The Things We Long to Do and Don't

 This morning I am particularly sick with sorrow, and I know why; it's autumn, my first without Danny;  I'm doing some Ancestral Work (which always takes me back to Rupert, which I never really left) and, I played that Justin Hayward song, which breaks my heart in a million pieces as it expresses my sadness and loss so eloquently.

This is the journey, I know it is. I have to live through the pain. I have to allow the jumble of emotions to coexist (Gabriel  became very excited at the sound of coyotes earlier, ran around making little grunting noises and looking so so serious, and then decided the safest place for him was to sit on my foot, as Danny always did. It was...adorable). Then for some reason the cascade of sorrow descended - I had done the dishes, tackled a bit of the email, made my morning offerings and lit the candles, and then there it was. Now that I think of it, I suspect the trigger was a sweet image one of my herbal colleagues posted, of a huge chair he had purchased, to share with his dog. He and the dog looked so happy in it.  The thing is, I had always planned to buy something like that for Dan, at the end, so he could sleep with me. So we could have a wee cuddle outside of bedtime, where he really liked to sprawl, or crawl under the covers to snuggle, which would have been a really, really bad idea with GOLPP (they must not get overheated). In my Danny Folder, I have many images like this:

..which I planned to buy for his final days. Sure,  many are expensive, but I was looking for simple comfort and hey, I spent half my income on food, supplements, vets etc anyway. 
So why didn't  I get this thing?

Or the "better Bark Box" - there is a Canadian company that includes more natural treats, I stopped the Bark Box because we never used the treats and the boys stopped caring about the squeaky toys.
I didn't get the better version, because, well, I knew he was going to die.

And I didn't get the Big Chair thing because I am always scrambling to make ends meet, I'm tired, have to fight disorganization daily (hourly) and so on.
I mean, Dan already had a ton of toys, he slept on the sofa beside me - and let's not forget, the only reason he wasn't in bed beside me at the end was, I fractured 4 vertebra and have to have a special mattress and my bed elevated WAY too high for him. If he'd jumped off he'd have surely hurt himself.

I was trying to take care of him, me, the cats, everything. While battling the pain that is called Anticipatory Grief and the insufferable misery that is called Regret.
I try to cut myself some slack and remember all the things I did do. But I'm hard wired to berate myself, find fault. It's been a lifelong battle to feel even marginally "ok", and now with the trauma of Dan's death, and my health challenges, all the old crap comes flooding back - great the way that happens, isn't it.

So I find a thousand things I wanted to do, planned to do, longed to do, but didn't. And then I have to walk myself through the reasons why - some valid and sensible, like trying to work all the time and pay for everything - others represent stuff I need to look into....some magical thinking, for example, and managing my anxiety/depression with shopping.

I look at Gabriel and think, I'm going to make sure I don't make the same mistakes.

But then I feel guilty.

Every day is a struggle. But I'm walking the walk here, trying to do it all as always, with some more grace extended to myself.
I loved Danny with all my heart and I was a pretty good Mom, even without the chair thing and the new Bark Box.

I hope the hurt eases up soon.
And that I have the strength to make the real changes I need to for this journey ahead.

Octobers

 This is my first October in 16 years without Dan.
I brought him home in late October, 2006. Last October, 2020, marked 15 together. I feel like it was all a dream, most of the time.
Looking at our pictures help; here are a few of my faves from  Octobers through the years.

                                                            All from October 2006

                                                               October 2007

                             With Tina and me, at a St. Francis Day outing - October 2009

                                            Two profiles, in his chair, October 2010

2011, the year he was 5 and his muzzle started to turn white. Bottom pic is on a roadtrip to look at 300 acres of wild land for sale, alas no accommodation...but here we have the famous Danny Squint

                             Up at Eddie's land, one of my favorite pics of him - 2012

                        Blending in with the fall colours on one of our most beloved rambles, 2013

 

 

                                          2014, in his chair, watching me clean

                                    2016, he was 10, and very white, but still very fit, active,healthy
                                                     Our last October in Rupert

2017, in his weird harness, at the new house. He palpably disliked these woods or at least, felt ill at ease in them, but he adored walking onleash around the circle, sniffing the other dogs who had passed by. I never would have imagined.

 

                                                                          2018

                                                          How sweet he was, always....


                                     
  And that's it for Octobers - no pics from 2019 (I was unable to stand up!)   or  his last October, 2020.
                                Oh Dan. I love you and miss you so much.

