I don't bark much about what happened before I came to Burke Hospice. Suffice to say, I ended up with a poodle rescue organization. That's where Ron found me. He wanted to have a friendly Therapy Dog to live at the Hospice House. Of course, poodles were the obvious choice: good looks, enchanting personality, fur that doesn't bother allergies, etc. Before I had a chance to realize what was happening, I was living at the old Hospice House on Enon Road.
What wonderful days those were! No more for me the cold, lonely floor of a cage; instead, I had a huge new houseful of patients, relatives, visitors, nurses, nurses' aides, social workers — so many people, all with warm, welcoming laps and gentle hands. Every day, they taught me something new. I learned not to bark at hospital beds, wheelchairs, walkers and oxygen tanks. I learned to Sit, not jump. I learned when to doze and when it was best to stay awake.
But the biggest lesson I learned was how to love. Ron didn't just give me a new home; he gave me a purpose. For the first time, I knew what it was to be loved, and how easy it is to give love in return. With each new patient who moved into the Hospice House, I tried to be as kind and loving as Ron and my new family had been to me.
When Ron died, I was overwhelmed with feelings. You know you're going to feel sad. But I didn't feel sad for a long time: I was angry. It was all so unfair! I was growling mad at the cancer, at his doctors, sometimes even at him for leaving me, even though I knew that made no sense at all. I was angry at myself for being angry! I got irritable and I took it out on the people around me.
Sometimes I'd just feel numb. I couldn't believe he was gone. More than once, I would wake up from an afternoon nap and expect him to walk in the front door.
The guilt was worse than the sad and mad combined. It was like my mind went searching for every memory where I should have done something differently. I shouldn't have barked, should have come when he called me, should have given more snuggles while I had the chance. Remembering a pair of his shoes I'd chewed to bits made me so ashamed, I hid under the living room ottoman for an hour.
Finally the sadness overwhelmed me. There were some days when I couldn't pull myself out of bed. Other days, I felt like I was just going through the motions. Sometimes, I would feel fine, only to be crushed by little things like old photographs or pieces of mail with his name on them. I wanted to hibernate. I wondered if I was going crazy.
A few weeks ago, I was in the lap of one of our bereavement counselors while she made calls to check in on grieving people. She was talking to a daughter who had lost her father, a woman who was struggling like me. "You loved him dearly, so of course you're going to miss him dearly," she said. "Everything you're feeling is normal. It's okay to feel what you're feeling, without thinking it's 'bad' to feel that way."
My ears perked up. Normal? I haven't felt normal in months.
She continued, "When you're feeling overwhelmed, use your journal. Find a blank page and write down everything that's running through your head, emotions, memories, whatever, just write it all down. Writing and allowing yourself to feel these things will help you work through your pain."
Writing? I thought about my blog, long gone quiet.
The next day, I sat down with a notebook and began to write. It took a long time to write down that first word. Then they just kept coming and coming. I started writing in the book every day.
This morning, I was feeling kind of down. I decided to mention it in my journal: Today is gray and rainy. I wish the sun was out. I feel a little sad. I miss Ron.
It does help.
