Thursday, November 16, 2017

It's been one week since you looked at me... Oskee #3

It's been one week since you looked at me,
Cocked your head to the side probably thinking I'm crazy.

When you have an intelligent dog, they tend to develop human characteristics. For Oskee, that meant cocking her head to the side when we spoke to her - as if she was listening and comprehending what we were saying. In fact, she probably thought we were crazy the way we doted on her. I mean, I've seen pets pampered, but Oskee - she was queen of the house. She ruled the roost. What Oskee needed, Oskee got. Those of you who knew her well knew this to be true.

But cocking her head wasn't her only seemingly human characteristic. Oskee had this crazy habit of seemingly
being able to sympathize with what was happening in our lives. If I was sad, she tried to nudge my arm as if to say, "play with me, let me cheer you up." If I was stressed, she paced and panted. If I sneezed, she cowered as if she was nervous about my health. But possibly the most impressive thing was the way Oskee got extremely protective of Brandi the first time, in particular, that she got pregnant. Oskee went from my sidekick, to sticking close to Brandi - as if Oskee understood that whatever was happening to Brandi, Brandi needed protection. And of course, Oskee's need to protect us and her understanding of feelings led her to lay obediently near Ami's bassinet whenever company was over and we lived in the city, and to often lay at the foot of Nadav's crib when we moved to Northbrook. Whichever baby was around, Oskee had the need to snuggle and comfort and protect. In the early days, I often napped with a baby in one hand and an Oskee head on the opposite side of my lap. Yes, we doted over her like crazy, but she also loved us to pieces.

It's been one week since you looked at me,
Cocked your head to the side and said, "I'm sorry"

Well, Oskee never really said she was sorry, but if I am honest, I think that she knew it was near the end. The few weeks before we lost her, she would frequently saunter up to me and simply stare into my face, coming close. I sensed a sadness. I guess I never believed she would actually leave us, but the truth is, I think we both knew it was coming and she often came to me, sadly, and seemed to say she was sorry she was leaving me, leaving us.

It's been one week since I looked at her...

I've been holding it together pretty well at work. I made it through the hellishly busy past few days. I was observed by my boss, and I can say that for the first time ever, I wasn't nervous. Usually, I am a basket of nerves before being observed, but this time, I just wasn't. I've been numb. I won't say I didn't care...but I have been pretty much just going through the paces of life without much care. I'm faking it well...for work and for the kids, but Brandi knows I'm still devastated. We cried ourselves to sleep last night after Brandi remarked that we might have to move because the house isn't the same anymore and because the memories are too hard. We assume it'll get easier, but I still don't know if I'll ever be the same.

It's been one week since I held her tight and watched the life drain from her eyes...

I have a lot of memories I still want to record, but those memories are for another post because right now, it's been one week since we lost our Oskee and I'm still crushed, I'm still crying, and I can't write much more.

Oskee, I miss you so much and love you so much. I hope you are somewhere running and chasing your Oskee-ball, pain free and happy. At least that's what I'm trying to picture....

Friday, November 10, 2017

Only the Beginning... Oskee #2


There's a music lyric for everything.  Of course, in this case, when Robert Lamm wrote these lyrics for the band Chicago, he was writing about the beginning of a beautiful relationship. This morning, all I could think about was the end of one. Isn't it ironic? Ok, I'll stop, but not really.

So I'm exposed - I pretty much live my life by quotes from two sources: Music Lyrics and Quotes from Richard Bach. My family will tell you, that when we flip around the radio from station to station playing REAL music, not most of the crap from the last few decades, it takes a nanosecond for me to start singing. In the realm of useless knowledge, I'm a lyric savant.

But that's not why we're here. I'm here to ponder the last 12 or so hours - these were the quietest hours I have spent in quite some time. There's nothing like the absence of the pitter-patter of dog nails on a wood floor to make the world feel hollow. And there's nothing quite like the feeling of coming home from euthanizing your dog to find the Amazon box with the auto-reorder of your dogs treats - her favorite treats that'll never be eaten by her.

Dead inside. That's the feeling I had when I woke this morning. There were snowflakes. Oskee loved the snow. If the sky was cryin' for Oskee, I suppose snow stack of pills, no Alon telling Oskee "no" when she tried to sneak a bit of his waffle or pancake. Silence. Dead.

And it's only the beginning...

Somehow, Brandi and I dragged ourselves to work. As you can see, I'm about as useful here as a stone. The assessments are piling up, and I can't bring myself to look at them. I am being evaluated next week by my boss, and I am starting a new unit - and I have no idea what dog and pony show I'm going to put on for him to justify my competence. We have 2 large literacy committee meetings next week, my passion of the last 5 years, and I cannot imagine standing in front of a group of colleagues right now. I mean, I nearly lost it within 5 minutes of the start of 1st period today.

