Dear Maggie,

Today marks three months since you had to leave us. I cannot believe it’s been three months. A lot has happened in that time: your dad started (and is nearly finished) with his third term in PA school, I’m three months into my new job (which I love), we went to Nashville for the 4^th of July, I missed my 20^th high school reunion (gasp) and I went to San Francisco with my mom and dad because my dad needed brain surgery.

Anyway, a few days after you passed, I planted some forget-me-not seeds that Indy’s mom gave me in your memory. The finally bloomed two weekends ago and they are more beautiful than I anticipated. Incidentally, it was the same weekend when I finally got that tattoo of you and me. I have a handful of tattoos but this is, hands down, the most meaningful one and truth be told I got a little weepy when it was happening. When I look down at it and I see you looking at me it feels like I have part of you back. Sometimes I cry when I look at it. Sometimes I smile. All the time, though, I love it.

I still cry, sometimes every day, a little bit when I think of you. I talk to my counselor and she reminded me that the relationship you and I had was significant and it’s normal for me to feel lost and sad. We did have a significant relationship. You made me who I am. You made me more responsible, more successful and more optimistic. Every night when I go to bed, I think of you and I’m so grateful to have known you and I’m still so fucking sad you’re gone. I’ve accepted it but that doesn’t make it any easier.

So I have some news to share with you, my girl. We’ve decided to get another dog. She won’t replace you, no dog ever could, but she will be your sister. We (well maybe I) decided to get another Great Dane. I told everyone that I’d never get another one because you were the best and I didn’t want to replace you… but I realized I love Great Danes. You had such a sweet disposition and loved being a part of our family. You had a personality that was as big as you were tall. Anyway, she’s coming in February. I’m looking forward to meeting her and I think your dad is too. While she won’t be you, she’ll have similar idiosyncrasies that make Great Danes so lovable. You’ll always be my number one, my best girl.

Lastly, thanks for being in my dreams so often these days. In all the dreams you’ve had four legs so I’m pretty sure you got that limb back when we let you go. That makes me happy… although… you were the cutest three-legged-dog ever.

So long my friend. You were simply the best. Thanks for loving me and your dad with all your heart. I’ll see you on the other side.

Love always and forever,

Your mom

Dear Maggie,

It’s been a month. It’s been one of the longest, saddest months of my life. If I’m being honest, I’m wondering when the hell my sadness will dissipate… or maybe just become more tolerable.

I picked up your ashes a few weeks ago. They were heavier than I thought they would be but, then again, you were a big dog. I have part of your ashes in a pendant that I wear around my neck every day. It only comes off when I shower, swim or workout so you’re always near my heart… which is right where you belong. It’s where you’ve always belonged: by my heart (and by my side when you were alive).

I watch videos of you all the time. I laugh when I see drool pour out of your mouth when I made you sit for butter. Remember the time your dad and I did the treat test? Chicken, cheese or homemade dog cookie… which would you take first? We did three tests and switched the order each time. Turns out you went for the chicken twice and then the cheese once. The cookie was always last. So, you were a chicken or cheese girl… it makes sense.

Sometimes when I open the fridge for cheese or butter, I expect you to fly out of bed and anxiously wait for a piece. Anytime those two things came out of the fridge you would fly out of a cold, dead sleep to get some. I miss that. You’d also fly out of a dead sleep when you heard your collar jingle. You knew what that meant… time to go for a walk with your mom. I miss our walks.

I think that I want another dog but then I think… no… I just want you back. Will I always feel that way? I know we’ll get another dog eventually but I can’t help but wonder if I’ll always compare her to you. Part of me thinks yes and part of me thinks no.

I do have a confession to make though. Remember that time that you were laying in bed right after you’d be diagnosed with cancer the first time. I was on the phone with Cory’s mom crying about it. You got out of bed, walked to your toybox, grabbed the cutest squeak toy ever, walked over to me, dropped it in my lap, looked at me with your sweet and worried eyes then went back to bed. Remember that? You were trying to take care of me. I’ve slept with that damn toy every night since you passed.

