A Good Cry

I believe in the therapeutic qualities of a Good Cry.  I cry a lot these days - showering, reading about the RNC (no, not because of my political leanings, but because JP would have been there, and I would have been getting calls and texts about the events), brushing my teeth, walking the dog (especially walking the dog since she is having so much trouble with that activity these days).  I will shed a few tears here and there throughout the day.  But what I'm talking about is that special type of cry - the sobbing, ugly, wrenching tear-fest that requires a box of tissues and privacy.

Yesterday I heard Miranda Lambert's "Over You" while driving Maddy home from her therapy session.  That song speaks to me in a deep, profound way.  Here are the lyrics:  

Weather man said it’s gonna snow
By now I should be used to the cold
Mid-February shouldn’t be so scary
It was only December
I still remember the presents, the tree, you and me

But you went away
How dare you?
I miss you
They say I’ll be OK
But I’m not going to ever get over you

Living alone here in this place
I think of you, and I’m not afraid
Your favorite records make me feel better
Cause you sing along
With every song
I know you didn’t mean to give them to me

But you went away
How dare you?
I miss you
They say I’ll be OK
But I’m not going to ever get over you

It really sinks in, you know, when I see it in stone

Cause you went away,
How dare you?
I miss you
They say I’ll be OK
But I’m not going to ever get over you

Seriously, with the exception of the line about the records (JP wasn't really into music with the exception of 90s stuff - his love of Sugar Ray was an ongoing joke among our friends...), this could have been written for us.  Mid-February...on the tail of our first, and only, Christmas as a family...

And of course the piece itself is just one of those ones that hits you - her voice is so beautiful and haunting and there is so much feeling to it.  

So anyway, I had myself a serious cry - it was enough to make the homeless guy asking for money at one of the stoplights bypass my vehicle...

And then I did something I have not done since I was in grade school - I joined a fan club.  Yep, I signed up for Miranda Lambert's fan club.  Because I wanted to share my story about how the song has touched me, and how it has and will continue to play a significant role in my journey through grief and my life in general.  And it felt good to share in a forum that is removed from my usual haunts...

One more thing on the topic of tears/crying, here is an interesting article:

http://www.psychologytoday.com/blog/emotional-freedom/201007/the-health-benefits-tears

If you don't want to read the whole article, here are some take-aways that I found particularly interesting:

• Emotional tears consist of stress hormones - the act of crying purges these and other toxins that result from stress.
• Studies indicate also that endorphins are produced by crying.
• Crying can heal the heart, and the "waves of tears" that wash over people following losses are our bodies' way of alleviating stress and sorrow.  The act of crying can actually help us avoid sinking into depression.

Next time one of my friends says something about JP that makes me cry, and feels bad for it, I will mention this article to them.  I'll tell them not to feel bad, that in fact they are helping me rid my body of some nasty stress hormones and toxins.  That's what friends are for.

Holding my Tongue

When I started this blog, I sort of had the idea that it would be my place to just vent.  To be catty and snarky and able to rant and rave with no repercussions.  Because I am raw, and reactive, and I lost my complaint confidante.  JP was the one who would let me relieve the pressure that builds up as a result of all the complaints I tend to have to lodge...

I figured I would unleash my inner Mean Girl in clever, sarcastic, entertaining fashion - airing my grievances about my mom, venting about friend drama, making witty remarks about my classmates...  I would be sure not to let anyone whose feeling might be hurt read the blog.  And if someone falling in that category did happen to peek in, they would be doing so at their own risk.  Hey, I warned them in my intro.  I announced that this was going to be a form of therapy for me.  Surely those people wouldn't ignore my request/warning.

Yeah, right.

I do still plan on venting.  I might even air some grievances when Festivus time rolls around, or when I can't bottle it up any longer.  But while it may not be a good idea to bottle up feelings and emotions, bitchiness and whining surely don't fall under those categories.  And I started thinking about some things.

Like how much I used to complain about stupid, insignificant things.  I remember JP asking me one time why I was so angry all the time.  And when I looked back at some of the emails I had saved (or, more accurately, neglected to delete) from the early part of our relationship, I am disgusted by myself.  Why on earth did JP put up with this crankypants whine-meister?  If whining about trivial matters was a competitive sport, I would have been the undisputed World Champion.

