaluated and he was, for all we could measure, comfortable. He just wasn’t moving around on his own very much.
He was still so happy though. His face was pure love.
There was also a change in how he dragged his legs, going from dragging his legs to the side (normal and easier for him as he could use his bum to help push himself forward) to having his legs drag directly behind him (so much harder for him to pull his weight that way). He tired easily. I just loved on him harder.
Normally, through these changes, we’d be at the vet or have the vet to us. But I knew what the decline was about. And like so many things in Jake’s life, I couldn’t fix it. I could only try to make it easier on him. So I carried him a lot more, knowing him so very well and knowing where he liked to be at each hour of every day. When Jake was in my arms, he’d kiss me constantly, as if kisses were the gas pedal that kept me going. And they were.
I’d carry Jake to the end of eternity and back again.
Jake had also been having some very minor seizures. We were not sure why. Part of me thought maybe it was his medication. During his last two weeks he’d also started having little spasms when he was laying down. At first it was two to three a minute. Towards the end, it was 20-30. They were like these zingers, it almost seemed like he had the hiccups. But he didn’t have the hiccups. They seemed to bother me more than they bothered him.
Yet though it all, my bug still knew so much joy.
Then there was the terrible infection that stemmed from his most recent diaper rash. And all our usual tricks that battled diaper rash before, failed. Cancer was being a real jerk. The thought that a diaper area infection would take my ninja warrior down seemed so unacceptable so I fought that rash harder than I think I have ever fought anything. We battled it hours and hours a day. I set a time limit on the infection, if it continued to win, I could not let him continue battle it. It would have infected the joy.
But you know what, as of that last Saturday night, the infection turned a corner, and it was on the mend! And I high-fived the shit out of Jake and we did a ‘we won dance’ and it had been a long time since we got to do a ‘we won dance’ and we went to bed Saturday night renewed in our fight! The time I had given us to beat the infection had not run out.
Time is funny. It doesn’t care who you are or what you want or how hard you fought or how many things you faced down or how much you danced. It doesn’t care that your little guy worked harder to travel through life than most will ever have to.
Time didn’t care that Jake was only eight.
On Sunday morning, the day after our we beat the infection parade, Jake woke up, toppled over and had a seizure. This was not a minor seizure like the others, it was major and it was terrible. His body went so rigid that at first I thought he was having a heart attack. I held him in my arms and I told him that he was going to be ok and that if he saw Melvin he should run towards him with all that he had. I told him over and over and over that I loved him. During the seizure, he pooped (this is normal for a seizure but I think Jake was sending me a ‘I love you, too’). As his body started to relax, he stared up at me…with love and then kisses. And in that moment, in that tiny, giant moment with my little warrior, we were the only two living creatures on earth. In that moment, we won at love.
I called the vets. We briefly discussed the reasons it could have happened. A conversation that didn’t really require words.
Jake was not himself on Sunday. I know some of that was the seizure. But as he and I traveled through the day, and as I started to paint the picture of our last few weeks and months…I knew.
I know Jake. I know his body better than anyone. I know the exact moment during that day that he let me know he was tired. Tired of challenges. Tired of having to overcome. Aware that his ability to travel though our life together, was becoming too much.
If Jake had a wonky spine and seizures, well I’d clear the calendar and we’d be a regular at the neurologist. If he had the worst diaper rash and wonky legs, we’d tackle it. If he had MRSP and a wonky spine and eye ulcer surgery with months of a cone, well we call that 2015.
Sometimes you can’t outrun reality. Even when you can’t really run at all and your mom is carrying you and she is running as fast as she can. Jake had cancer and all the other crap that the universe dumped on him and now seizures were invading our precious space and I knew, in a way that only I could know, that his joy would only be reigning supreme for a few more days.
I couldn’t let him go through anything more, except love.
The day I let Melvin go, he was not having a bleed. It was an ordinary day with my extraordinary boys, he woke up with joy in his heart. He ate, he walked out back on his own and he snuggled with me and Jake. His tumors hadn’t ruptured yet. There was no collapse. There was only joy.
I wanted the same for Jake. His life had known such struggle, 100% more struggle than I ever wanted him to have known, and yet my little superman choose love and perseverance every single time. Jake’s end was coming and I would rather die myself than have him feel one more ounce of struggle or confusion as to what was happening now. So Jake had a beautiful Monday. His village came over and loved on him and he gave them the sweetest, gentlest kisses. He had the best meal he could have ever imagined. He and I went on a stroller walk, right down memory lane. To all the places he and Melvin used to walk, on all eight of their legs. We went out back and reminisced about all the things he ate in our yard. We did his last neighborhood watch at the front door.
Then he and I tuned out the entire world and we snuggled. We snuggled so hard and so perfectly. I breathed him in. He kissed away my tears. I told him all the things I wanted to tell him and he looked into my eyes and told me all the things he needed me to know.
We could not have loved each other more. We got each other through the roughest year of our two lives. We chased joy, and we caught it.
I let Jake go at home. In his favorite spot.
I know that as his vision of me faded, Melvin appeared. I know that Jake leapt into Melvin’s face with an unimaginable joy and I know Melvin shared gleefully in that glorious moment. Jake moved forward, cancer free and struggle free, eyes wide and his second leap was likely straight towards Melvin’s butt. There is a part of me that finds such peace in that even as the whole of me grieves. The heartache and sadness I feel, is worth every ounce to know that Jake and Melvin knew my love and that they are reunited in sweet, joyful, odd-couple joy. To know that they have each other, for forever this time.