After you had your leg amputated we started calling you ‘Thumper’ because we could hear you hopping down the hallway. It was a cute sound. You were such a trooper. Sometimes I’d sleep in a little and your dad would tell you “go get her” as if you were waiting for permission to wake me. I’d hear to the sound of you hopping towards the room followed very quickly by your entire head burrowing under the pillow to find me and rouse me awake. I miss that. You were the best alarm clock.

I’ve learned from my counselor that I need to allow myself to go through the grief process which is something I’ve been doing on and off. At times I feel like I need to justify my sadness to myself and others which is so dumb. I must walk through it. It’s the only way to get better… at least that’s what the counselor said. 

Anyway, just wanted to say hi, I miss you and maybe you’re looking down on me with four legs.

Love,

Your Mom

Dear Maggie,

It’s been nine days since you left and it’s been the saddest nine days of my life. The morning after you left was the hardest morning of my life. I kept my eyes closed, I didn’t want to open them knowing you weren’t going to be there. I didn’t want to go into the living room and not see you laying in your empty bed. When I finally pulled myself out of bed I walked over to yours, knelt beside it and cried. I miss you.

It comes in waves… the tears… the sadness… the emptiness. Some moments when I’m driving home I think that I can’t wait to see you then I remember…

Every night I’ve been willing myself to dream of you… but it wouldn’t happen until last night. I finally got to hold you and pet you. In fact, it wasn’t just you. There was also Ed who was a pup of mine from many years ago and Lola another family pup. All three of you were there and all you wanted was to be next to me and put your head in my lap. I woke up smiling. Today, I started a new job and one that I’m really excited about so I felt like maybe it was you, Ed and Lola saying, “hey, it’s going to be alright!” Today was alright… in fact… today was great.

Sigh….

Your dad drew a tattoo for me that is of you and me. I can’t wait to get it because then you’ll always be with me. I can just look down and see you. Anyway, thanks for visiting me last night and being such a great pup. I miss you all the time.

Love always,
Your momma bear

It’s the last appointment of the day at Armory Animal Hospital. We are taken to a peaceful room where Maggie eventually lays on her right side with her head in Cory’s lap and my head laying over her heart with my arms around her chest and belly. She’s already been given a sedation injection to help calm her nerves. Dr. Corey inserts the needle and I start crying. Cory starts crying. We are assured it will be a peaceful transition. I feel her chest rise and fall, rise and fall, and then… fall. I hold her till her last breath and after. With my head still on her no-longer-beating heart I bawl and Dr. Corey whispers, “she’s gone.” It is the saddest moment of my life. 

• 

“You belong among the wildflowers
You belong somewhere close to me
Far away from your trouble and worry
You belong somewhere you feel free”

After some intense soul searching and tough talks with Cory we’ve decided it is time to let Maggie go. This is not a decision made in haste but it’s a decision made in the spirit of mercy and love. It’s not one moment or thing that’s led to this decision but rather knowing Maggie is not going to get better… ever. In fact, she is only going to trend in one direction. I can’t bear the thought of her not being able to get up one day and just laying in her own piss and shit because I couldn’t give her peace before then. I can’t bear the thought of her not being able to sleep because she’s slowly suffocating. I just can’t do that to her. I don’t want her last days to be frightening or more uncomfortable than she already is. She deserves more than that. After everything she’s given me this is the least I can do for her. 

I want one more weekend with her and so we have scheduled her to be put down on Tuesday at 6:15pm. Dr. Corey from Armory Animal Hospital will be the one doing it. I trust him as much as I trust Dr. Doolittle. He’s the kindest man and his practice has been nothing short of amazing. They worked it all out yesterday and let me pay over the phone so that I don’t have to worry about that on the day. For that… I’m eternally grateful. I will be an emotional train wreck. 

It’s not been an easy week; however, I’ve found some peace knowing that soon Maggie won’t have to labor over breathing like she has been as we have gotten hotter more humid weather. I find peace in knowing she won’t be suffering. That being said, I’m oftentimes on the verge of tears… not just one or two tears but full on crying, shoulders shaking, and swollen eyes.  