Since becoming a widow, I've learned the term DGI, which refers to "Don't Get Its" - people who don't understand the unique situation of widows (particularly young ones) and say the wrong things (not intentionally most of the time).  I was a Life DGI.  Young, completely untouched by life's painful realities.  Totally clueless.

I'm not that girl anymore.  Oh, sure, I still complain.  I have always admitted to taking pleasure in venting.  But I am going to try to reign in the nasty.  Try being the operative word...

Back to School

Well, tomorrow is the first day of classes for my graduate program.

Of course, this will be vastly different from the first days of school of years past...  As a child, the first day of school meant entering classrooms carefully decorated by teachers - featuring fall leaves, apples, and maps tacked to walls.  It meant meeting new teachers, catching up with classmates on summer camps and vacations.  Making name tags and putting freshly sharpened No. 2 pencils and workbooks into desks with past pupils' names and doodles etched into their surfaces.  The first day of school felt like autumn.  It was a new season, a new year, and it came with all new accessories - a carefully selected new outfit for the first day (first, usually matching my best friend; later, usually matching half the school since we all hit the back-to-school sales at Gap), fresh notebooks.  Text books handed out in class, and carefully covered in brown paper bag book jackets...

The first day of school in high school and college was more focused on making sure I knew which buildings my classes were in.  In the years since my Amherst graduation, I have had many a school nightmare, all of them some variation on a theme of being lost  - not knowing my schedule or where a particular classroom might be.  I'm pretty sure that since all of my classes are in the same building, that nightmare won't come true.

My first class is Organizational Behavior.  So far it looks interesting, and I'm very glad that Stats is not first up on the docket!  Being in class from 6-9pm will be a challenge, but hopefully it won't take too long for my brain to get used to it.

I'm sure JP would be proud of me tonight.  I so wish I could be sharing this with him.  It's always hard not to have him here to talk to, and of course this is nothing compared to not having him here to share in the joys and challenges of raising our baby boy.  But this really feels like the first New Big thing that I'm doing on my own, the first thing that is separate from us.  And so while I feel the usual emotions anticipating the start of school - excitement, some nervousness - it also makes me sad.

Poor Execution

I am a bit frustrated with my day today.  I had every intention of being super productive.  I went to my school campus to look into getting SPSS on my computer, and with the intention of making my first tuition payment, and possibly setting up a payment plan.  Halfway to the train I realized I'd forgotten my checkbook.  I did visit the library and then the IT Help Desk (probably good to introduce myself there since I'll probably be spending a fair amount of time in that particular office...)  When I said I had just switched over to all Macs, he said "you should get a PC.  Thanks...  I did get a new password and started to get the program, but didn't particularly feel like staying for the whole download, so I went home...and couldn't figure out what to do after downloading the zip file.  So, Fail and Partial Fail on those two things.

I was going to do my reading for my Monday class, but couldn't get past the preface of the book without falling asleep.  Fail on that.

I tried to figure out how to take my screen door off because for the next 3-6 weeks there will be work done on the outside of my building.  They are just finishing up the building next to us, so all in all it will be at least 2 months of loud masonry work and dust everywhere, meaning that we have not been able to use the balcony or patio (and to go off on a little tangent, I'm annoyed that I let my parents talk me into buying outdoor furniture for the patio that I will likely never use since it's off their level of the condo...) The screen door is still up.

The media storage shelves that my mom *suggested* repeatedly that I buy (I was totally fine with leaving the receiver/DTV box/DVD player in a stack on something behind the baby gate because who knows what I will need furniture-wise when the lease here ends and I am feeling Extremely Broke right now) arrived today, and we tried to put it together, and failed miserably.  Those damn cam bolts just would not work.  How did JP put together all our furniture without any issues?

I went to pick up the bookshelves I ordered for Max's room, but left them in the box in the car (probably a wise decision...)

Stopped by Home Depot to look at paint colors for Max's room.  Think I got the color I want, got the supplies, but I still have to go buy the paint itself.  Oh and paint the room...another thing that JP did (and wouldn't let me near because he didn't trust me not to mess it up...)

