I recall the last drop-off vividly; knowing it’d be a long time before I’d see you again. You’d always eagerly await being dropped off for daycare, both you and Kira eager to play. I don’t know why I decided to carry you in that day, but as I got to the main door, you were already squirming to get out of my arms. I held you tighter for a bit and told you to wait a minute, remember? You turned your head around quickly and let me get one last nuzzle on your neck, kiss on that heart on your head, and “I am in yours, and you are in mine,” before the staff took you out of my arms. I remember you looking back at me with your happy face as I said, “Be good! Have fun! We’ll be back soon!” And then you were off to play.
That’s the last memory I have of being with you. And it’s been playing on repeat in my head every day. Seeing your face looking back at me with those big brown eyes. You smiling at me before turning forward. Your tail wagging and your left leg hanging down on the staff person’s left arm. I don’t know why I’m so hyper-focused on that moment. Maybe I’m looking for some sign that you were telling me this was the last time I’d see or touch you.
In January when we started having to sit next to you to watch you eat your food, we should’ve known you were telling us something. We should’ve realized your belly hurt, and it was likely that tumor we didn’t know about. And that was likely the cause of your kidney failure. But neither we nor your doctors would know all that information at that time. Based on repeated blood readings, we all thought it was just your kidneys and treated it as such.
By February, two weeks before we were scheduled to leave for our trip, the doctors started to talk about Doggy Dialysis. Truth be told, Kirby … I was terrified at that moment. The thought of any procedure requiring sedation terrified me. And if you needed it more than once, how many times would you be alone afterwards when we were gone for 2 weeks?
Your Daddy didn’t know it at the time, but I felt split in two at that moment. Cancel my vacation plans altogether? Or … Go on the 2-week Australia / New Zealand cruise that my Father-in-Law graciously gifted us?
A glimmer of hope arrived a week before our vacation. Your chief doctor called to prescribe medications before starting Doggy Dialysis, as it was the last resort. They wanted to see if it’d help your kidneys respond and then check your labs in a month. However, they would need to do more bloodwork before starting them.
We miraculously took you in for bloodwork that same day, and the doctor sent prescriptions to the mail-in pharmacy before your check-in for your “vacation.” The medications would arrive the next Monday, and the “hotel staff” were given specific instructions, along with other detailed instructions we discussed before dropping you off.
I hope you know we did our best to take good care of you. We wish we did better with your teeth and your diet. Maybe if we did, you would have lived much longer (and had more teeth). I know you were about to turn 12 in July and that you were reaching the “life expectancy” age range. But I thought we would have much more time, hoped for many more years with you. But I just wasn’t expecting this, now of all times.
Maybe something in my heart knew, or had an inkling but refused to acknowledge it. About 18 months ago when I heard about this trip, I was excited to go; Australia had always been my dream vacation. We felt it would be easy to find a person to take care of you for 2 weeks. Family and friends loved you and would be willing to be your temporary caretakers. But when Kira joined us, we knew it would be too much to ask for them. Boarding you both was our only option, though we never wanted to do it. Leaving you with strangers who didn’t know you and your quirks didn’t appeal to me.
Right before Christmas last year, I started to prep the two of you that we’d be gone for a while. During cuddle times, I would take your head and smooth your entire face – eyes and velvety ears, too – with my thumb. Then I’d look into your eyes to say, “I am always in your heart, just like you are always in mine.” Which I eventually was shortened down to:
“𝑰 𝒂𝒎 𝒊𝒏 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒔, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒊𝒏 𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒆”
That was my mantra to both of you. Or for me. Or whatever. It just helped calm me down.
In reality, it was about a year before the trip that I started to have doubts. That was when you started to get sick. We had just learned that your kidney blood levels were elevated, and we had to start you on a special diet. You ate kibble until you lost your appetite, then we switched to canned food. During this time, your kidneys never improved. After a while, you had no interest in the wet food either, so we added steamed vegetables, which seemed to improve your appetite.
Next week will be 2 months, and I am still struggling so hard to explain to everyone how hard it’s been since you’ve been gone. I’ve tried to write them down in some meaningful way that any person can understand, but everything just comes out hazy and incoherent.
So instead, I decided to write you a series of letters. After all, it’s you that knew me best.
