I am sitting at the kitchen table, which is a different space this year than last, or the year before. Next to my elbow is an empty water bottle, brought home from boot camp, a tiny miracle, (I’ve left so many behind.)
There is my daughter’s cat, Maurice, who is mad and has been mad since last September when Katy left for college. He is a three legged cat, yet surprising lethal with his single front paw. It is hard not to laugh when he attempts to strike with the limb that isn’t there. Katy says she misses him but she only Facetimes with Colin’s puppy, Nell.
There are bits from Sunday’s paper; my husband and I went to Foxwoods for the night. I still haven’t read the travel section, barely glanced at the magazine section and book reviews. I might not get a chance to pick it up; I will throw it into the recycling before I read it.
It is the beginning of April, and I’ve considered putting springtime placemats down on the scarred wood surface.
How many? Only Sheldon and I live here now and when we see people, mostly, we are out. Two placemats at a table for six might look sad.
Maybe I’ll buy a plant.
There is a box of Kleenex, which needs to go by the bed; it’s allergy season. Some deodorant Colin left behind, which smells like twenty three year old young man trying to impress the world. I’m sure he’s replaced it with something more expensive. I should bring it up to his room, but his room still feels strange; he only left a month ago.
There is the napkin holder, and a mismatched collection of polyester and cotton cloths, patterns and solids, ancient and shiny. There is a candle that sits on top of a trivet, I have tried to dig out the wick, it has only been lit once or twice..
There are my headphones, my shiny, pink Beats. I wear them on hikes and listen to them at a volume that makes my Iphone send me strongly worded texts about hearing loss.
Sometimes, the best, the only thing to do is to slide them over my ears. Find a playlist I haven’t heard in a million years, slip into whatever sneakers I find in the top of the bin, and step outside.. I only bring Nelly, my son’s puppy, because Sophie can’t keep up anymore.
And sometimes, it’s best to leave the headphones behind.
Not in front me, but in the next room, about ten feet away lies Sophie, The Sweetest of Dogs, on the rug. Tonight, I’d like to slip the leash on Sophie’s collar, and let her lead me wherever she wants to go. She moves, or she doesn’t. We might not make it half a block. She might decide to nap on the front stoop as soon we step down the stair. That’s fine too.
Just this morning, we heard from the vet. Sophie was diagnosed with kidney disease three years ago and the doctor told it was a miracle she’s still here.
By the end of week, Sophie won’t be in the next room anymore.
On Saturday morning, I will be sitting at this kitchen table, probably looking the Kleenex and the newspaper, the deodorant, and, maybe, Maurice. I will glance into the next room, to the space where Sophie sits right now.
I’m going to go sit down next to her.
The dog who couldn’t get up and did.
October 14, 2022
I don’t want to go back and read what I wrote about three weeks ago. I’m pretty sure it was a softspoken couple of lines about the impending death of my Sweetest of Dogs, Sophie, also known as Mrs. Blackburn.
Maybe, I talked about carrying her down the stairs to a final cookie party, or our trip to the pond so she could move in the water. On land, she could only stagger, or lurch, or sigh, sit, and rearrange her paws around her body to look up at me as if I had inflicted her with aging joints and rapidly advancing kidney disease.
Let’s be clear. It’s been three years since she started dying. I’ve written similar elegies. I’ve had my minister mention her name at church and more than one drink put on someone else’s tab after I spilled the sad story of Sophie the Magnificent, aka Mrs. Blackburn.
But three weeks ago, well- I’ve never had to carry her to and from the car before. I’ve never had to lift her onto the sofa, the low one, where we forcefeed her meds, my husband prying open her jaws with two hands, and me dropping the crushed up powder in, sliding in down a folded square of cardboard. I gave up all pretense of healthy dog food, gave her Sheldon’s leftover steak, with a smear of catfood on top, and a little bit of buffalo chicken for bedtime snack.
That was three weeks ago. And for those of you who know just how bad it was, I gotta tell you now-
She’s fine again.
She’s climbs up and down the stairs three times a night, because sometimes at three am, Mrs. Blackburn likes to look at the stars, take a drink from the toilet, or chase Michael the cat. She is still fussy as hell, but is starting to realize we’ve noticed she eats the healthy dog food when we’re not looking.
I sent Sheldon to the store yesterday for another case of the damn stuff, I think it’s four bucks a can. I didn’t want to send him to the store until I was sure, well, you know.
She had a fight with the neighbor’s dog this morning, which translates to when the tiny grey poodle walked by, owner following behind on the phone, Sophia the Fierce, tore out the back door to the fence, where she alternated fierce, ear splitting barks with deep throated, impressive growls.
She’s fine again, though that dog from this morning might disagree.
I was going to say, I’m looking forward to taking her for granted again, but I don’t think I will.