I started the day with such good intentions.  I was going to be so productive!  I was going to accomplish things!  It was going to be a day that would have made JP proud of me!  Instead I feel completely incompetent.  And angry.  And sad.  And lonely.

(But feeling a little better after peeking in on a peacefully sleeping little Max.  The computer program will get worked out.  The reading will get done.  My dad arrives on Monday and the furniture and painting will get done.  Deep breaths.  One step at a time....)

Summoning my Inner Nerd

On Monday I will have my first class for my Master's program in Industrial/Organizational Psychology.  Back to being a student at last!

Summoning my inner nerd should not be too difficult.  I mean, I was the little girl hiding her huge glasses behind a book for much of my childhood.  And in college, I basically staked out my own little room, where I practically lived (at least when I wasn't busy playing rugby or incurring dorm damage fees during rugby parties...)  But it has been TEN YEARS since I've taken a test, or written a paper (I don't think I can count the online class I took as a pre-req for this program), or participated in class discussions.  I'm kind of terrified!

I had my orientation today, and although there is a large contingent of recent graduates in my "cohort" I am not the oldest member.  There is one person older than I am.  Yeah, that's right - just one.  And I think just one other who has a kid.  Everyone seems nice.  Do I expect to be spending my Friday and Saturday nights with a bunch of 22-year-olds?  Probably not.  When one of the girls asked me how people get home to the area of the city she and I live in after going clubbing downtown, I almost laughed.  By the time I moved to this city, at the ripe old age of 26, clubbing was no longer part of my vocabulary (except maybe during trips to Vegas).  But so far it seems like a good group.  Everyone seems to be enthused about the program, and shoot, the recent grads are way more mature than I was right after I graduated from college.  I had no idea what I wanted to be doing then, and can't imagine going straight into a graduate program.

I wasn't going to bring up my situation.  I figured there was no need, and it might be nice to not have to get into it, to just be another classmate.  But then my advisor had us go around and introduce ourselves, and why we chose the program, and I realized that I couldn't leave it out.  My hands were shaking anticipating what I would say, wondering if the floodgates would open.  I was the last to speak, and I just blurted it out, staring at the floor the whole time.  Unlike with other students, there was no banter with about my taste in books, the coolest place I've ever gone SCUBA diving, or whether bad things happen for a reason (this was in response to the girl next to me saying she came to the school after being laid off...)  I did try to lighten the mood by mentioning Max, and the therapy I have Maddy in, and Crossfit.  But then I felt like I came off looking a little heartless.  It was just a bit awkward.  However, when the whole class went to a bar after, it was a little easier to open up and talk to people about my deal.  And I'm glad it's out there, because now I realize it would have been way more awkward to not have mentioned it and have it come up later.

Amazing Grace

I've been thinking about Grace a fair amount lately.  Ever since I took a baptism class for Max in July.  And I've seen the topic come up in a couple widow blogs, which has kept it on my mind.

To preface this, I do not belong to any organized religion.  JP was Catholic, and before I go off on a tangent more suited to its own post, I will just say that Max's baptism is the first step on my journey of raising the good Catholic son JP wanted.

To be honest, I had never given the concept of Grace much thought at all.  As in, none.

And then in the class, the Deacon put it so eloquently, and it really was one of those aha moments, if not light shining, angels singing epiphany.  I can't remember his exact words, but he basically described Grace as the ability that God gives us to deal with the hand we're dealt, and to get through life's challenges.  Now, "grace" is not something I have ever considered myself to have.  I equate it with concepts such as elegance and...balance.  Not me.  But Grace?  Yeah, I think I do have some of that.  Because let me tell you, I have learned a LOT about myself in the past 6 months, and most of it has to do with the fact that I have a phenomenal capacity to cope, and to "git 'er done" when necessary.

This is something that I want for my son.  I want him to have Grace.  Whether it's God or his own personal fortitude that gives him that quality, I don't care.  But I want him to have it.  And he deserves to have it.