You’ve seen me pour over my laptop, writing on my blog (not lately, though) whenever I felt I had something to say. More so, you grumpily posed and then sat next to me on the couch or bed, while I posted pictures and wrote “stories” of you on Instagram.
Point is, you have always been at my side whenever I wrote something whenever I wanted to share my life experience — whether good or bad, or when being assertive about a particular issue.
You have always been at my side. Curled up in your bed. Next to my desk.
It breaks my heart every time I think of the places you’re not everywhere I go, everywhere we’ve been. Even everywhere we may have shared some sort of memory.
Barking whenever we see cows (“Ma-ooohs”) or horses at the side of the road? Yep. Getting excited when knowing we’re “almost home” from a car ride or a walk? Absolutely.
Saying “Big bed?,” when I’m read to go to bed and seeing you get excited, jump off the couch, and run to the bedroom? Every single night.
Yes, I know that grief will fade in time; and that you will always be in my heart, but as of now, I can’t seem to stay above water. Everywhere I look, see, or touch, I think of you, and I wish you were here. I want my shadow back; I want my bathroom buddy, my toothbrush companion. I want to see you when I step out of the shower, waiting patiently for me to finish up. I want to pick you up and hold you until you squirm your way out of my arms. I want to sit on the couch and have you bury yourself in between my legs. I want to go to sleep with you next to my side on my left hip.
You were my security blanket. The person who made me feel safe. Having you there was such a comfort. I never realized how much you were until you were gone. I miss your greeting whenever we come home from being out, even though I am secretly hurt that you run to Daddy first. Though I’m pretty sure you did that to “punish” me. Omg I love your sloppy kisses of happiness; bad breath and all. It just makes it so much harder as you’re the one being I want to comfort me at this moment. But it’s you that I’m grieving about.
That’s a silly term, don’t you think? The English language being the English language never fails to confuse even the those who use English as their primary language. Obviously, an “anchor” is something that is used to keep an object in place. And “aweigh” is derived from the Dutch word “wegan,” which translates as “to weigh.” Put the two words together and you think it would mean to weigh a person down. But nope. It’s an English nautical term that basically means, “Lift up that dead weight and let’s get movin’!”
Except that’s not exactly what I’m doing these days. In fact, I’m doing the literal (or maybe not so literal?) opposite.
Batten Down The Hatches!
I can’t explain my roller coaster moods lately. For the most part, I feel like I’m doing fantastic. Things are looking good on the horizon. Work is improving (getting off the graveyard shift soon — woohoo!). I’m working on my health; trying to get my body working properly. I’m overall happy where I am in life
I admit, moving into the 5th decade of life for me was difficult. It wasn’t just the thought of being old. It was the physical aspect of being old. Like, when did it get so hard to get off the floor after bending down to pick up a paperclip? Or how come my knees crack after crossing my legs for so long?
I could have gone down the rabbit hole about other “getting old” worries such as, “I’ll need hip surgery,” or “I hope I have good health insurance,” or “What about my retirement fund?”
But I didn’t. I figured, I can only deal with the here and now. And the here and now consisted of Hubby & me and our small postage-stamp house on a postage-stamp yard with our two adorable dogs. Apparently we are what they call DINKWADs — “Dual Income No Kids With A Dog” (or in our case, two).1
And then this past weekend, I stumbled onto an Instagram post that said:
Being overly independent is a defense mechanism from being constantly let down.
For some reason, that quote struck me hard. Being the couple we are, I shared the post with Hubby in the next room and texted that I had just realized that this was the reason I felt I had to take on (in this case) planning my mom’s 80th birthday2 party on my own because I didn’t want to feel let down NOR did I want HIM to feel let down with me.
At face value, I pretty much took it on myself to believe that it was because I always felt I could never measure up to what I felt my parents thought I could be. That I always felt I let them down. I mean … I *am* Filipino. And I *am* Catholic, aren’t I?
Thar She Blows!
But then I brought this up to someone else. Someone I felt I could talk to without fear or judgement. Someone that had no vested interest with my circle of family / peers. Someone who is my therapist. And she brought up something else.
She said, “Yeah! And don’t you think that you are that way because of constantly being let down from going through infertility treatments?”
BOOM
Just like that, I’m back to feeling like I’m 28 years old again and frustrated that I can’t get pregnant. Then in my head, 25 years goes by in a flash along with all the frustration, sadness, anger, and heartbreak. It feels like every single tear I shed in that moment was a memory I kept from those years.
