Goodbye, Sammy

You died on a Saturday. You were 16 - very old for a doggie. Your health had slowly declined over the past year so I thought I was prepared, but letting you go was the hardest thing I have had to do in a very long time. I sat with you most of the day and stroked your head and your silken soft ears. I cried and told you how sad I was going to be without you in my life. You just laid there quietly, no doubt trying to hang on just a little longer.

The vet came to the house and sat and cried with us for a while too. The boys said "goodbye" and gave you one last kiss.

At the end of that very sad and difficult day, I was comforted by several things. First, I was happy that at least you passed surrounded by your family and in the comfort of your own backyard. Second, I know you had a long and happy life - you were well cared for and very loved. What else could a dog want? And lastly, I knew that you were going to a better place - a great big beautiful dog park in the sky where you won't hurt anymore and where you could play fetch without ever having to stop.

It will be a long time before this family will be able to open our hearts and home up to another pet, but when we do it will have some mighty big paws to fill.

Thanks for being such a great friend and pet - you will be in our hearts forever.

My Greatest Fear

My greatest fear isn't of walking naked into the grocery store or being eaten by a bear. It's the fear of Death. As a Roman Catholic who has had the idea of God and Heaven and Angels and all of that stuff beaten into my head since I was a kid, the fear of dying would seem like a pretty stupid thing to be afraid of. Yet, I still am - mainly because I just don't know what's really out there, what really happens - it's the unknown.

My husband, my family (mom, dad, brother, sister) and many of my friends seem to have a pretty good handle on the whole dying issue and seem to have a healthy acceptance of it. They must figure it's pretty stupid to be afraid of the one common denominator among us all.

Last year I was home visiting my parents and I ran into my cousin, Dave. Our cousin, Paul, had recently died from prostate cancer. Dave and Paul had grown up together and he was having a hard time dealing with Paul's death. Dave told me that he had went to see a Medium - he needed to know where Paul was and if he was "okay". I was instantly intrigued and hung on his every word as he told me about his visit with this woman. He said she contacted Paul and several other relatives and conveyed messages from them about things that only Dave and that particular person were privy to. I was hooked. I told him he had to get my into to see her the next time I was in town.

Well, it seems my chance has come. I'm flying out to visit my parents this week and Dave called and said I have an appointment this coming Friday. I'm leaving Captain Crazy with his Nona and Papa and I'm going to see this lady. I've been looking forward to this for a while but I'm still nervous. What I get there and I quickly deduct that she's a fruitcake? What if she opens some unknown portal to the afterlife and unknowingly lets demons and other not-so-nice to have around spirits into the room? I only ask this becuase one of my lovely co-workers said that's what he would be concerned about. Anyway, I hope to hell (er...heaven) that she's legit. If Dave felt comfortable with her than I'm going to go for it. I just need to hear something that will ease my fears and help me find some peace with the whole idea of kicking the bucket. Is that asking too much? Am I being silly?

Last year our next door neighbor, Dennis, died unexpectedly. Captain Crazy was only 2and a half at the time, but Dennis taught him the "thumb's up" sign and always made him laugh. Just last month, Captain Crazy finally asked why he never saw Dennis around anymore. I had been dreading that question ever since Dennis passed away. I explained that Dennis died last year and that we would never see him again. Captain Crazy took this news pretty well, but he of course wanted to know what it meant to "die" and where someone goes when that happens and shit if I could tell him. I just left like everything I said was a hollow reply - devoid of any true belief or meaning. I'm hoping that after this weekend I'll be in better place with the idea of death. I'm hoping too that when my kids ask me about it again, I will be able to stand comfortably behind my answers, what ever they may be.