The first couple of months after I lost JP are pretty much of a blur.  I did what I had to do.  I made decisions.  I sold the condo.  I applied for and was accepted into a graduate program.  I compartmentalized.  I grieved.  I gave my best effort to enjoying my baby boy.  I made a promise to honor JP through the way I live my life.  If it wasn't Grace getting me through, then I don't know what it was.  I like to think that Grace came from JP.  Because I never would have guessed I had it in me.  And now that I know about Grace, I am very cognizant of it.  As I go through slumps and lose ground in my journey of healing and moving forward in my life, I will seek, and hopefully find, my inner reserve of Grace.

I imagine I will come back to this topic many times in the future.

Same Same but Different

As I mentioned in my last post, yesterday was the 6-month anniversary of JP's death.  It wasn't easy by any means, but it wasn't as hard as I had feared, either.  The past few weeks have been tough for me.  I can't fall asleep (partly because I miss having him there holding my hand and snuggling with me, partly because I don't have the self-discipline to put my book down without him saying "sleep time" and turning off the light), and then I sleep in.  I'm forgetting meals (soooo unlike me) and then snacking late at night.  I find it hard to plan ahead.  I'm sad.

So I'm trying to stay busy.  And yesterday I certainly did that.  I took Max to his music class and then we headed out to the burbs.  We met up with a friend of JP's, who I hadn't met until the funeral, and a friend of hers who is in a similar situation to me - her husband died of a heart attack about 2 months before JP.  She has a son a couple months older than Max and one a few years older.  It was good to talk to her, not only because of the similarities in our circumstances (sudden loss, small boy/boys) but because she seems to have a similar outlook as I do.  She is very pragmatic, and she wants a lot of the same things from life, and for her children, as I do.  I hope that we will be able to be good support systems for one another as we negotiate this new chapter in our lives.  And I really like the friend that made the introduction.  I'm sorry that life got in the way and that we didn't meet sooner.  It was fun being able to share stories about JP, and she is so smart and funny and I like that she is not afraid to ask questions that I think other people tiptoe around.  We took the kids to a nice playground and went out to lunch.  Max had a wonderful time.  The older kids were all so great with him.

Anyway, they say misery loves company, and I'm not sure about that - I wouldn't wish this pain on my worst enemy.  But there is something to be said for having people you can talk to about all the turmoil and all the heartache and headaches.  This woman's situation is very similar to mine, but of course every case is different, and every widow/er's path through grief is as individual as they are.  So, same same but different.  (I thought I remembered that phrase from a book or movie, Googled it and read the urban dictionary definition.  I won't post the third option they provide here, but you're more than welcome to check it out.  Obviously that is NOT the definition I'm applying here!)

After our excursion, I went to Crossfit, just as JP would expect me to.  Even though he never saw the new space, he was the one who introduced me, and it was due to his efforts to get home early enough and his encouragement that I stuck with it.  I feel close to him when I'm in the box.  And after my workout, in the alley gym, I came home with a garbage bag of meat.  Because that's totally normal to go home from your gym with a sack of beef, right?  It is, if your gym does a meat share!  I'm really excited to make the roast, and the steaks!  Beef was JP's favorite protein, and our last meal together, on Valentine's Day, featured some amazing filet mignon from our local meat market.

Back to yesterday, my mom, Max and I had JP's favorite pizza from our favorite pizza place.  They have this sweet sauce that is so delicious.  Pepperoni, ricotta, and goat cheese was his favorite topping combo, with a Greek salad.  That was our go-to meal (except when I was pregnant and couldn't eat tomato sauce due to heartburn...)  We toasted him with Sam Adams and my mom shared lists that she and my dad put together of some of the things they miss most about JP.  I am still not ready to do that.  The only answer I have right now is that I miss EVERYTHING the most.

Today I felt a bit better than I have lately.  I ran some errands at Target and Home Goods, took the dog to her first therapy session (on the way we popped into the pet store next to the place for a quick nail trim and since she only needed the front ones done, they did it for free - perhaps the girl felt bad knowing the whopping amount I was about to fork over for the treatment plan?).  Maddy was great for her acupuncture session.  So calm and sweet.  She had massage therapy and we decided on a harness size for her.  I also covered all the hard wood floors in yoga mats!  I ordered a bulk role, and put it all down the hallway, and all over the kitchen.  Max loves it and it definitely helps for Maddy.  I also tried a gymnastics class at crossfit.  I am going to be SORE tomorrow!  The moral of the story is that I feel better than I have in a while.  I'm getting stuff done.  And soon I will have school work that I can't put off until Friday as I am doing with my online class this week...  I'm going to have to be way more on the ball than I was in college (except maybe when I was nerding out and basically living in the library). Same same but different?