The other day I sat down next to Maggie and we looked deep into each other’s eyes and I said, “Maggie, when you’re ready, I’m ready. I’ll be okay. I’ll be really sad, but I’ll be okay.” She then kissed me on my cheeks and buried her head in my chest. I knew at that moment… she’s ready. Although it took me a few days to come to that realization. 

For now, Maggie is getting spoiled. I’ve split her two meals into four so she’s always got food on the way and she’s getting a marrow bone every day. While I won’t be here Saturday I’m happy she’ll get one night alone with her dad for them to have some quality time together. He needs that and she needs that. 

I’ve decided that I will not define my time with Maggie by the end but rather by the entire life that we’ve spent together. It’s been less than six years, but it’s been quite a happy story. She’s had an amazing life and I’m so glad I got to spend it with her. Even in the last six months she still had a lot of fun, ate tasty food and got better care than most animals see in their lifetime. She’s touched so many people in profound ways and has, in my opinion, made everyone around her a kinder, happier person. She has been (and for now still is) the brightest light I’ve ever encountered. Her flame may have to burn out sooner than I’d like but memories of her and her joyous spirit will live on. I’m so thankful I got to spend close to six wonderful years with her. I wouldn’t trade it for the world. 

• 

 To my sweet baby girl, I wish you could read this but I think that you probably feel my sadness and feel my love. Today we learned that your lungs are covered in tumors which will, rather quickly, take you away from me. I feel like this news is actually worse than your first cancer diagnosis… I think because at least with that one I knew I had a wee bit more time with you. Now though, I’m told I’ve got days possibly weeks at the most, but you will start feeling real terrible, real soon. 

That being said… I’ve got a few things I want you to know before you go.

First, you are the best dog I’ve ever had… and I’ve had quite a few. I do think you are my dog soul mate if such a thing exists. I’ve been so lucky to call you mine and I will never forget the day I picked you up on Connecticut. Actually, I’ll never forget the moment I met you. Your name was Margo at the time and, in retrospect, I think Margo suits you just as much as Maggie. But I had decided I wanted a Maggie May so I could sing you Rod Stewart.

Second, you taught me so much and I am a completely different person than I was on the day I picked you up. I’m a better, stronger, more responsible person as a result of you. You taught me the importance of routine. You taught me the importance of active and daily mindfulness. You taught me to enjoy the moment because moments are fleeting. I remember on so many morning walks in Roger Williams when you’d be just up ahead and I’d be looking at your long, muscular legs thinking to myself, “I love that dog and my walks with her, but remember to enjoy it now because this won’t last forever.” I thought that often, I don’t know why, but I did. Perhaps it’s cause you’re a big dog and I knew your life span was going to be short on this earth (though I didn’t think it’d be this short). People always loved to remind me that you’ll have a short life span. Why do people do that?

Third, I’m going to miss you, girl. I’ll probably miss you every day for the rest of my life.  It might be a bit debilitating at first but eventually I’ll learn to live with the grief and learn to let you live on in my heart. You’ll always be with me. 

Thanks so much for all the wonderful memories. I don’t think I ever had so much fun with one single dog. We’ve had a lot of great adventures together and I’m glad I got be on those adventures with you. You have made me so happy. I have loved being your mom more than pretty much anything else. Thank you for letting me care for you. You’re simply the best. 

Finally, I want you to know that I won’t let you suffer and the moment you indicate it’s time I will take you to the vet so you can peacefully cross that bridge. You will have me and your dad by your side and we will hold you till the end (and probably longer). 

I love you, Tail Wags.  

For a while now I’ve been convinced that cancer has infiltrated my girl’s lungs and that it was only a matter of time before she succumbed to cancer. Why such negative feelings? Is it because all I’ve received since her diagnosis has mostly been bad news or at least a bad prognosis? Why am I then manifesting this feeling just waiting for the gloom and doom to further set in? I don’t know. I don’t want to be this way. In fact, I want to be eternally hopeful but that, too, seems ridiculous. 

