The Pepper Predicament: All Good Things Come to an End

My dog is dead.

OK, so that's a pretty heavy way to start this off, but it is nonetheless true. Sgt Pepper, my Little Man, has shuffled off this mortal coil.

He's been gone for 12 days now, but it hurts like it just happened yesterday. All those cliches, all those sad, sappy statements... they're all true. Our home feels too quiet and empty. My heart feels like it has a hole in it. I'd give just about anything to hold him one more time, to watch him run down the driveway, or even have him bark incessantly at me for no apparent reason. It was too soon. I need more time. I want him back.

And you know, if you read those statements, they all sound incredibly selfish. Our home. My heart. I need. I want. It seems that it's my pain I'm worried about, when maybe I should be focused on the fact that he's at peace now. No more heart murmur or heart disease. No more thyroid problems. No more arthritis. No more coughing. No more pain. No more medications. By Rainbow Bridge standards, he's young again, full of life (and hair!) and able to breathe. He's free.

As rational as that sounds, and as much as I'd love to say it makes me feel better, I just don't see it that way. Not now. Not yet. Maybe someday? I hope.

For now, I miss him. Even the stupid stuff. I miss hearing him bark bright and early in the morning (or sometimes in the middle of the night) for no reason, or because he was hungry and just couldn't (or wouldn't) wait. I miss playing "Poops or No Poops?" - when we woke up in the morning and headed into the kitchen, we always wondered... would there be a bunch of crap (literally) to pick up or would he have made it through the night? More often than not the answer was poops. But every once in awhile it would be a no poops kind of morning, a pleasant surprise indeed. I miss his excessive prancing at meal times, which sometimes reached the point of recklessness as he crashed into water dishes or trash cans.

Even the things I don't miss - like having to lock the trashcan in the bathroom overnight so he didn't get into it or making sure anything leather was out of reach, lest we lose another shoe or baseball mitt - I would put up with again just to have him around. He wasn't a terribly people-oriented dog. He wasn't cuddly (with us, anyway), he never gave kisses, and he mostly just didn't care if you were around or not. But we had some kind of connection. He would follow me around. He would sleep in my arms in the car. He'd let me hold him in the big bed sometimes.

He let me love him. More than anything, I'm grateful for that.

So here's hoping they have good internet at The Bridge and that you're reading this, Little Man. Because I need you to know that you were so, so loved, and I need to thank you for letting that happen. You let us love you as much as we possibly could, and you let us give you a whole year of being spoiled and doted on. You gave us so much, and I hope you appreciate what we were able to give you as well.

I love you, Little Man. Always.

We Made it Through the Wilderness

Somehow, we made it through.

We went camping this past weekend. This is particularly significant for a few reasons. 

First, this was our first camping experience ever with Sgt Pepper. For the most part, he handled it like a champ. We had 2 minor incidents. 

1) We did kind of wear him out a bit on Saturday when we took a walk in a little park. OK, by "kind of" I mean "completely." Poor kid was so pooped that we had to carry him back to the car. And once we got back to our campsite, he made sure he was touching some part of the water dish at all times (since Hubby had just put ice in there, it was nice and cold), practically cuddling the damn thing. It was cute, but we clearly expected a bit too much from him in the heat. 

2) There was an intense thunder storm Saturday night. This was the first big storm we'd been through with Pepper and it had to happen while we were sleeping in a tent? Of course it did. Little man had super crazy eyes and wouldn't (or couldn't) stay still. We did our best to comfort him, but that thunder was insane. He was terrified. (Miss Maxine, of course, barely noticed anything was going on and slept through the majority of the insanity.)

Second, this was our first camping trip of the year. I always look forward to camping as a little family, and this year was no exception. Aside from the storm and packing up a bunch of wet camping equipment, it was a lovely trip. I'm already excited to plan for the next one!

Third, the storm itself. For anyone who has not heard, a young girl (10 or 11) died at Devil's Lake State Park this weekend. Reports vary a bit, but the gist of it is that a part of a tree fell on her tent during the storm and they were unable to free her. A quick Google News search will bring you up to speed, and Weather.com is even sharing the story. 

The family was camping at site 435 in the Ice Age campground; we were at site 338. You can see that these sites are pretty far away from one another (via this map of the campground), but I heard the sirens of the emergency vehicles. I didn't know where they were or what was going on. In fact, we didn't find out about it until late Sunday after we'd been home for several hours. 