It’s as I’m mourning my loss once again. This time it’s piece by piece. Bit by bit. Not just just the fact I could get pregnant, but the other losses too. The years I lost is being so focused on everything fertility-related. The stress and lack-of-control I had during that time period. Oh gosh, the time and money spent trying to get pregnant.
Then there’s the loss of all the milestones or “firsts.” First smile, step, word. First day of school (for every year until they graduate). First job, first car, first house. Graduation Day. Wedding Day. Grandchildren.
There was just so much loss.
However, there is one loss I feel greater than the others, especially now that I’m growing older in age. You’d think it would be the one about aging without having physical support around when it’s need. Yes, that is a concern; but for now, Hubby and I maintain that we plan to go down together with the Titanic.
Walking The Plank
No … The loss I feel most at my age now is friendship. Which was something my therapist and I talked about a lot during that last session.
I have always said to people that I am an introvert. Yes, I smile and talk a lot. Yes I can be bubbly and animated in public. Yes I’m good at public speaking. But once the mic is turned off and the lights go down, I am most comfortable in the corner at the back of the room. If given a choice to go out for a night around town on vacation or sit on the beach and watch the moon rise, I’d choose the latter.
With that in mind, it’s always been hard for me as an adult to make new friends. The friends I keep now are few and we often don’t see each other. But when we do, it’s like nothing has changed. We know each others’ nuances and are comfortable with each other. THOSE friends are once in a lifetime friends.
Hornswaggled & Marooned
In my 30’s & 40’s, I kinda chalked my lack of new friends to my introvertedness. And I also knew it was because most of them were now married with kids, leaving them little time or energy to hang out at night with someone without. PLUS, who would want to be friends with someone who needed a friend to vent about her inability to get pregnant while she either wants to vent about or praise the virtues of motherhood? I would be a horribly disappointing friend, wouldn’t I?
That would be the self-deprecating defense mechanism talking, as my therapist rightly pointed out. Truth is, I lost many high school and college friends around that period of time. Not due to any ill-fated reason, of course. It was simply because our lives took different paths. We simply lost touch with one another or became Facebook Friends where I could see their kids grow up before my own eyes. Our lives just didn’t seem to mesh with our lifestyles.
I always thought that it would be easier to make friendships at my age because there would be the potential for more empty nesters. Except, most people around my age had children later in life. Plus conversation would eventually turn to kids and grandkids — which, for the record, I have NO problem talking about 3 — and for most new acquaintances, it still seems like an awkward talking point to them when I tell them that we tried to have kids but it wasn’t meant to be.
At this point, my therapist asked if I had ever looked to see if their were any online support groups for those who were child-free and were feeling the same losses I was. And that’s when I had to chuckle.
Shiver Me Timbers
You see, 20+ years ago when I started searching for any type of support for women going through infertility, I wasn’t able to find anything. Keep in mind, there wasn’t any websites like Resolve at the time. Reddit was not even born yet. Facebook was still a baby. It was difficult to find anything. Any resources I found were from doctors offices.
I admittedly tried going to a live support group meeting, but the introvert in me was so embarrassed about crying in front of strangers, so I just never went back.4 So I just googled. And I stumbled on Mel’s website. And I found blogs and started to read. And in March of 2007, Apron Strings for Emily was born.
Over the past week, I have once again googled to see what kind of support is out there for me. I am happy to report there are many resources available depending on what I might be interested. Introverted as I am, I’ll likely try an online support group.
I am 100% grateful for this space. It has allowed me a place to bear my soul for the world to see. While many people in real life (IRL) know about this little corner of my world, I like to think this is my safe space where I can just be me.
Sometimes I forget I still have this space to do this. Sometimes I feel exhausted and lack the energy to write down all the crappy emotions I have in swirling in this head of mine. But I know I have to find a way to manage all get these negative, self-deprecating thoughts out of my head. And while I may not feel that I have the support of those who could completely understand the same fears and losses I have gone through (YET, working on that support group research), at least I have this space to talk about it. And not have to worry about letting anyone else — even myself — down.
Only the BEST 80’s childhood movie EVER
What do the Millenials say? I was THIS many years old when I found this out (too old, I guess). ↩︎
