love

This hurts so much

Puppy Love My dog is dying.

There, I wrote it.

As I type, with tears running down my face, the words blurring in front of my eyes, Oreo my beloved 15 1/2 year old mutt is losing his battle with congestive heart disease.He's now suffering from what the vet thinks is an infection. He coughs constantly. But he still smiles, and wags his tail. He is eating and even barks a bit when somebody comes to the door. Right now, he's asleep under my desk. Someday soon we're going to be faced with the end.

I really can't imagine not having him by my side. His constant, overly protective presence has been a part of our family since my youngest child was three. My daughter picked Oreo out at the pet store, during a "just looking" visit. Well, truth be told, I sort of leaned her in his direction. He was one of two in his litter and his sister was already gone. The sign claimed he was a pomeranian, but he's clearly a mix with a good dose of spaniel in him. He's one of a kind. The guy working at the store said he was the smartest dog he'd ever met. I liked that, and the cute little tiny ball of black fur that was our family's first pet.

He is smart. Everyone who knows dogs tells me he's been here before. He has big, kind brown eyes, a soft white belly and an incredible vertical jump. Oreo loves to bury bones, herd balls and small children, and run on the beach. He's a great swimmer who spent many Mondays sneaking onto the golf course (he knew that was the day the course was closed) and taking a swim in the pond chasing ducks.  We'd see his little black head and tail cruising across the lake confident he'd catch his prey. He never did, but he had a lot of fun trying. When my husband's father was in the throes of dementia, when he couldn't remember his grandkids names, he remembered Oreo.

"He's a great little dog," he'd say, a big smile on his face.

Oreo made the cross-country move from Ohio to California with us five years ago, sitting either up on a pillow between the two front seats, or on my lap for the three-day journey. Mostly on my lap. He likes to think he's driving. I let him. He has outlasted a sheep dog (adopted by a family in Akron), a golden doodle (ditto, Worthington), two cats (with my mom, and a close friend) and countless other more transient critters. He's special, and it seems like he's always been with me.

At night, he sleeps on the end of my bed. In the morning, he wakes up and the first thing he does is check to see that I am still there.

I am still here.

And I really don't want him not to be.

Of course I'll always remember him, cherish our time together. He made our family what it is today, filled with kids who love and treasure animals. And yes, I believe in a puppy Heaven where he will be able to run without coughing and play again. He'll probably hear a wonderful man named grandpa and dad calling his name, welcoming the "great little dog" joining him there.

My kids make fun of me because I always sing a song to Oreo. It's the Sarah MacLachlan song "I Will Remember You". (I modify it a bit. . . I always have.) This is the chorus and refrain I sing, at the top of my lungs:

I will remember you, puppy love, puppy love, puppy love.

Will you remember me?

Don't let your life, pass you by

Weep not for the memories.

I am still here, Oreo.

I will remember you, puppy love.

And you always will be in my heart.

I will remember you.

 

 

Real You: Passages

My father-in-law, Harley E. Rouda Sr., died last Thursday. He lived a great life, accomplished so much, raised four kids, started a business that still survives today and, he loved to laugh. What's more, he was a trailblazer who welcomed women into management positions in the real estate industry long before most others. My husband and his dad were incredibly close - a type of bond you hope for between a father and son, a kid and a parent. But you know what else? He also was incredibly close to my children. He was a great grandfather to our four kids. Present, loving, giving, teasing, laughing. He was there and they knew it.

Unfortunately, my children were too young to remember their great grandparents before they died. So this, their beloved grandpa was the first person they loved who passed away. First funeral. First memorial service. First burial. And while each kid has handled it differently, they were all deeply saddened by his loss. And will be.

Passages are hard, but inevitable. Before my father-in-law's death, I had been overly focused on the next passages in our nuclear family - another child entering his senior year in high school and my first, entering his senior year in college. One more year until the real world for him; one more year with two kids at home for me. That hollow sound of the nest emptying gets louder by the minute, but that's for another post.

These passages, while difficult, are surmountable and they're important steps in life. Death, the final passage, puts all of the daily hurdles and blessings disguised as life changes into perspective. I'm going to try to remember that for the coming years.

Just as I'll always remember my father-in-law's twinkling blue eyes and his wonderful smile. As he said the last time I saw him over Memorial Day weekend: "This is it. If you keep laughing, keep having fun, you keep going. You could live forever." And he will, in our hearts and in the comfort of God's embrace.

Real You: Chronicles of the travelling Wedding Plant

An added benefit of my recent almost two-week long Here, Home, Hope Book Tour was a stop back "home", in Columbus, Ohio. During a book signing at Loot, a great shop in happening Short North retail and cultural district, I was reunited with my Wedding Plant. One of my best friends, Kathy, had been watching over my precious spider plant for the two years since we'd moved to California. As she wiped a tear and handed over the 22-year-old spider plant, which was flourishing under her care, she said, "It's the last piece of you I have here. I'm really attached to her." (Kathy is on the right with my other friend Molly.)

It's easy to grow attached the The Wedding Plant, as countless folks have during the book tour. Here is its story: The wedding plant originated as a tiny spider plant that was part of my green and white wedding bouquet 21 years ago. My mother, an avid gardener with a bright green thumb, plucked the unsuspecting spider from my bouquet just before I tossed it per custom to all the single ladies.

Mom returned home that night, planted the little spider, and helped it grow for the next five years. I had no idea she'd even thought to do this. On our 5th Wedding Anniversary, she presented the plant to my husband and I.

Through the ensuing years - including four babies, two cats, three dogs, many jobs, snowstorms, two different houses, two birds, and all that life will throw your way - the wedding plant has flourished. Sure, some years it looked a little pale. Other years, it had offshoots galore, growing and thriving with gusto.

But most importantly, it survived. And with its survival, it became more than just a plant, it has become symbolic of the struggles and joys of a long-term relationship, of the need for its care and feeding, of the need to nurture and cherish it.

And that's why everywhere I went during this leg of the Here, Home, Hope Book Tour - from Columbus, to Cincinnati, to Louisville, to Nashville and Memphis, to Eureka Springs and Oklahoma City and Albuquerque - the Wedding Plant came with me. Literally, creating a whole new set of rules for travelling in the summer with the Wedding Plant.

Did you know it's hot out there? When travelling with a wedding plant it's essential to gas up only at stations with shade. For a lunch break lasting longer than 10 minutes, the wedding plant must come inside. When stacking the luggage cart for the night's stop, it is critical the wedding plant is nestled securely amongst the luggage. And during the drive, the wedding plant needs light and air and a protected spot in the back seat.

Seriously, it was almost as intense as travelling with an infant. (Almost.) In Nashville, the Wedding Plant enjoyed a view of the Parthenon, while in Eureka Springs she had her own coffee table. During a stop in Memphis my husband had a lunch meeting, so the Wedding Plant had to come inside Boscos, too. The friendly hostess took care of it while we ate. When temperatures rose to 109 degrees outside, but we wanted to see the Oklahoma City National Memorial, we took turns at the site so someone could stay inside the car, air conditioning running, with the Wedding Plant.

The plant may have saved us from a speeding ticket outside of Tulsa, as the Sheriff enjoyed the story and let us off with a warning. She survived the ghosts of The Crescent Hotel and the blistering heat of the Painted Desert truck stop. Most of all, she is now where she belongs. At home, and hopefully happily growing and thriving for another 25 years.