Six-Month Slump

Tomorrow marks the 6-month mark for me.  Exactly 26 weeks since Wednesday, February 15 - the worst day of my life.  And I feel like I have taken a step back in my healing process lately.  It certainly doesn't help that my dog needs extensive (and expensive) treatment for what appears to be neurological degeneration.  It doesn't help that the reality is setting in that I am 32 years old and living with my parents.  It doesn't help that it's seemingly impossible to get anything done with a toddler tearing around, getting into everything.

Since the dog started having problems, I have felt just depleted.  Going to Vegas was a nice break, but it's not like I came back feeling particularly refreshed and ready to tackle all the stuff I need to do.  I experience spurts of motivation, but I find it difficult to really sink my teeth into a project if I'm not operating in a clean space.  The clutter around me reflects the clutter in my head and heart.  So I try to get one space clean - my room, or the kitchen, and then there are inevitable interruptions (my little guy, who is so much more fun than organizing closets or cleaning out the toaster, or sleep, since usually the time when I can get stuff done is when he's down for the night...)  And even if I finish cleaning the space, by the time I have another time and motivation block, it's a mess all over again.  The clutter in my head never gets touched.

I haven't taken care of some business things I need to take care of related to the estate and this new chapter of being responsible for all kinds of things I never had to think about.  I haven't organized the kitchen at all.  I haven't updated Max's baby book in months.  I haven't touched the projects I promised myself I would do before my grad school program starts.  And then I managed to delete ALL my pictures on iPhoto on my laptop because I never actually learned how to use it.  And I don't care enough to try and fix it.

Just feeling really blah.  And incredibly sad.  I'm back to not being able to talk, or even think, about JP without crying.  Looking at pictures of him mostly just makes me frustrated.  I beat myself up asking whether he had been complaining about his chest hurting back in the winter.  I was so wrapped up in the baby that if he mentioned any ailments, my response was just "then go see your doctor."  If he said anything, I was probably only half listening because seriously, I felt like he was always complaining about not feeling well and it was usually nothing more than a cold (which, with his crap immune system, would have him in bed for days).  I remember being frustrated that his crappy immune system and the fact that every time he worked out he had to ice his knee for what seemed like hours.  And he was definitely going to see someone about his knee.  I think he saw someone for his shoulder too, so if his chest had been bothering him, he would have made an appointment, right?  But I can't help thinking about the fact that I found his cardiologist's business card, separate from the rest of the cards he had (most from work), and it ended up in my diaper bag (I don't remember finding it, or putting it there).  At first I kept thinking it was some sort of sign, some sort of admonition.  But the coroner's office told me that there was nothing that could have been done, no predicting or preventing.

I try to write letters to JP every night, but lately I have been too tired - though not sure if the fatigue is physical or mental.  There are so many things I want to tell him, and it just makes me sad to know that he's not reading the letters I write.  I want to ask if he thinks Tostito's changed the way they make their restaurant style chips or if I just like them more than I thought I did.  I want to tell him I went to Pinkberry and it made me think of Curb Your Enthusiasm.  I want to talk to him about Crossfit.  Little things.  As well as big things - everything Max is doing and saying, my fears about Maddy - I want his opinion on whether I'm doing the right thing with all this therapy and taking her to the neurologist...should I let them do additional testing on her?

6 months is a terrible milestone.  I hate it.  I just want to check out for a while and resurface when the pain is less raw, when things seem less hopeless, when I'm not still hoping he'll come back...when my head and heart are reconciled about the fact that he is gone for good.

Waking up in Vegas

I recently took a girls' trip to Vegas.  It was a mental/emotional health trip.  I know, not phrases that you would normally equate with Sin City.  But Vegas has a special place in my heart.  It's where JP and I got engaged.  And I have many other wonderful memories of trips there, with and without him.