Winter’s close, and it’s time to stay close to those that we love.
Sophia, The Kindest Of Queens will keep us warm and safe until spring. We need her this year more than ever.
The season of the big ouch
October 2, 2022
About three years ago, Sophie the Sweet, was diagnosed with liver and kidney failure. We were warned she didn’t have much longer to live.
I jumped on the internet and started making recipes for low protein low fat meals, most of them ended up greyish brown or brownish grey. Sophie the Stubborn never ate a bite.
We found her a ‘healthy” dog food that I would eat after I covered it with slabs of bacon, shredded mozzerella cheese, meatloaf, chicken skin, and catfood. We would place her bowl at the top of the basement stairs, behind the door, and stand on the other side to listen for slurping or toenails on cement heading downstairs.
For months after the first visit to the vet, tears would spring at random. Was this our last walk at Houghton’s? The final cookie party? The final glimpse of her gobbling a rabbit smeared on the driveway left by Michael, the cat?
But she went on. So we did.
Just last week, she started limping. My husband diagnosed her as needing a day at the spa. The pawdicure didn’t work.
For the past three days, I’ve been carrying her inside and out of the house. The healthy dog food is going to my son’s puppy, Nell.
Tonight, I fed Sophie a chicken enchilada, tore every morsel into tiny bites, and left out the bits with tomato, in the middle of the living room while Nellie tried vigorously to climb my right leg. I’m not sure what exactly Nel was trying to accomplish, but when she stopped, she looked like she wanted a cigarette.
Tomorrow, I’m thinking Peking Duck for lunch. It will be Sunday, and Chinese food tastes best on Sunday. We’ll take her to the vet on Monday. Maybe there will be another miracle.
Right now, there is a miracle dog in my living room. I”m going to go read a book and hope that she can read my heart as I sit on the couch, near her, in her bed, on the floor.
Tomorrow we’ll visit Houghton’s so that she can swim before the weather turns cold.
Winter is promises to be bitter this year.
Belated Notes from Super Bowl Sunday 2021- What Comes Next. (This isn’t about Brady, the game, or the upcoming baseball season.)
February 13, 2021
I cooked on Superbowl Sunday. I made a stew with chicken thighs, artichoke hearts, spinach, chicken stock, mushrooms, sour cream, and dill.
I ate at the kitchen table while I read the Sunday paper, and thought about work the next day.
Katy and I watched the halftime show, and then another episode of Designated Survivor.
I cleaned something, I don’t remember what, and read a novel that brought me to the world that was when “Friends” was on tv.
I’m used to the day being noisy, wherever I landed for the game and before. This year, it was quiet. I turned up the radio, and blasted my workout playlist through a speaker instead of headphones.
This is the year of quiet. I am learning to listen to my own thoughts and to others- my daughter, family, friends, colleagues, and members for the company where I work.
Sometimes what I’m thinking makes me uncomfortable. Getting older is weighing heavy; I am confronted with my face every day on Teams or Zoom meetings. I was laid off last year, and count myself lucky to have a job, but it’s an entry level position or an amazing company. This means that ninety percent of my colleagues are abbot twenty years younger than I am.
We spend a lot time looking at each other on screens. When I catch a glimpse of myself, the woman looking back is far older than I am ready to be. I am in a digital room with people who are worried about turning thirty and if they’ll be able to get married this summer, or buy their first house. I adore every one of them.
They love it when I forget to put my settings on mute when I talk to my dog, which means they are kind of laughing at me, but people are desperate to laugh at anything. Maybe I should leave my camera on next time I try to convince Sophie The Best Dog Ever to eat barbecued chicken for breakfast.
I’ve been married for twenty years and have a house.
Before class time on camera, I spend extra time on my hair and add mascara, but then I just look like a slightly better groomed woman of a certain age or someone who is trying too hard. Once the weekend comes, I avoid mirrors and spend too much money on moisturizer.
I think about what I miss. Hugs, mostly, and all that came with them.
I think about what I”ll miss when this over.
Katy and I hopped on a zoom meeting tonight, she kept scolding me because I wasn’t following the rules of virtual etiquette. This made me giggle, so she turned the camera off. She explained the rules, and scolded me some more, probably because I’ve been nagging her a lot about keeping her room clean. At the end of the day, does it really matter if she climbs into a bed that was made in the morning?
I know to mute my microphone, and to try to remember to mute my microphone, and that will have to be enough.
I’m going to try to make this a year to listen and learn, and make it less about the line that just appeared in the middle of my forehead.
I’m going to make time to laugh with the people I love, because not much is the end of the world, until it is.
Until then…
Who or what do you want to make time for?
jules
Notes from January, Wondering about Spring
February 1, 2021
My house has been quiet this winter.
I work from 9 to 5. Before work, I work out. After work, I work out some more. I turn up the music, and sing along, but when the playlist ends, I can hear Sophie sigh in the basement.