The reason for my concern is because our walks have become shorter and shorter with Maggie seemingly struggling to breath with her incessant panting which can last for an hour or two post-walk. I’ve wondered if the cancer was eating away at her lung volume thereby making it difficult for oxygen to replenish her system. I finally decided I’d had enough. I needed to know. I called Armory Animal Hospital and spoke with Dr. Corey. He scheduled a chest x-ray later in the week (which was last Thursday). The last time we did x-rays with Dr. Corey we were able to get them done without sedation and both he and I were hoping that would be the case this time. 

On Thursday, Maggie and I showed up for the appointment. Dr. Corey brought us back to the x-ray room where he, his assistant and I were able to lift her onto the table and get the x-rays done on both sides without sedation. 

I got the call later in the day from Dr. Corey saying that, in fact, her lungs look clear! He wanted his colleague, Dr. Dwyer, to double check and he’s sent the x-rays off to Blue Pearl (oncology) to compare to December x-rays. Dr. Corey called again this morning to let me know that he had Dr. Dwyer look at the films and she agreed with his assessment. While they haven’t heard back yet from Blue Pearl they are both in agreement that her lungs are clear. This is amazing news! When I first heard the news on Thursday I wanted to cry with joy. I still do. 

But what’s causing all this panting? Dr. Corey and I spoke for a while about this. He’s thinking that it might be because her pain meds have been reduced to alleviate stress on her liver. For a few weeks, if not a month or so, I’ve only been giving her pain meds on the days we walk. He suggested giving the pain meds every day because she might just be a bit uncomfortable. This makes sense. Also, to his point, when it comes to her liver or her comfort, I’m going to choose her comfort. Beginning today I’ll start back with pain meds twice a day for about two weeks to see if I notice a difference. I’m also going to consider acupuncture and/or therapy in the form of an underwater treadmill. 

Here’s the thing, I’m going to do whatever I can for Maggie. We are going to start again with her cart training now that back to back work trips are over, now that I’m graduated from grad school (as of Friday), and now that I should (in theory) have a lot more weekend time to dedicate to this training. Fingers crossed! 

Anyway, I’ll end this blog post on a sweet story. On Sunday, I took Maggie up to the Cumberland Monastery. It’s got great walking trails and most dogs are off leash which (generally) means they are good with other dogs. As we were pulling in she started crying with excitement. She could not wait for me to park the car. As soon as I opened the door she flew out and was running all over the place. Sniffing this and that. Peeing on this and that. Wagging her tail. Ears perked, crisscrossing at the top.  We walked into the trail area and saw a familiar dog, Wally, who is a two-year-old border collie. He’s a very smart, sweet pup. As soon as he saw her he ran up and they started playing. I stopped to talk to Wally’s dad, John, for a short bit before continuing on our walk. About twenty minutes later, we rounded a trail when we saw Wally up ahead again. Both dogs saw each other and bounded towards one another. Then Wally decided he wanted to play hide and seek so he jumped off trail and started hiding behind logs and trees, lying in wait while Maggie bounded back and forth on the trail, play growling for him to come out. Then… just as Maggie was about to give up hope he’d spring out of hiding run directly towards her and then have her chase him back and forth and back and forth. They’d bark at each other running this way and that. I have not seen her this happy or playful since I can remember… certainly well before her surgery. She was running so fast and pivoting so fast that I was sure she might hurt herself, but she didn’t. She was in a state of pure, unadulterated joy. Finally, they’d both had enough, found a mud puddle and laid down. I wish I’d have taken a video or a picture but I just wanted to enjoy the moment. I wanted to see my girl happy and playful. I loved it. When we got home she was zonked out for the rest of the day and the following day. But I can tell you this… it was one of the most rewarding feelings seeing her that full of excitement and happiness. I can’t wait to meet Wally on the trail again.  

