Coincidence?

Mona created a colorful necklace for me which incorporated several healing stones and beads meant to offer me creativity and among other things, solace and the ability to deal with the grief of the recent passing of Rowdy. It arrived on Friday the twenty third of May, the day after Rowdy's ashes were delivered to my doorstep, and after shedding more than a few tears, I promptly put the necklace on and there it has remained.
In dealing with his departure, I feel that I have been doing quite well. I expected much worse. The first week was as expected, very painful and I was unable to discuss his absence without tearing up. By the second week, I was no longer prone to crying jags and was able to accept condolences from the few people that shared the saga that was Rowdy without having a melt down. Whenever visual memories tried to bully their way into that high def big screen that is my minds eye, I was able to block them with an almost tangible click of my brain.
Bubba keeps me company and if I am not mistaken, spends a great deal more time on my lap now then he used to. I am still getting used to a new pre-work routine which doesn't involve potty time, cookies, kisses and doggie doors, but returning home to a half empty house is getting easier.
Wednesday (June 4) as I was changing after a case that afternoon, I went to pull my mask off of my neck (don't ask me why we don't untie them, we just pull until the paper strings break), I inadvertently caught my necklace and pulled it to, breaking it on one side of the clasp. Fortunately it is so well constructed that I lost none of the beads. Unfortunately I need to replace the clam shell clasp in order to repair it, but it seems like that will be easy enough.
As I checked phone messages remotely, my step mom had called to offer her condolences after just receiving my letter about Rowdy. (She is one of the few people I know who doesn't have an email address and doesn't want one). She sounded choked up on the phone and suddenly I found myself tearing up and wanting to cry. I was still in the locker room and didn't want to break down there so I pulled myself together and went on to my next work location.
When I got home it was too late to return her call, and I soon forgot about it. I fixed something to eat and settled in the recliner watching television with Bubba nestled on my lap. Some time later, from seemingly nowhere, I felt the overwhelming loneliness coming on and this time I let go. I am unaware of what triggered this. Normally there is an immediate visual memory or sound or smell or though process which precedes the ache of his loss but this time it just seemed to start all on it's own.
As Bubba sat at my feet staring at me with what appeared to me as wide eyed concern, I reached for my neck and that was when I remembered that the necklace had broken earlier and was no longer on my neck but rather on the kitchen table. As I sat there sobbing, I wondered, is the necklace really that powerful, or is it coincidence?
photo credit

If you ask for a sign, you might just get one.

About three weeks ago I had a dream that all four siblings had gathered at my sister's house in Wyoming. None of us knew that the others were coming until we all showed up. It was very Stephen King-esque. I didn't think too much of the dream because in it, we were all present, including Mona's husband Clark. If one of us had been absent, my first intuition would have been a death. I have had premonitions in the form of a dream on several occasions in the past.
A few days later, as the presence of the dream was fading, I had another dream that I was petting an owl. For most of you this may bear no significance. For me, owls are always bad news. They represent death. When an owl crosses your path you should pray for your loved ones to help protect them. Upon awakening from this dream, I did just that, I thought of all of my relatives and loved ones and asked that they all be safe. When I spoke to my sister a few days later, she assured me that her husband was fine. As far as anyone knew, my Grandmother was fine. I received a card from my step mom, she and my step brother were both fine. As far as I could tell, everyone was fine. I dismissed the dream as just that, a dream.
I did not make a connection until just this afternoon. I have been tortured with the impending demise of my 14 year companion, Rowdy. I don't want him to suffer, but I also hope that he will die on his own terms and I will not have to order his execution. Yesterday (Tuesday) I was done with work early and we were all in the office, Rowdy, the dog, Bubba, the cat, and myself. When Rowdy began showing stress, He was panting and crying and moaning. His breathing seemed labored and it was clear that he was very uncomfortable. This is the second spell of this nature that I have witnessed. In a flood of tears, I called the nice lady that comes to your house to do euthanasia in the comfort of your own home. I left a message with a voice mail which promised to return my call between 5 and 8 pm.
For the next hour I basically cried till my eyes swelled. Somewhere around 6 P.M. she returned my call and, as expected, I could barely talk as my throat clenched shut and my lips contorted into an ugly grimace of sorrow and heartache. Somehow, I managed to relay my story and ultimately made the appointment-Friday, May 9th, 3 P.M. I reasoned that this would be a good time because my step mom would be here for Mothers Day and I would have some familial support and comfort. I was also not on call for the entire weekend. Before I hung up, she told me that if I changed my mine and cancelled, it was okay. Just try to give her as much notice as I could. I bet people cancel and reschedule a lot.
By bedtime that evening Rowdy seemed much improved, improved at this stage meaning back to the current state of deterioration. I tried to envision the final act in my head as if it were about to happen, and I could not see it nor feel it. Again, Rowdy appeared much too viable to me to be ready for his final rest. Now, I rationalized that Friday would be a not-so-good day after all. My friend Jane, had arranged to take me out to a belated birthday lunch at noon that day. How could I enjoy a meal and then go home and watch my dog die? It seems that I was on call Friday night but not Sat. or Sun. Ultimately, I wouldn't want anyone else here during the final act, so what would it matter if my step mom were here?
By Wednesday afternoon, I made the decision to cancel the appointment. I would have another "window of opportunity" in two weeks with no weekend call and a couple of days off to regain my composure after the dreadful event. In the meantime I am waiting and watching Rowdy's condition but I know the end is very near. I asked for a sign, and the owl came to me. My underlying hope is that I will come home from work one day and when I rush in to check on Rowdy, he will not greet me and he will simply remain in eternal sleep.

The Jinx of 3's?

It is said that events happen in threes.

I'm not sure that it is specific to bad events but that seems to be the way it occurs.I hope it doesn't hold true this time.

My neighbor just informed me that they are going to put down one of their dogs next week. The dog, I believe her name is Sam, (I must edit. Her name, I remember now, is Molly)has lost her hearing and most of her vision. She has lost control of her bowels. They believe that "She is just miserable."

I am sad for them, they take in abused and displaced Burnese Mountain dogs or cross breeds thereof. They have been through several dogs and it is their dedication that keeps them sane through the horror that is putting down a beloved family member.

A friend of mine at work has two purebred Burnese. Her male, Charlie, only six years old, has been diagnosed with a liver cancer that was found after it had already metastisized. Last week the vet told her that Charlie probably only has two weeks left to live. I worked with her this past Sunday but now I am afraid to ask her about Charlie. It may be too late and she is much like myself in that she doesn't want a bunch of people offering hollow condolences which, while full of the best intentions, only serve to refresh the grief.

My hope is that Rowdy is not number three. If you throw in ever weakening hips from dysplasia and blood in the stool, Rowdy is in much the same shape as Sam. I keep looking for the sign that he is miserable. Perhaps I am in denial, but I don't see it yet. Yesterday when I got home we played an old favorite game while I was changing into my sweats. I mock slap him with a sock or the leg of my sweats, and he lunges at me as if he were to bite me but he never does. As I try to block him with my feet, he becomes more "aggressive" in his mock attack. This usually throws me into a fit of the giggles which encourages him even more. While the game is not as physical or long lasting as it used to be, he still gets that mischevious grin and that light in his eyes when he realizes it's game on.

I thought that I would be willing to trade Rowdy's lingering demise for Charlies swift disease process. Maybe I still would, but I would never trade our fourteen years of adventures together for six short ones.