I’ve been reading a lot of books, and I can hear my own breath, and the sound of each car that passes by, from my chair in the corner of the living room.
My daughter, Katy, keeps her door closed, but she doesn’t mind if I visit. When we talk, we use quiet voices, like we are sharing secrets. At this point, we don’t own any secrets, and there is no one around to overhear.
When I’m wiping the counters, or folding the laundry, I think about what I’d say to this friend from Quincy College, while we walked to Starbucks for lattes. I remember conversations with friends from church, while I sipped coffee, and munched on something dipped in hummus or cream cheese during social hour.
I think about who I should call, and when the call goes to voicemail, most of the time, I hang up because I don’t know where to start.There are big things going on the world outside of my own. I feel foolish and small because I don’t read the Times every day or, some weeks, at all.
All I can contribute to conversation is another story about Sophia that’s highpoint is she ate her dinner and wagged her tail. Since she was dying six months ago, that is a big deal, but I’ve told that story about fifty times. Though I am still filled with wonder, the miracle feels a little worn.
I watched a concert on my phone on Saturday night, Jason Isbell and Lyle Lovett, live-streaming from different corners of the world. They swapped stories in between songs, they laughed. Lyle went on about how brilliant Jason is on guitar, and Jason stood up and applauded a song Lyle wrote about his daughter. They were friends being friends, and I was as grateful to watch that part of the show as I was for the music. And the music was pretty damned good.
I am lonely, but I am blessed that the people I am most lonely for still call, text, and remember my birthday, (which is not good because I never remember anyone’s birthday.)
It is the night before snow falls. Tomorrow, when I walk, my steps will be muffled by snow.
I will think about spring, the season that is coming soon, the one with the daffodils, sunshine, allergies, when colors shift from black and white to shades of green.
I will also think about another spring, the one we are all waiting for, alone, and together.
Or maybe I won’t think at all. Maybe, I will just walk and enjoy the morning.
We will get to where we want to be.
I will try to appreciate the quiet of staying at home, with the people I love.
(I hope they still love me when this is over- the workouts are pretty noisy, and I’m not always mindful of the fact that not everyone wants to hear Britney snarling “you gotta work, bitch” at seven am on a Monday or anytime, actually- that will be another miracle.)
Rainy Monday (aka Day Forty- Five)
May 2, 2020
I lie there, with my eyes closed, and try to feel how I’m feeling. Is my heart light in my chest, do my feet want to hit the floor and bring me upstairs? Does my skin crave another layer of blanket, does my head want to fold itself inside a pillow?
The first couple of weeks, almost every morning, I’d find that things didn’t look any better, and I’d dive into Facebook and feel worse until Sophie or I had to use the bathroom.
I will not tell you I’ve adjusted.
Or that in a month, a salad will come from our garden.
I will not tell you the time with the kids has been gift. It has been an revelation and complete pain in the ass.
I had the chance to know them when their only escape route is a screen. The fifth week in, it is easy to underestimate, and there is no end in sight. So I take notes and occasional pictures.
I check in with my overall state of mind all day long.
Today, I found joy, goofy, bird flying high, Christmas morning with toddlers and Santa, Bruce Springsteen in concert, joy.
At first, it scared me a little, this unfamiliar flutter, this smile that found my mouth, and lifted up to my eyes.
I don’t know, maybe it’s a symptom that hasn’t been documented yet.
I felt better almost all day, even though Katy and Colin are fighting over Netflix, Sheldon has some document I need to review, and it’s supposed to rain again tomorrow.
Tonight, I looked into the eyes of the cashier at Walgreens, read an update from my friend who works in the ICU, and washed my hands, like I’m Lady Macbeth on her worst day.
My spirit fell quiet, ached, went to wait in the wings.
Today, I glimpsed joy,
and it stayed for a bit.
I’m not sure why it came-
All I have to look forward to is clean sheets, a late night conversation with a friend, and pancakes for breakfast. I like French toast.
This joy isn’t strange.
I have clean sheets and soft blankets.
I have a friend waiting for my call.
I have pancakes for breakfast, and real maple syrup.
The coffee pot is set
so I’ll wake up to the smell of
dark roast and cinnamon.
I am blessed.
Sometimes, I don’t feel that way.
Today I did, for a while.
I need to work on that.
Love,
Jules
Day 28, Good Friday, The Celebration of Passover
April 11, 2020
I’ve always wanted to believe in God, or something divine and specific.
Most recently, I quizzed friends who go to church about what they think of their church.
I am a Unitarian, and recently have felt the need to check out a place of worship that celebrated and seemed mostly certain about the existence of God, Jesus, and miracles, Not something out of Flashdance, I like dancing, but I was looking for something a little less UU- everything is possible- and a little more Christian- Holy Spirit, hear my prayers.