I struggle with the fact that, generally, my most poignant posts or writings are written when I’m feeling sad. Why is that? It’s strange to me that I can’t write with such clarity when it comes to something happy. Is that human nature? Not sure. Maybe it’s a result of my character in that I internalize nearly everything, especially negative things, and rather than feeling and talking it’s all poured out onto my computer screen and ultimately this blog. I think as a kid and even now, as an adult, I don’t know how to articulate, out loud, hard emotions. Indeed, pain, suffering and grief are human emotions, although, not uniquely human. With happiness, I guess we don’t feel the urge to share it but rather are living in the moment overcome with joy and contentment, whereas with pain it lingers. It coats our hearts with its resin and it’s difficult to shed.

Writing this blog has helped me share my grief, thereby, spreading out my grief so it isn’t so concentrated. It’s been cathartic and much needed. It’s been one of the few solaces I’ve enjoyed, although, it’s been tough. Many times, when I’m writing I’m also crying and when I re-read things I cry. I’d argue that I’ve not cried this much in my life… ever. I’ve lost grandparents, lost pets, lost friendships, broken up with boyfriends, and experienced sexual assault twice. But no pain or grief in my life has ever felt this heavy. 

I’ve been reading a few articles on grief, particularly related to losing a pet. Many articles say that when we have a pet who is terminally ill, oftentimes, we start the grieving process while our pets are still alive. It never occurred to me, until reading those articles, that that is what I’ve been experiencing. 

Truth be told, I’m seeing a therapist again. She helps me with not only what I’m going through with Maggie but also dealing with my high stress/demanding job. Twice in the past two months I’ve been told by two different health care providers I should consider an anti-depressant to get me through this time. I’ve never in my life been told this. Not even after I experienced sexual assault (the second time) because the first time I told no one. 

I was watching The Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (by the way if you haven’t watched it I highly recommend it) last night and Sabrina was going through something difficult and her Aunt Zelda gave her some cream to numb her heart. Sabrina said, “I don’t want to stop feeling, I just want to stop hurting.” That statement resonated with me. I just want to stop hurting but, alas, that is not for quite a while. I was also listening to Dax Shepherd’s podcast, Armchair Expert (also highly recommend), and he was interviewing Chelsea Handler. They were talking about the death of her oldest brother when she was nine and she’s now just learning to come to terms with it. She said something like this, “The way to get through pain is just that, go through it. You can’t go around it, you can’t avoid it, you have to go through it.” 

I’ve pretty much had a well of tears walled up in my lower eyelids stocked and ready to burst at a moment’s notice since, well, since we found Maggie’s tumor. That was late November. 

My life feels like it has been turned upside down. My headspace has been occupied by my grief with Maggie, the stress of my job, Cory, and the stress of finishing my MBA (three weeks). I was thinking about my headspace in the form of a pie chart and this is what I’ve come up with…

I’m not complaining, I’m just sad and I don’t know what else to do. It’s hard having a dog who is terminally ill. It’s hard treating her holistically. It’s hard being the financial stability in the house while Cory is in full time grad school. It’s hard being in school too. It’s hard having a high stress job. Things are just fucking hard right now. I’ve been a shitty friend and a shitty partner while going through all this but then I know I need to give myself a break and not be so hard on myself. 

I guess all I need to is to continue to write. For now, this helps.  

In the meantime, here’s a picture of my girl in her cart. She is nervous as hell. She did a headstand trying to jump out. She tipped over and then had an anxiety attack. Now, I’m on my way to San Francisco for work and there’s nothing I can do but work my ass off and fly home on Saturday. 

Thanks for reading. 

It’s been a rough few weeks. Not because of any one particular thing but rather a cumulation of many little things. I’ve been running at high capacity… well ever since October… and then it became more heightened when all of this stuff happened with Maggie. Suffice to say, I’ve had a lot going on besides dealing with Maggie’s cancer diagnosis, amputation, aftercare, meal prep and holistic therapy. 