35 Weeks without you

  Today marks 35 weeks since Danny left me so abruptly, and in such soul-shattering pain. While the initial shock and extreme pain has eased, I am by no means back to any sort of normal. I am working - I have a puppy (can't bring myself to write much about him yet, but he is beautiful, loving and helps me so so much) I have 4 old, amazing cats and a tyrant of a parrot; I am surrounded by an oak forest and my herbalism/spiritual practise are strong within me. My health is both bad (fractured spine) and good (no diabetes,  no overt heart disease, all blood values good etc). I strive to be a better human, mostly every day I do (I slack off on weekends and just do self care) and I still feel a glimmer of hope for myself and, more insanely, humanity. I look forward to tv at night with my partner; I can walk Gabriel 20-30 minutes once or even twice a day now. Awaiting medical help I have a better pain management protocol in place, and I do mostly all the natural stuff - D3, K2, multi-min, herbs, olive oil, flax,  legumes and and and and and (scones, too, nobody's perfect).

Despite the troubles ahead for the world, the challenges of aging, and  deep regret over my mistakes in my fifties, I feel love, wonder, hope and even occasional joy, at the miracle of life, at the sweetness of the puppy, the incredible humour of my bird (greets me with "Hello, Psycho "- and worse - and that's just the start of the day) I am so grateful for the tenderness and wisdom of my cats, this house full of books and herbs and all the collected and loved little things of my life so far. My partner and I could not be more opposite in our ways, but we also cannot be without each other, so we have it more or less worked out (we won't talk about dog training here).

And, still, Dan's absence is everywhere "over everything like the sky" as C.S. Lewis put it.

Still, I cry every day, talk to him every day, light his candle, feel the strangeness of being without him (me and Dan and Dan and me!) and often, watching Gabriel, I go back to the first years, before Lila died and Dan and I became truly a bonded, hyper-attached pair... (2007 -8) and marvel at how much we think we know about dogs, when in fact there is always a part that is so mysterious and Other. When I remember those years - Lila's last illness and surgery and eventual death...my father's death... my opening up to herbalism in a whole new way...my embracing of solitude...I stop and look at Danny's pictures and wonder - how was all this for you? He seems happy - crazy -  full of life! and he was so well loved, cared for - fed... but his experiences, while I strive to understand them, are his own... there  are many times I catch myself, in retrospect, projecting aspects of myself onto him. When I see Gabriel these days, I keep that sense of mystery, of his Other-ness, front and centre. More on that when I am able to write about Gabe.

Still, I was never apart from Daniel, and whatever mistakes I made, whatever human arrogance made me think I knew him entirely, however much I regret certain things that last year, his sudden vanishing  and all that he and I were and did together - gone! there remains a palpable presence -  his sweet face gazing out at me from pictures - in frames, on the fridge, everywhere...the emptiness of the backyard...and the eerie aura of loss and love in the room where I keep his ashes....along with an increasing amount of  focus on my own healing, and of course, new puppy, my work and so on.
Up until fairly recently, that absence, that pain, was constant and unrelenting. It is, a little softer now, if still pervasive.

Maybe this is how it goes. I admit, after my brother died I was basically drunk for a year. I don't remember a lot. I remember after 3 months, being asked if I was "still taking it hard"....I recall the books I bought and a few very extraordinary experiences that made me feel sure John was somewhere, still, in spirit. And almost a year after John's death, I was Given the house in Rupert, which took me into the distracting chaos of a move and then...all the transformations and experiences that followed.

John is still with me, always but in such a less acute way....the pain is there, but I have learned to live with his absence, as much as anyone ever does. Perhaps that will be how Danny and will I shift too, from an omnipresent pain (I no longer drink, so nothing is ever buried) to a powerful presence of grace beside me; his spiritual presence, bringing growth and love, as he did in his physical being. Right now, the pain is forefront, as is the remorse, but I am trying to focus on the mistakes I feel I made and rectify them - so that this pain will translate to something meaningful, lasting.

And today, as always on Thursdays, I am feeling it deeply, reliving that morning, and thinking of the  beautiful Gift that I had all those years, how much he gave me in life and left me with - and feeling gratitude through the tears.

This image seems to capture what I think of as Dan's Otherness - his Mystery, that same mystery all creatures embody, even as they live with and love us, even as we try to see them, and give them our love, however imperfectly...if not always exactly what it is they need the most.

I love you Danny. With all my heart - always, and forever.