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Lucky.
Cash, January 2016.
Sunday when I took Cash up for his nap -okay, our nap- I gave him his treat but didn’t throw a few of his toys on the bed like usual. Not that he actual played with them– more than anything I think he just liked having them around him. Seeing this, Cash took matters into his own hands (paws) and somehow managed to open the door to Belle’s crate and took her bone. With it hanging out of his mouth like an oversized, cartoon cigar he climbed up on the bed, turned around in circles and laid down– pressed against me– to go to sleep. Michael had Belle and Dudley in the other room, so this time was just about us.
I have a lot of memories like this- simple, not profound but beautiful.
My boy.
Cash.
Cashman. Boogey. Boogers. Boog. Goofy. Goof. Son. Brother. Big Brother. Baby Boy. Old Man. My Cash.
Yesterday, I had to say goodbye. Time simply ran out.
Twelve years and nine months. He outlived his sister by just over two years and has been my constant companion since then.
But it was time.
Saying Goodbye.
I thought I was losing him twice earlier in the day but Cash always was a fighter. He hung in there. He hung in through the ride to vet, where they were able to give him medication to make sure he was comfortable and he hung in until Michael could get there.
Nose to nose and staring into his eyes I told him I loved him. I told him it was okay to let go. I whispered it was time for him to run and find his sister. Nose to nose I felt him take his last breath.
Through it all I tried to stay calm, to not cry, to reassure him. When he was finally gone– through the sadness and grief– more than anything I felt lucky.
Lucky.
Cash was a gift. The last two years when I really got to know him and bond with him on a different level were the greatest gift.
Lucky.
Fall 2015
I’ll miss his smell. I’ll miss the upturned corners of his mouth–that I call a smile when I’d kiss him or stroke his fur.
I’ll miss him pretending to sleep, one ear flipped up so he can hear what’s going on and not miss anything.
I’ll miss Michael getting out of bed every night when it was time to go to sleep and kneeling at the end, scratching his ears and covering him in kisses.
I’ll miss Cash waiting for me at the door, begging for treats, snuggling with me on the couch and in bed… his guilty looks… his playfulness.
And most of all– those eyes. I’d swear looking into his eyes connected our souls.
So very Lucky.
Cash and Dudley Two Weeks Ago.
Before posting on Facebook, I posted the following:
I want everyone reading this to stop what you’re doing, close your eyes, take a deep breath– and be grateful for all the good things you have to be thankful for. Life comes with no guarantees. The only thing certain– is this moment.
I wanted to share– but not make this all about me. Grief and loss is something we all experience throughout our lives. So many times we get caught up and forget the important things.
Earlier this month, it seemed a lot of friends were experiencing grief and loss. I found and posted this:
When we got home from the vet, we let the babies out and I had to plug my drained phone into the charger… next to Cash’s empty food bowl. A while later, I opened the refrigerator to find his half can of dog food, covered in foil, staring me in the face. Little moments of grief and remembrance. There will be a lot of those moments over the coming weeks. The empty space on the couch, toys only he played with, tags in drawers forgotten long ago. It’s all part of the process.
Within hours of posting on Facebook, over a hundred people has expressed their condolences. Reminding me once again that I am so Lucky.
At bedtime, there wasn’t even any discussion. Belle and Dudley got their peanut butter, their crates were left open and they both climbed up on the bed. They played a little before settling down and going to sleep. I didn’t sleep well– but mostly because it’s hard to sleep with a sixty-pound boxer pushing me to the edge and snuggling with her head on my chest– snoring softly. I was blissfully uncomfortable.
So very, very lucky.
Cash & Roxie as puppies.
Thank you Alyssa Davis for putting this together.
Cash and Belle. 2014.
One of my most favorite pictures of Cash and I.
Remembering Roxie: One Year Later
Roxie loved lying outside on the cool concrete. (2005)
Roxie the Hunter. (2003)
One year gone. I can’t even begin to recount the many ways I miss her. She’s been in my head constantly this past week. I celebrate her daily. She was one of the greatest gifts in my life.
Even as a puppy, Roxie had the most expressive eyes. There’s truth in the saying, the eyes are the window to the soul. Her eyes were always full of love, mischief and wonder.
January 11, 2014 – Michael left for work and I’m sitting here in silence feeling numb but thankful. It’s been three days.
My boys are curled up, Collins in the crook of my arm, eyes half closed– purring. Cash is snuggled against me with his head in my lap. I think he slept like I did last night, tossing and turning. The slightest sound and he’d raise his head– looking for her.
Roxie on Cash, Snuggling as usual. (2006)
Roxie and Cash were brother and sister from the same litter. Roxie was the runt of the litter which might have contributed to a number of her health issues over the years. She was always much smaller than Cash and never really had the traditional Boxer’s physique.
Roxie was the hunter. If there was a critter in the yard– she’d find it. Roxie would track them down and alert Cash, who would go in for the attack.
This was particularly troublesome with skunks. Roxie usually found them– but Cash always got the worst of the spray.