The first time we went together, we were with a friend of JP's and a couple of his buddies, who were literally rocket scientists.  And huge NASCAR fans, which I remember thinking was funny (yes, I realize that NASCAR is the most popular sport in the US by numbers, and not everyone who is a fan is a redneck).  I think it was in late 2004 or early 2005, because I remember getting choked up about the recent Red Sox World Series Win (sports make me very emotional...)  But the big thing I remember about that trip was that it was when I actually learned how old JP was!  When I first started seeing him, I had it in my head that there was an 11-year age difference.  But it was 13 years.  Not that it mattered.  But I do remember him being like "there's something I need to show you" and handing me his license.  I was confused (and a little drunk) and he had to say "look at the date" before I realized.  It was funny at the time.  I think he had at some point corrected me on the 11-year thing but said it was 12 - he didn't want me to know what an old man he was ;) (at the time that had happened, he was 36 or 37 - not old at all!)

The next trip we took there was on the tail of a work trip.  As they all were, actually.  We stayed at the Westin, and it was actually kind of nice to not be staying in one of the big casinos.  On my way there, I lost my driver's license.  In the airport at LaGuardia.  I noticed it before I got on the plane, but it was nowhere to be found (must have fallen out of my pocket after I went through security).  I ended up having to have my roommate locate my passport and overnight it to me!  And that first night, we pretty much had to stay in the casino at the Westin because they knew what had happened and were ok with serving me.   I sat and watched him play hand after hand of Black Jack.

Our third and final trip together was September 15, 2007.  He was, again, out there for work, and I would be meeting him for the weekend.  Due to bad weather in Atlanta, I got stuck at the airport in DC.  I was flying out of Dulles, which was a hefty cab ride from where we lived in Arlington, so I took the hotel voucher and stayed by the airport.  But I was determined to get out there, if only for one night.  I stayed up late watching a Red Sox-Yankees game (one of those epic 13-inning games between the two...and the Red Sox didn't even win!) so I was exhausted when I arrived at Mandalay Bay on Saturday morning.  I could tell something was up with JP.  He was making secret phone calls and seemed a bit put-out.  But we had a nice day - went to the Shark Tank exhibit, watched the next game in the Sox-Yanks series (which the Red Sox won, I believe), and I got my nickel slot fix.  For dinner we met up with friends (colleagues of his) and I remember we went out for Chinese, which is not my favorite.  I was a little cranky from being tired and spending my one evening in Vegas at a Chinese restaurant (albeit a very nice one) and they were all tired from being in Vegas all week.  That night we went to a Los Lonely Boys concert.  Even though we only knew that one song (How Far is Heaven, which now seems a bit ironic), JP and I had a good time.  We got good and tipsy, our friends went home, and we enjoyed the concert, which was at Mandalay's beach/wave pool.  After, we went to The Wynn, which I think was just barely completed, and sat out by the fountain where they do light/water/video/etc. shows.  After a couple more drinks, he reached into his jacket pocket, grabbed my hand, and without asking or saying anything, put the ring on my finger.  I had kind of been expecting it (he'd had "the talk" with my parents a while back, not to mention the fact that I had found the ring!) but it still took me by surprise.  I cried, we both said some nice things to each other, and I'm sure the people around us thought we seemed totally insane and wasted.  But it was wonderful.  Such a happy night.

Later, I learned that he had had this big plan for Friday night, and had reserved some spot in the Eiffel Tower that overlooks the strip...and honestly, part of me was glad that it didn't turn out that way.  I loved our drunken engagement in Vegas and wouldn't change a thing about it.  I'm not one for big romantic gestures, so I think I would have felt weird about him doing some grand proposal in the fake Eiffel Tower...

Anyway, it was nice to relive some wonderful memories of the time JP and I spent there, but since I have also been a number of times without him, it wasn't so painful.  We had a nice time.  Got some pool time, some penny slot time, went out for some nice meals, saw a show, and went clubbing all but the last night, when most of us were too tired to contemplate drinking and dancing.

We also spread some ashes there.  I'm sure my mother-in-law is horrified that I did this, but Vegas was a very special place for us, and it felt right.  And it ended up being a magical moment.  After a very nice dinner at The Wynn, we went to the fountain where the engagement happened, and the second we tossed the ashes in, the water began to fizz and a very cool show started, with a flamenco theme.  It may have been one of the ones that we saw the night we got engaged (or maybe I just want to think that...)  Vegas might be a cheese-ball place for the most part - fake, and a strange juxtaposition of over-the-top opulence right next to gritty smoky ickiness.  But it will always have a special place in my heart.

