the Sun Still Comes Up
Some of you must have assumed that i had either closed my business, or faded into obscurity. I have not closed HTH, and I continue to treat dogs, but I have been a bit of a recluse for the past year. It has been a very difficult year. As many of you know, my precious Cookie the Wonder Pup left her earthly body on February 21, 2022 due to her bone cancer. She lived just over six months after her leg amputation, which was the upper limit of what was predicted. Those six months were filled with love, joy and making precious memories, and she did not suffer at all. She simply got tired and lost her spirit to fight. She told me that one snowy Saturday, and we cuddled non-stop for 48 hours until she passed. I got to tell her the story of how I found her and how much meaning she had brought to my life. I got endless kisses from her; she was always a big kisser. I got to memorize every spot on her spotty dog body. I got to hold her as she took her last breath, looking into my eyes.
It’s been a year now, and Cookie is still the first thing I think of when I wake up each day, and the last thing I think of as I go to sleep each night, hoping that she will come to me in my dreams. The ache is no less acute. Of all the dogs that I have loved and lost, none has left a hole in my heart like Cookie has. I don’t know why, because I have had some other really special pups.
I had promised you all that I would blog all along the way, to tell you about our journey, and share my lessons learned. I’m sorry that I didn’t fulfill that promise. The time with Cookie became intensely personal to me, and I found that there was almost no one that I could share my thoughts and emotions with except Cookie and my closest friend. It was just too raw. I would like to tell you that I learned some profound lessons along the way, but really, not so much. I did learn more than I ever wanted to know about every aspect of osteosarcoma. I learned that many people don’t understand deep and sustained grief and tire of hearing about it, so it’s best to keep it to yourself or you will be judged. And I hope I learned never to do that to anyone else who is in pain. Part of healing is telling your story, sometimes over and over, and going through the gamut of emotions from sadness to anger at your own pace.
My most rewarding times in the past year have been working with hospice pups and their guardians. I find great joy in calling on Cookie to work in spirit with me to bring peace and comfort to these families as they go through their process, each in their own way. In those times my job is to bring physical ease to the pup, but also to offer an open heart and judgement free support to the guardians in their time of sadness. In these times, Cookie and I are a team, as we always were. I feel her presence guide me with her gentle energy to try to do and say the right things in order to bring comfort. I like to think that maybe this is the one positive gain from Cookie’s death. Her departure has made me better able to help others that are going through the same process.
So even after this challenging year, the sun still comes up every day in all its glory. There were days when I hid my head under the pillow, willing it to go away. But visions in my head of a beautiful spotted dog filled with endless love, coupled with the very real presence of her sister demandingly kissing my face and wagging her tail, pull me up to face the gift of another day.
If you are feeling loss, grief, or sadness, my wish for you is that Cookie’s sweet angel energy will shine down on you to let you know that you are much loved and the sun will come up again for you in all its glory. Many blessings.
Liz