We had our third visit with Dr. Doolittle last week and all went well. According to her, the cancer markers look good which means Maggie is stable at least for today. I said to Dr. D that I thought Maggie seemed more tired these days. She said, “hmm, well that’s a bit of a red flag.” Horrified, I backtracked and said, “well maybe mostly after she’s had a long walk and the day after a long walk.” In a way, I felt like I was justifying her tiredness. Certainly, it can’t be metastatic disease already. It must be because she’s a giant dog on three legs trying to do what she did before on four legs.  But… I’m probably lying to myself. She does seem more tired these days. I can’t deny that. Well… I shouldn’t deny it. I guess I’ve had this overwhelming feeling lately that the time is drawing near. I’m generally not a pessimistic person but rather maybe overly optimistic or swimming in denial?  

I don’t know… it’s something in her eyes. The way she looks at me. Don’t get me wrong, she still demands her walks and still LOVES her food. She’s still Maggie. She still has her goofy personality and gets excited when I get home. She still makes me smile and feel comforted and happy. She’s still the best dog I’ve ever had. 

I asked Dr. D if osteosarcoma always metastasizes and she said yes. I then asked what signs I need to be aware of when this happens. She said normally it goes to their lungs and they start coughing a lot, become short of breath and get winded a lot quicker. What the hell does a dog cough sound like? 

Maggie and I finally drove the 130 miles to Eddie’s Wheels yesterday to get measured for her cart. We pick it up on April 6. I really hope she takes to it. Even though she really enjoys her walks now I think she’ll enjoy them even more when she isn’t so taxed on her front leg. When we got back in the car Maggie laid down in the back seat and coughed for about 10 minutes straight (now I know what it sounds like). I haven’t told anyone this… well this is my first time actually admitting it. 

Fuck. 

When we got home she laid down. I laid down next to her and pet her and said, “I’m not ready for you to go yet, but you tell me when you’re ready and I’ll let you go. Okay? I promise I’ll listen to you.” She laid her head down and started snoring. 

Today was a good day. We went for about a 1.5 mile walk at Roger Williams Park. She loved it and was so happy to be outside. Even better was the weather. There’s nothing quite like the warmth of the early Spring sun. 30 degrees can feel more like 40 or 50 and after the few months we’ve had that feels like flip flop weather. 

I suppose I can only take it one day at a time. Cherish whatever time I have left and not get too hung up on when. She’s here now and for that I am grateful.  

Stay tuned…

It’s been a while since my last post. To say that I’ve been overwhelmed and busy would be an understatement. This meme pretty much sums up my start to 2019. 

While I’m glad I chose not to do chemo… I’ve chosen possibly a more involved and challenging path because of the time investment in prepping her food. Her approved foods are: turkey, sardines (in water), venison, turnip greens, spinach, cauliflower, butternut squash, parsnips, raspberries, prunes, butter, and olive oil.  There are others but she’s been a bit picky. I’ve learned that cooking her greens in butter makes them even more tasty for her. She gets her vitamins plus her fat intake. She needs to eat about 10 – 12 cups of a food a day. Suddenly my grocery bill has skyrocketed. I’ve now got a subscription from Amazon for 60 cans of sardines/month. SIXTY. Before I did that I’d go to Ocean State Job Lot and clean them out of sardines. Last trip was 93 cans. NINETY-THREE. But, you know, she’s worth it. It does take quite a while to prep so my weekends are filled with grocery shopping and cooking. Here’s a few pictures of her eating her food, waiting for her food and a picture of her sardine filled dinner from the other night (gross!). 

Maggie’s doing well. Her spirts are high and, like I said before, sometimes I forget she was diagnosed with cancer. She’s getting stronger and stronger by the day. Today we went for a walk in the rain and my girl went 1.73 miles. I’m so proud of her.

Finally, I’ll end with a sweet story. I was recently walking Maggie in our neighborhood and there was a group of young boys who were playing. They came up to see Maggie and were talking my ear off about her. They asked about what happened to her leg and how she’s doing. So I told them her story and one of the boys said, “wow, she must be one of the luckiest dogs on the planet because most dogs die from cancer.” I thought to myself… she is lucky… but I’m luckier to have her. Case in point, when I left Dr. Corey’s office last week, he said to me, “You are so lucky to have her.” I thought… “you’re damn right.”