And Your Little Dog, Too

In the midst of the "dog days of summer" I found myself on the receiving end of yet another piece of pretty terrible news.  My sweet, loving, wonderful boxer, Maddy, is suffering from neurological degeneration.  Mind you, she has never been a robustly healthy dog.  When we adopted her, when she was only about 3 (or so we were told), she had thyroid issues, and within months we discovered that she also had a pretty bad case of hip dysplasia and arthritis.  After experimenting with doses medication for her hips, we settled on an anti-inflammatory that ended up causing problems in her liver.  So she was taking 2-3 pills per day for her hips, 2 per day for thyroids, and 1 a day to counteract the liver damage caused by the hip meds (and this one has to be taken an hour before she eats dinner).  In the past year, she has had surgery to remove two Stage II mast cell tumors and one abscessed tooth.

So when she started to seem unstable on her back legs, feet going out from under her, stepping on the tops of her feet, I wasn't altogether surprised.  We have friends whose boxer had this happen.  Still, when the vet confirmed my fears, I was extremely upset.  Basically, what happens is that their muscles become paralyzed over time, and along the way, they just lose their mobility in the back legs.  There are things that I can, and will, try.  She is on two medications for pain and to try to slow the progression.  She seems at least less on edge with them.  I'm taking her to alternative veterinary treatment specialists to see if the underwater treadmill or acupuncture might help.  It won't be cheap, and it won't be covered by my pet insurance.  But she is my fur baby and I love her.  When we get to the point where nothing is helping make her comfortable, I will do what's best.  I know that it will be very hard for her as this goes on with the baby and my parents' dog, who is in excellent health, cavorting around.

Boxers don't have particularly long life expectancies.  They are prone to a variety of issues - cancer (check), hip problems (check), heart problems, bloat...  And Maddy isn't a puppy.  She is at least 6, and looks older with her gray face.  But just in June, she was running on the beach in Florida and Nantucket.  This came on fast, and it pains me to see my sweet solid pup falling down and wobbling when she walks.  So even though I had no unrealistic expectations on how long she would be with me (especially after the two tumors within 4 months), this news hit me hard.

And you know what did not help?  My mom getting touchy when I wasn't exactly at my best.  Oh, I'll admit it - I was snapping at her.  I was a bit overzealous in what I like to call my "constructive criticism."  But, as I pointed out when she asked me IN A RESTAURANT if I thought I was depressed, because I had been so snippy and seemed to have a flat affect when I wasn't being rude, my husband died less than 6 months ago and my dog was just handed a death sentence!  Are you kidding me?  You want me to be Miss Manners when I am coping with the knowledge that I am soon to lose the first and only pet JP and I had together?  I wanted to scream "F YOU!" and plead widow mouth.  But I didn't.  I just cried.

Anyhoo.  I am so sad about Maddy.  She is seriously the sweetest dog ever.  So silly, so loving, so wonderful.  When we got her, I was unemployed and it seemed like the perfect time to start our family. We always knew we would get a dog before having kids (just to make sure we could take care of another being, we joked).  We were referred to a great boxer rescue organization and I filled out the (long) application.  During the phone interview (seriously, I felt like I was trying to adopt a kid - their process was so thorough!) I was told that they usually don't like to adopt dogs out to the city, and that if she had known we were in a condo they probably wouldn't have even talked to me (!)  But she said they would call when they had a dog that could be a fit.  We got the call a month later.  And on February 8 of 2009 (I remember the date because it was my birthday), we drove way out into the suburbs to meet a big male boxer named Coleman.  We had to bring pictures of our home, and answer a new battery of questions before we could even meet the dog.  As it turned out, they had a new dog, a female, who had just showed up, and a family had met her but didn't want her because she had some bald spots on her haunches (due to untreated hypothyroidism).  They thought this might be a better fit for us, and referred to her as a "tea party boxer" due to her mild demeanor.  We met her first.  She came in and just pranced around the room, and I fell head over heels in love with her.  Her name was CeCe, but they said we would have no trouble renaming her.  We did meet Coleman, and he was a fine specimen.  But we also saw the way he reacted to other dogs, and I could just see myself being dragged down my street (heavily populated by dogs) on my face by an 80-pound mound of muscle on a tear afar some poor Chihuahua.

