On Loss

I don't know how to follow-up my last post.

Odin is gone, turned into ashes, hidden away in a cedar box on my bookshelf. I'm planning on placing his remains under the roots of a Japanese maple that I will plant in front of my office window this spring. A red tree to mark my red dog.

I'm concerned that the tree will die. That I will ruin this tribute.

When you don't believe in anything beyond the physical, does it make the gesture of burial, the act of paying homage more or less important? I can't decide.

 Karma, our other dog, is depressed. She doesn't eat much. She kept searching for him.

And, incredibly, life goes on.

But I find myself searching for him too. Scanning the room. Looking behind me to where he should be. Where he always was.

Loss is a funny thing. The most available script comes from fiction and we feel beholden to following it. Am I sad enough? I wonder. But sad is not nearly complicated enough to represent how I feel. I am relieved he is no longer in pain, happy to recall the good times, a bit angry, there's some guilt, a dollop of tightness about my chest that I have no label for. A tear always at the ready.

The thought that occurs most frequently makes me feel childish: I want my dog back.

And, incredibly, life goes on.

My Saddest Day as a Dog Owner So Far

I don't know how to say this so I'm just going to lay it out there: Odin is going to be put to sleep next Saturday.

For those of you who don't know, Odin in my dog. Our doberman. Our first baby.

He has a leg tumor that's causing him a lot of pain. As is the way of cancer, the bigger it gets the faster it grows. It was just diagnosed a month ago. The vet said these things move fast. I was thinking we had until summer - I don't know where I came up with that but it got lodged in my mind somehow. That we'd have one last spring.

Today I called and scheduled the appointment. He's not even going to make it until spring. I was crying so hard on the phone I could barely make myself understood.

He's a mommy's boy. My boy. He's been right there with me for almost 10 years. My jogging companion, my hiking companion, my work companion, my bathroom companion...just thinking of him gone I envision this Odin-shaped hole following me around from place to place.

I've been taking lots of photos and videos of him and the baby. Since he's always with me, he's always with the baby too. Licking the baby. Letting the baby crawl on him. Laying next to him.

I take videos of the baby giggling as Odin limps around him and think how our Little Guy will have no memory of this dog who was an ever present part of his life. Odin will mean nothing to him.

Odin will never grow to be the crotchety old man I always envisioned. He won't gas us out of the room with old dog farts. He won't develop arthritis.

Because of a lump on his leg, he's got to leave us forever. I stare at that lump and think how unfair it is. He has four legs after all and he's otherwise healthy. But he's too big to be a three legged dog. He's too old to be put through that. Nine and a half is about the average life expectancy of a doberman. We should be happy he made it this long and was healthy for almost all of it. We should be happy that he won't have prolonged suffering.

But it's hard to be happy.

Odin - we've had some good times buddy. Mommy loves you, always.

What's Missing

Look at me, actually posting something twice in less than a 30 day period. I deserve a damn trophy. A trophy that I would give myself. And no one else would notice or have any idea that it had happened unless I placed it on my mantle. If I did that, R could ask where it came from and I would be forced to give some stumbling explanation before sulking in a corner...

Yeah, that seems like a lot of work. I don't even know where to buy a trophy anyway. Also, considering I really need to buy new bras and am way overdue for a haircut, I should just focus on more important matters.

Damn. Now I feel like I shouldn't be wasting time blogging. This random bit of silliness has totally backfired.

ANYWAY, looking at what I've posted in the last eight months, since the Little Guy was born, the subject matter basically falls into one of three categories: 1) adjustment (to having had a c-section, to breastfeeding, etc.), 2) sick sick sick everyone is sick ('nough said), and 3) BLISS, I love my baby and the world is full of sparkly, glitter-covered baby panda bears who frolic with pixies.

I feel like there is one facet of my new life that hasn't been represented. I feel childish saying it, but I want more friends. I mean, yeah, I have friends. I also have very limited time to hang out. But I still want friends. Different friends. Mom friends that have babies.

On occasion, I have attended a very informal mom's group. I get a chance to talk about dirty diapers and feeling ridiculously sad when my baby outgrows his wardrobe*. But there are women with a broad range of experiences there and I'm always trying to be careful not to say anything that's going to hurt or offend anyone. Which is exhausting. I'm not good at that kind of thing. Putting my foot in my mouth is much more my forte. But some people supplement with formula, or use disposable diapers, or feed their baby solids at 4 months, and all these decisions are emotion-packed landmines. Seriously, read any parenting website and you'll soon be buried in "mommy war" vitriol.

*Especially that first one. Boxing that one up and putting it in the garage was pretty painful cause my baby!! How's he growing so fast?

In addition to frantically trying and failing to filter myself while I'm at the mom's group, I'm mentally vetting the other moms, trying to find someone I would want to spend time with. This hypothetical friend does not have to make all the same decisions as me. She doesn't have to cloth diaper or make her own baby food or have exclusively breastfed. She doesn't have to work. It would just be nice if she did do those things. It would be nice to find someone who I can compare diaper brands with or show off the new cute woolie soaker I just bought (OMG, I have the best new woolies - but that's another post. A post that deserves pictures because SQUEE cute sweater butt!) or talk about how I am anti-rice cereal without them feeling judged. And maybe, just maybe, someone who appreciates researching outcomes and basing decisions on facts...I realize that one is a long shot, but a girl can dream.

So, you know, most of the time I'm surrounded by glitter-covered, pixie-loving baby pandas (in the moments when virus-laden bodily fluids aren't spattering my furniture), but sometimes I yearn for something more. A bestie who loves facts and fluffy-butt baby wearing hippy crap. She's out there. I know it. And someday we will lift our skinny vanilla lattes to the sky and unabashedly brag about how much our husbands help us around the house without worrying that we are making any overtired SAHMs want to strangle us. **sigh** Until then...