Roxie was the one who found and rescued Cozette, as a newborn kitten, in our backyard.
I also think she instigated most of the duos adventures, getting them into trouble. She was just better at not getting caught.
Roxie and Cash play-fighting in the snow. (2004)
Roxie loved the snow. She loved to run and play in it; and of course, eat it.
She loved to eat! She was always hungry– Furniture, toys, books, Christmas ornaments, pillows, sticks…. it was all a buffet to her.
September 17, 2014 – A stuffed monkey head. What’s the big deal? It’s just a chewed up monke– Scratch that. Her monkey head. I found myself going through the toy box cleaning it up, time to throw out some of the old. worn out toys. Another step in letting go.
Roxie, May 2013.
As time passes I see her so differently in my head. The image of her spirit and soul take over and blur my memory. I see the younger, more vibrant Roxie. I see her love and affection. My mind has started to erase her frailties. It’s startling to see pictures of her from her last few months. It’s not the way I remember her.
December 18, 2014 – That moment when you’re decorating and you go to hang an ornament… And it spins around and you see where Roxie chewed it, her last Christmas and the waterfall starts and doesn’t want to stop. #loveneverdies
No matter what the challenge– even after she was diagnosed with diabetes insipidus, she was always happy and affectionate. Though her body started to age rapidly, she remained a spirited puppy at heart.
Today, in remembrance, I want to put the grief aside and celebrate the pure joy she brought to our lives. I’m remembering her playful mischief. I’m smiling, remembering her crazy excitement, twisting her body– doing her kidney bean dance, whenever we’d come home. I’m thinking about hours of warm snuggles and wet sloppy kisses. My sweet, sweet, angel- baby girl.
Roxie, November 2013.
Napping with a much younger Roxie, 2003.
The Long Road Home
Roxie as a puppy. 2003.
When I saw her– I knew it was time.
I told her it was okay.
She looked at me and took her last breath
and she was gone.
I covered her with a blanket, up to her chin and I laid on the floor with her, waiting for Michael to come home to say his goodbyes. Cash sat beside me. Then laid down resting his head on Roxie’s paws. It was breaking my heart. His sister is gone and I’m not sure if he understands that. They’ve spent nearly every moment of their lives at each others sides, other than vet visits. What must he be thinking now?
Collins, our cat was back and forth, through the house meowing. Though I didn’t see him pay any particular attention to Roxie, it was clear he knew something was different.
The morning started out like any other. I woke up early, made coffee and was working on another blog post. Michael got up at the usual time, let the dogs out, gave Roxie her pills and fed them breakfast. Michael told me later, that when he got up and was getting dressed, he told Roxie how exceptionally pretty she looked this morning- sitting up, posed on the bed.
When Michael left for work, I opened and closed the gate for him. Soon, after I went inside, the babies wanted to go out again.
Our normal routine.
As I was putting on my shoes and coat, dogs underfoot, I noticed Roxie’s legs kind of buckle (and immediately thought she was having a stroke), I grabbed her– but she steadied herself and she seemed to quickly recover– dancing around again, wanting to go out… not to potty… but to eat snow.
We came in, I gave them a treat and they settled down for their first nap of the day. Because I was up and down between the first floor and the basement, they settled on the landing, between floors– so they would be close and not miss anything. Everything seemed pretty normal– until I went to see if they wanted to go out again and Cash came but Roxie didn’t get up.
In October, Roxie was diagnosed with diabetes insipidus causing non-stop drinking and urination. Luckily, I was able to be home with her, drive her to Aurora to be properly diagnosed and begin the process of finding the right dose of medication to counteract her chemical imbalance. Those actions gave us three more months of life… three more months of love… and three more months of utter joy.
We don’t have pets… they are our children. We love and care for them like human children. I’ve found as I get older, the deeper and more intense that love is. I think if you’ve ever raised and lost a furry child, then decided to have another– you love them even more. You truly appreciate each moment with them more. Those precious moments are little heavenly gifts.
Even when you think you’re prepared– when the time comes, the grief is still devastating.
On our way home from the Vet, Michael said he just wanted to eat something and take a nap. Both of our heads hurt– we were probably dehydrated from all the tears. So we got burgers and an extra fry for Cash.
I don’t think either one of us really slept. Drifted in and out maybe. It’s hard to escape the emptiness. I couldn’t get comfortable because I didn’t have Roxie pressed up against me. There was a hole in the bed. A hole only dwarfed by the one in my heart.
Roxie,
I’m not sure how I’m going to sleep tonight. Nap time and bed time were always your two favorite times of day.
Tonight there will be no endless face-licking… no digging in the blankets… no big, fuzzy, teddy bear butt in my face. No big sigh letting us know you’re finally ready to fall asleep.
Tonight there will just be silence… and big empty spot in the bed that I’ll try to fill with memories of all the warmth and love and companionship you’ve given us for almost eleven years.
You’ll always be our princess.
Goodnight Sweet Baby Girl.
Roxie. Spring 2013.
How Do You Measure 525600 Minutes? 