We told them not to bother putting CeCe's pictures on the website - she was the dog for us.  We were going on vacation to St. John, but made an appointment to come pick our girl up after that.  And on February 24 (which was Mardi Gras), we brought our baby girl home.  Here are a couple pictures of the drive home from Boxer Rebound:

Maddy was never "just a dog" to us.  She was our baby, and that did not change when Max came along.  She was our first step toward becoming a family and I have so many amazing memories of this sweet, loving, not very bright dog.  Such as....

The three of us standing outside in the freezing cold at night trying to get her to do her business...before we learned that she'll do what she needs to do when she needs to do it.

Epic battles to get her to go out in the rain (which included some tears on my part, her seeming to grow roots, and JP and I looking like fools as we carried our 60-pound tough-looking dog far enough away from the building for her to give up on trying to get back under the doorway).

One really fun trip to the dog beach (during which she did not swim or interact with any other dogs) and one horrible trip to the dog beach (during which she got attacked by two large male boxers, whose owners just got control of them as JP was winding up to punch one of the dogs in the face).

 Maddy with my brother at the dog beach...and recovering from her run-in with the bullies.

Obedience lessons...taught by two little old ladies who spent about half of each class slowly telling stories about their dogs (I think the one class JP came to involved a story about a dog rolling in poop...) And no, the lessons didn't do much good at all.

Learning all of the stores on our street that had biscuits, and being rather embarrassed about the fact that I was dragged into a makeup store every day so she could get a treat...where I never bought anything.

Here she is waiting outside her favorite store...at about 9pm:

The fact that the farthest she would ever really walk was to the dog store 4 blocks away.  Except when I was 9 months pregnant and it was 90+ degrees - then she would want to walk for an hour!

Letting her sleep in the bed with us - which always ended up being a mistake.  Not only did she take up half the bed, but she snored and jerked and kept us up all night.

Cuddling on the couch with her watching TV - though she basically only wanted to cuddle with JP.  The two of them would spend hours just snuggling on the couch.

Dressing her up for holidays.  Poor dog...

Halloween 2009 - in a home-made spider costume...

 As a lobster in 2011 (also wore that one in 2010)

 She didn't mind the party hat when the cupcakes came out...this one was in a newspaper

 Even St. Patrick's Day gets a costume...

 Fourth of July, too

Having to console her during every thunderstorm, fireworks display, and air show.  Also the fact that she is scared of pretty much any noise - trucks, wind, noises she herself makes...

Seeing how amazing she was with Max from the very beginning.  She is so gentle, so calm, so patient.  Yes, she got a bit needy with me and JP, especially JP, but she is a great big sis.

She loved nothing more than laying on the couch on the balcony.  She and JP would watch people on the street, and she would go in and out depending on how sunny it was.

Like so many dogs, Maddy gets SSSOOOO excited every time anyone comes through the door.  Even if I was only gone an hour, she put on a fantastic display of tail wagging and running around.

That tongue...JP always let her lick his face.  Me, not so much.

The first shower we gave her!  JP took her in, and she spent the whole time drinking the water (still does that)

My favorite memory of JP with "his girl" as he called her, was something that happened every day when he came home from work.  She would hear him coming up the stairs and run to the back door.  He would open it, whisper "who's there?" and close it again before she could get her nose out.  She would run back to me, crying.  He would do this for a couple minutes before opening the door and his arms for her to tumble into them.  It was so sweet.  Until I sold the condo 2 months after his death, Maddy was expecting him to walk through that door.  His brother even mentioned it in the eulogy, and my dad mentioned their game in the eulogy he did.  They loved each other so, so much.  She was definitely a daddy's girl.

Big-eyed over her favorite treat - ice cream!

Words can't express how much this dog means to me.  The idea that I may very well lose her in the same year as JP is almost unthinkable.  But I will try not to dwell on that.  I will try to make her life as good and comfortable as possible, and add to the wonderful memories we share.