WHY Does It Hurt So Bad When You Lose A Pet…?

WHY does it hurt so bad when you lose a pet…?

This week, the final domino fell for us, having lost our beloved black lab Oliver.

I called him Braveheart because he was just that for me. He lived almost 15 years and was picked out and brought home by Carl. I recall Adyn calling me at work and saying, “Dad brought home a puppy,” and me responding with “wrong number” and hung up. (sigh)

Oliver was named after Oliver Twist, and boy did our other black lab, Indy, who crossed over a few years ago, torture him. She chased him, dragged him around by his collar until one day he grew larger than she was, and the table turned. Oliver and Indy were the kids I had when my own went off to college. They sat with me in my tears and jumped and danced with me in laughter and joy. They grieved with my kids and me after our losses. They never complained about what TV shows I would watch or the meals I made. My Black Labs were perfect companions.

We had anticipated that our time was coming to a close with Oliver, but as many of you know, it is like getting gut-punched when you make “the difficult” decision. As we sat holding him, our vet talked with us, and we recalled stories of him jumping out of a window to chase burglars away. He and our corgi, Walter, never got along. And that is why Walter lives in Denver. Oh, the fights those two would have. And as we sat talking, I started doing my relationship line with Oliver, from first impression to these last few minutes. It’s part of my Grief Recovery Method Certification I use with clients, and now I am using it for myself. I was and AM so very SAD. Like the back of my eyes want to burst into tears, my throat hurts, and in the silent moments, the cries that come out are wails with me crawling into a ball.

As we sat there, the elephant in the room was, “How will we explain this to Noah?” He is only four years old. It is a delicate conversation. Right?

But you know how kids teach you lessons? As we cried out our tears with our vet, Ben Kaiser, and left for home, it felt like we were under a million bricks. It was a heavy evening and night.

And what lesson did Noah teach us? Well, part of Noah’s afternoon schedule is feeding the dogs, so when it came time, he asked where “woofy” was, and I could hear his dad respond with a kind, soft-spoken, “Oliver is now in Heaven with Grandpa Carl, Indy, his great-grandpa Gus and great-grandma LOLA. And, without a beat, Noah said – “OK, he’s OK. I will miss him”.

Our hearts are still fresh with our loss, and we really miss our Braveheart. But as life moves on, our chocolate lab, Charlee, doesn’t know what to think; she’s been under a table, not wanting to trust anyone. Except for Noah and his PB&J.

Rest in Peace, Sweet Oliver, Braveheart~ Woofy.

Paper Napkin Mother's Day Card

On my first Mother’s Day with Carl, I remember him telling me ~ “Am I supposed to do something for you? You are not my mom.” (Can you picture me? Or my face?) I have to laugh now because I remember standing in the kitchen and looking at him like an alien. I knew my response had to be one that would not be forgotten.

“I may Not be Your mother, but I am THE mother of your children.”

I think I saw lightning strike! And the next thing I knew I had a Mother’s Day card hand made from a paper napkin on my bed pillow with a flower. These memories crack me up every time I think of them, because Carl was just like that, so sure he was right until I had to politely tell him differently.

Here it is May 10, 2020, and I can say with all seriousness, this Mother’s Day feels strange. I can’t help but miss my Mom and Carl. It’s strange. Maybe because the last mothers’ day I had with Carl in 2014, I remember calling Carl and telling him it was snowing in Denver. I remember waking up and looking outside the apartment window in Wash Park and thinking ~ This is bananas. But it was beautiful and by the afternoon the snow was melted. (I have to smile thinking about this.)

Flash forward 6 years and let’s just say ~ these are some crazy times right now.

I am being more of a MOM now than ever before.

I am cooking every day, spending time being present in the backyard listening to the sounds of my neighbors and wind. I talk with my kids several times a day, we eat and take walks, and talk. It’s actually been nice to be Nathan and Adyn’s MOM and Noah Jude’s Grandma. I love being their Mom and wish more than ever my partner was here to enjoy this time.

Don’t get me wrong, it has been stressful. Social Distancing, not being close to extended family and friends. Work, you name it ~ the stress is there.

BUT...I feel like these last 8 weeks have taught me something. I KNOW who my real friends are, they are the ones who check in, text, pick up your call on the first ring and reach out to make sure I am doing ok. I also know who the relationships are that I need to pay attention to~ and possibly make some changes.

Energy, it all comes down to this ~ on a Day where we get to just be Celebrated as a MOM. It is also a day to pivot and decide where our energy will be focused coming out of our country’s crisis coma. As MOMS, we are the leaders who will show our kids how to respond and move forward. So I am going to relish the memories of those I miss on this day and celebrate with my kids and grandson to prepare for the new frontier.

Happy Mother’s Day~2020

Coming home~

As my daughter and I excitedly set out to Houston for meetings, at the back of our minds was the lingering thought of a delicate pick-up from a funeral home in Katy, Texas. We encountered pounding rain driving into the city; the rain feeling somewhat symbolic- like tears, a heavy release pouring down.

This past October, LOLA helped multiple families all having lost their sons- I never do keep track of patterns when working with clients, but this grave pattern was too loud to ignore. Each family experiencing the loss of a child, a brother, due to terminal illness or tragic accident.

Not a one, prepared for the end of life.

As we met with each family, we learned of their sons and how special each one was in their own unique ways.

One family, in particular, I fell in love with (yes, falling in love with my clients does happen) as her son was tragically killed in Houston- while I never knew the details of the loss, I knew within moments of connecting with her that she was one of the strongest and proudest mothers I would ever meet. Her rawness and transparency around her loss were only magnified by her faith. She will see to it that her son’s memory is recalled by his love for Halloween, his passion for technology, and the love for his grandparents, who helped raise him.

About 10 days after losing her son, I had picked this particular mother up for a meeting. As we engaged in small talk around how she was doing, she quietly asked me if I would be going to Houston any time soon. I answered that I had meetings planned and would be there the following week. She then asked if it was possible for me to bring her son home, as he had been cremated at a funeral home near the city.

Without a hesitant bone in my body, I said I would be honored.

As my daughter and I finished up our LOLA appointments in Houston that week, we knew our most important stop would be made right before getting back on the road to San Antonio. Meeting with the funeral director, my daughter and I sat and paused. Such a heavy few moments receiving the remains of a loved one; taking on the honor and privilege of returning what was left of an accident gone heartbreakingly awry.

We carried his remains to our car, placing him comfortably between jackets. Having made the cautious drive back to San Antonio, I delivered him to his mother on Halloween morning (his favorite holiday). I sat with his mother a few moments, admiring his beautiful, commemorative urn she had ordered for him. She shared memories of him and how much he enjoyed dressing up for the holiday- as a child, oftentimes preparing weeks in advance.

In those few minutes, I witnessed the familiar (yet painfully different) process of his mother tearing up in laughter over happy memories, leading to utter disbelief. Her son was gone.

Standing up to say goodbye, I wrapped my arms around her in the warmest hug I could offer, feeling both deeply saddened and humbled by the act of bringing her son home.

When people ask me what LOLA is and what we do, I say:

“Whatever it takes to offer relief in the saddest times of life. We are advocates for the Real Stuff- like bringing someone home.”