And it's only the beginning...

In a few hours, I'm leaving with Ami for a soccer tournament in Memphis. We are driving 8+ hours for 3 or 4 soccer games. Last week, I was so excited to share precious moments with my son. Now I dread the silence of the car. At 11, he is quite aware for his age. He watched Nadav (8) for 2 hours or so while we were at the vet. We called to ask if they wanted to be at the vet to say a final goodbye, but they said they already did their goodbyes in the morning.  And when we got home after picking Alon up from daycare, we found that our two eldest boys had made us dinner. It was pasta......and they ended up eating it, but it was the gesture. It was the idea that they knew what pain we were in.  It was the worry they had because I hadn't eaten in 24 hours at that point. And with a weekend ahead of us, I have no confidence that I can be strong for my son - or at least as strong as he was for me last night.

And it's only the beginning...

I can't get the images out of my head. I can't help feeling guilty for what we did - even though the vet said it was time and that she was in pain. But it's the image - holding her for the last time, seeing her lying there for the last time...it's only the beginning and I don't know if the pain will ever go away and if I'll ever be whole again.

For now, I'm dead inside. The house is absent of the pitter-patter. No walks, no playing, no snuggles, no wagging tail.

And it's only the beginning...

And old habits die hard - I can't count the times that Brandi and I looked towards Oskee's couch last night to see what she was up to only to end up feeling dead inside. I awoke at 1am, per usual, but there was no one to let out to pee.

And today, I woke up and it was snowing. Maybe the sky was crying snowflakes which would have been appropriate because for most of her life, Oskee hated the rain. But there was to be no walk, no Oskee chasing me to pull the glove (monster) off my hand, no Alon asking to give Oskee treats after her pills, no Alon telling Oskee "no" as she tried to sneak a bite of his waffle. The sky is crying, and so is Oskee's family, and it hurts like hell.

And it's only the beginning...

I know you're out there. I know you've reached out. Like I said, I can't respond. My eyes hurt too much. I have no words. But yes, Pink, there is somebody out there. I appreciate it and love you all. So many of you loved Oskee and have your own stories and memories, and I know she loved so many of you.

Thursday, November 9, 2017

You Make A Grown Man Cry - Oskee #1


No joke. I got in the car this morning to drive one of the boys to a friend's house, taking a few minutes out of the few precious moments I may have had left together with Oskee, and the song playing when I turned on the car: The Rolling Stones' "You Make a Grown Man Cry." And yeah, that's pretty much true...because Oskee has made me cry...multiple times...as many of you know.

And so here I sit, once again, watching you and crying. And this time, I'm thinking it's real.

Look, I'll be honest: I am writing this for many, pretty selfish, reasons:
1) I don't think I can sit and talk about this over and over with people - even my friends. No offense. I'm a good listener (I think), but I'm not really good at sharing - especially something like this. I'm much better off alone, in the fetal position, in the dark.
2) I feel like I'm better at expressing my feelings in writing. This may or may not be true, but see #1.
3) I am getting old, and though I don't think I'll forget, I want to remember all of the details - and access them easily.

I am not writing this for sympathy. I know that if you're reading this, you care.

But if you're reading this, Oskee is gone. I would be a fool to publish this, only to have to issue a retraction. After all, if you've known Oskee, you know that she's had about 17 lives. When we've thought we were losing her before, she refused to give up. Even as I write this, I am not sure I believe the vet will tell us that she's in pain, that she's beyond saving, that it's time. I mean, SEVENTEEN lives. But she is gone, we are at a loss, and she is hopefully in a better place - running and chasing rabbits like she did in her youth.

And here I sit crying, and thinking about all of the other times I've cried. And I feel like an idiot because I'm crying over a dog - and in this world today, people have real problems. And so many of you are rightly agreeing with me and think I'm ridiculous for crying over a dog. I get it. I'm an idiot, it's embarrassing, and I'm acting like a baby.

But it's also painful. So very painful, and you also understand this if you really know me and you really know Oskee. Because you know that she is my best friend (besides my wife and my siblings). That day we went to the shelter down on Western, and we took her outside to the playpen, and she came right to me when I called "Oskee," she had our heart. She was smart, and she could sit, and she could give paw, and she knew she liked the Illini...and not some stupid name like Xena that the shelter people gave her. So we took her home - after a 2nd special interview because she had been abused and an extra day for the usual procedures and shots.

And while Brandi was off in the business world 4-5 nights a week before she became a teacher (when I thought we'd be rich), it was me and Oskee alone all of those nights in the condo down on Ashland. Me and Oskee playing "Oskee Ball" between the buildings for an hour each night after work. