"We buried a shoe box in the back yard yesterday filled with stuff for Ollie in heaven. A couple bones, his collar, a leash, a ball and a remote. I think the ceremony of it was good for the boys, having a chance to say goodbye."
Their dad sends me the text about their ceremony. The tears have been many.
We watched him for weeks slowly stop eating and wasting away. It was torture. Mostly, selfishly, because I wasn't there. And I am no longer the woman of the house where he lives. I am no longer the one he cuddles with.
He was a hard dog. Crazy. A jumper and insane around other dogs and adults. Our middle son called him his twin, they have had a love affair over the last 4 years. He says it feels like he lost a part of his family. Because he did.
All I had to do was look him in the eye sternly and he would drop the remote control or the shoe or the toy. He would hang his head and look up at me, wondering if he would get love in return.
His favorite words. Other than "walk."
The transitions and transformations we have been inside of are wild. The separation. The divorce. New partners in my life and their dads life. Our hamster dying. Preparing to move out of The Loft. One child going into middle school. One child about to close out her time in middle school. One child asking me to move him to a new school with "friends he can trust." All the unknown.
And saying good-bye to Ollie.
So. It isn't Friday. It is Tuesday night. It is a glass of wine. It is a wok on the stove ready to make dinner of zucchini noodles and mushrooms and carrots and onions and anything else I feel like throwing in. It is my partner walking in the door soon and letting me nurture him.
It is the connection that their dad and I were able to have with each other during this time with a sick dog. Our dog. Our new way of being together. The unknown.
It isn't Friday. So many of you reached out after not getting my letter on Friday asking if I was ok. I live and work in real time. This is possibly a problem long term. Or maybe it is the answer. The answer to living authentically and living inside of a business authentically.
I won't really know. But I can accept. And pray. And write on a Tuesday after saying good-bye to Ollie.
It is so much more than saying good-bye to a dog. It is embracing a becoming that none of us understand yet. A becoming born of loss and leaving and choosing and loving and patience (which I have little of) and prayer.
I wasn't at the ceremony. The cord from their life with him is no longer attached to my life.
I sit at the sushi restaurant the night we told the kids about the dog. After they went home with their dad.
I see my love texting. He hands it to me. My middle son, Ollie's twin is texting him. They are talking about the dog and the sadness and they are planning to have a ceremony at the Magic Lake House together, with our family, the one that we are growing and nurturing and loving up in the most beautiful ways.
My love says to him, "Would you like to do that?" And he says he would.
And I cry tears into my green tea on a Sunday. We have the most amazing families now.
I say good-bye to Ollie again.
I live inside all of the questions.
Today is Tuesday. The mushrooms are fragrant and sizzling. The wine is poured.
And again. And still. I think of my new life. The family I am growing. I feel blessed and sad and new.
Good-bye Ollie. I love you. We love you. Thank you for choosing us.