I wanted to pray for my nineteen year old son. I wanted to believe those prayers would be heard by someone other than the inside of my own head.
Colin is not living at home, and he’s well, according to him. When I see him, he’s driving away.
He’ll text me at 1030 at night, when he knows I am sleeping, just to say he is thinking of me.
I wanted to turn the grief over losing my son to a higher power.
I wanted the higher power to explain to my boy that he’d do well in real estate, and maybe tell him to come home. (I know higher powers don’t answer prayers the way a waiter delivers orders, but I was reaching. As most people do when they pray, from what I know about the process.)
These days, I’m probably not alone looking for faith, hope, and miracles.
I don’t think I will find faith in a church, or online watching a virtual service, but I might try.
When I reach out to my minister or my friends from First Parish, I will find love. And they will tell me there is hope, and I will offer the same.
I find love among friends, when Katy tells me someday I’ll write a great book, when Sheldon gets out of bed to get me a drink of water at 5 am.
I don’t know about faith. If something has been answering prayers lately, I don’t know who they’re taking calls from. But this is a time traditionally of miracles, so…
Love will have to do for now.
Faith takes time, and work, I think.
These days, I certainly have the time.
Love,
Julie
Day 19- The Day I Fight With My Daughter
April 5, 2020
The sun was out for the first time in days.
Katy has not been a fan of hiking with me since I dragged her and her brother wandering the Blue Hills behind the Trailside Museum when she was five and we got lost. I didn’t have snacks, and we probably ran out of water five minutes into our journey, which, I think, lasted about two hours. I’m surprised she speaks to me, or agrees to go anywhere near any kind of trail with me.
Today, I guilted her into coming. She was tired, and depressed. I was wide awake and depressed. By the time we left the house, (guilt tripping takes time,) the sun was hidden, it was windy, it was already 3:30 in the afternoon.
She didn’t want to drive. She put her head on the dashboard, and said she was tired. I said we could just skip the whole thing and go home. She managed to put her head further into the dashboard. (I don’t know how she did this, and, yes, I know this is incredibly dangerous. And I’m not the best driver.)
I was going to turn around, but spotted Sophie the Wonder Dog in the back seat. Sophie doesn’t like fighting and she really likes ponds.
We went to Houghtons Pond. Katy kept her head in her hands on the dashboard. When I pulled to a stop, she looked up.
“I thought we were going home.”
“I need to walk Sophie,” I growled.
“I want to go for a walk.” she answered.
“You don’t have to. You can wait in the car. Remember, you’re tired.”
“Well, then, if you don’t want me to go for a walk, I’ll go that way,” Katy marched off towards some rocks.
I dragged Sophie out of the backseat. She wanted to follow Katy. I wanted to follow Katy.
We walked in the opposite direction.
I took Sophie to the edge of the pond, and went back to the car. Katy was nowhere. I called her name.
I put Sophie back into the car and ran to the rock and yelled loudly- “Kattttyyyyy” and went back to the car scared as hell because my first go to every time we have an argument is to take the phone. I will rethink that in the future.
She came back to the car.
We didn’t speak on the way to Target.
There was no one at the store The people who were there were all wearing masks. Everyone stood miles apart.
For a little while, we were able to pretend it was a regular mother daughter shopping spree, the only thing that made it different was all we bought were pajamas and frozen vegetables.
We’re going to wear our new pajamas tonight, in front of the television, when we watch the Marvelous Mrs. Maisel.
It’s another Saturday night.
Katy and I have made peace, probably because I’m leaving her alone for the moment.
I need to leave her alone, or let her stay home when she needs to.
She needs to come along with me, sometimes, without the promise of ice cream or nail polish.
This is too hard to do with my daughter’s head on the dashboard, or standing in the woods, screaming her name.
I think she agrees, because she’s upstairs cleaning her room. (At least, she said she was. I’m not going to check.)
Peace be with you.
Love,
Julie
Day 11- Why am I still counting?
March 27, 2020
We are okay. We are healthy, Katy is upstairs coloring her hair, Sheldon is working, the dog reluctantly joins me for walks, Quincy College is going to let staff work from home next week, we have plenty of peanut butter and I am lucky to be alive but damn.
It’s really hard some days.
We meditated. Walked in the woods. Spoke to family and friends. Read. Talked to friends from work and reached out to some students I know from town.
It’s a beautiful day.
I’m sad and there is a glorious sunset outside.
I never thought I’d be nostalgic for a month ago but tonight, I miss picking out my clothes, packing my lunch, and negotiating with Katy over how she would get to school.
I miss needing coffee in the morning, parking where I probably shouldn’t, picking up the phone on my desk and knowing an answer.
I miss knowing an answer the most.
With love from a blue corner of the world this evening,
Julie
julierichmond 