The thought of "it could have been us" is one that is lingering in our minds. In fact, before the storm even hit, Hubby had mentioned something about how he was terrible for checking for "widow-makers" (branches that could fall during a storm) when deciding where to set up camp. I kind of laughed it off, but damn. In this case, they're saying the tree looked secure, so I guess it really was just a freak accident. Still, my heart goes out to the family. It should have been a fun trip with lots of happy memories. It should have ended with the whole family driving back home, lamenting the end of the weekend and the horrendous traffic. It should have gone so much differently.

So, assuming you've made it through all that unpleasantness, it might be nice to know that we had a nice weekend, though we were VERY glad to be back home. I'm not sure camping is Pepper's favorite activity, but at least we know what to expect for next time. We made an awesome dutch oven pizza (with Rocky's pizza sauce... YUM!), took in some beautiful sights, spent a lot of time relaxing and talking, and just enjoyed being there together. Yay!

Morbid Memories

When I was maybe 5 or 6, my great grandpa died. He's the first relative I remember dying, and I wasn't all that sad. I'm ashamed to admit that I was afraid of him; my understanding is that he had Alzheimer's and spoke almost entirely in German, so I didn't understand a word he said, and he was in a wheelchair (which was completely new to me at the time). I didn't go to the funeral.

Maybe a year later (I don't know the timeline, since I was so young) my great grandma died (also my mom's family, but different side of that family). For her, I cried. My mom was so upset that she actually scolded me for crying because I hadn't cried when Great Grandpa had died. She doesn't even remember saying it, but I did stop crying. That was the first funeral I remember. We had to travel for it, and I don't remember much. It was an open casket, and I saw my great grandma one last time. Otherwise, me and my cousins were in the Curious George room at the funeral parlor, reading books and playing games. 

When my great granddaddy died (my dad's grandpa), I was a few years older. Middle school or even high school, I think. I was sad, but I hadn't known him very well since he lived in Mississippi. He was nice enough to me, though. He didn't talk much, but he let me play with a Mr. Potato Head when I visited, which I just thought was the coolest thing ever. When his wife eventually died, my parents forgot to tell me for months. They had found out while I had a sleepover, and they didn't want to upset me. I found out at dinner one night when they were talking about it in passing. She was a seriously sweet lady and I was really sad for my Grandpa since his mom and dad were both gone.

I'd been seriously lucky since then. My family was all relatively healthy and most were in the same state as me.

Fast forward. When I was 21, I was woken up one Saturday morning by my mom telling me that my Gramma (her mom) had died. I'd just visited her a week or so before, and even though she was on hospice, I was shocked. I called my best friend/pseudo-sister K and she came to pick me up and spent the day with me. I took two or three nights off of work so I could help in any way possible. I helped with the picture boards and kept my mom company. At the funeral, I bawled. The hardest part for me was when my cousin N lost it, but the most vivid memory I have is my cousin P's son asking where Great Gramma was and she told him to remember that we could only see her in pictures now.

6 years ago tomorrow, my cat died. He'd been my 13th birthday present, and though I've always been a dog person, I loved that damn cat more than anything. He was a bitch (blocked a few of my friends in the bathroom, hissed at people, bit some of them...), but he loved me. He was also a tubby tabby (22 pounds!), and probably died as a result (heart failure, maybe). Once again, I was woken up by my mom, this time to be told Zeus had died and to ask if I wanted them to do something with him or to cremate him and bring him home. I wanted him to come home. I tried to work that day, but I only made it a few hours in before I broke down and asked to go home. I had been dating Hubby for a few months at the time, and after work he drove all the way from Milwaukee to Madison to be there for me. He brought me potted flowers and if I hadn't already known he was a keeper, that sealed the deal.

Since then, I've been lucky enough to not lose any family. Friends? Yes. It's been a rough year or two for that, actually. But family was safe and sound.

Until yesterday, when my mom called to tell me that my uncle had died in a car accident. He's my uncle through marriage, but my uncle nonetheless, and I can't possibly imagine what my aunt is going through. We don't know details, nor when services will be or anything like that. Right now, it seems cold to even think about it. All I know is that our family lost someone that we hold dear, and just before Christmas at that. I know there's no good time to lose someone, but this is just shitty. 

I've experienced a decent amount of loss this year, and many others have suffered far more loss than I can possibly imagine. I can only hope that 2013 is a little kinder to those in my life. I hope it's kinder to us all.

Be thankful for your loved ones, and hold them close this time of year. Be grateful for the time you have with them and how they've touched your lives. It can be over far too quickly.

I may regret this...

But I feel like I can't concentrate on anything until I get my feelings out. Eh, who reads this anyway, right?

What's happening in CT is terrible. No, it goes so far beyond terrible that I'm pretty sure a word doesn't exist that adequately describes it. I know that the reports of how many are dead or wounded are all over the board right now, but it doesn't matter. The shooting itself is deplorable and makes this a tragedy. If one child loses a parent or teacher, or one parent loses a child, it's no less tragic than 27 dead (or 14 or 3 or whatever the final count comes to).

That being said, I keep seeing people who are screaming for gun control, declaring that guns should be abolished completely. I love that idea, I really do. I am NOT a gun person. Hubby has one that he keeps in the bedroom; does NOT make me a happy Riki. But really? In what world do you realistically see guns being done away with completely?

Make guns illegal? Sure. Because that works so well for drugs. And stealing. And hate crimes. And murder. These things are all illegal, and all still plague not just this country, but the world.

Get rid of guns all together? OK. Because prohibition worked so well for getting rid of booze. Even if we convinced the rest of the world to join us (which is terribly unlikely), I would imagine it would just create a more aggressive black market for weapons.

Do I think that guns should be handed out to everyone and their mother? Good god, no. Handing everyone a gun is the only thing I can think of that might be worse than getting rid of them all. There have been studies done that show that the mere presence of guns can make people think and/or act more aggressively. Giving guns to people who are already aggressive might make them that much more likely to act on their aggression and then we end up with more of these incidents. No thank you.

To own a gun, I think people should have to go through lots and lots of training, get background checks, be registered, etc. I know that there is no possible way to make sure that everyone who has a gun is OK to have a gun, even with regulations like 3-day waiting periods and certification for concealed carry. People who are responsible for these shootings are not at all well. They could have rage issues, mental illness, or any number of things, but they are not well. And since no one seems to see the shootings coming, these people were apparently able to hide that fact from others, so I'd imagine they could get a gun without anyone blinking twice.

What is the answer, then? I haven't a damn idea. I am as lost as I could possibly be. It's a scary world, but being over-reactive is not going to make anything better. At the same time, neither is complacency. So I've got nothing.

I know these thoughts aren't well organized, but that's kind of where I'm at right now. My brain's trying to sort out how I feel and what is going on. I'm struggling with it. And to top it all off, I have to get back to studying for finals. 

Come on, brain. Let's go look at some puppies and rainbows.

Unimaginable.

Imagine you were reading a book, or watching a movie (for those less book-inclined), starring a fairly standard family: Mom, Dad, two boys and a younger daughter.

Now imagine that when the kids get older (teens and early twenties), their father dies. Car accident. It's terrible, but the family has each other, not to mention friends and neighbors, to help them through it. 

Life goes on; never quite the same, but things get better. Then eight or nine years later, the younger of the sons is in a car accident. He dies. The grief is tangible and the news is heartbreaking to all. Still, life manages to go on and while it is tragic, it isn't beyond belief.

Not even a year later, there's a phone call. Something terrible has happened and now the eldest son is dead, leaving only the mother and the daughter. At this point in the book or movie, you'd probably be pretty upset. Oh come on! you might think. It wasn't enough to take away the father/husband and one of the sons, now you've killed off both? This is just unbelievable!

And that's the feeling you're left with. The story isn't over, but at this point, it's hard to believe that one family could endure so much loss and grief. Most books or movies wouldn't take it to this point. The irony of the middle child's death via car accident, so similar to his father's, would have been the most tragic part, and things would have gotten better in the end.

Unfortunately, this isn't a book. Or a movie. If you remember this post, then you already know that. 

It's unimaginable what this family has gone through (and seemingly continues to go through), and my heart breaks just thinking about it. Most tragedies never even take it this far, and yet, this couldn't be further from fiction.

So, once again, I urge you all to embrace the people in your lives and be thankful for them every day. Trite as it may be, you never know when they might be gone.     

RIP, neighbor.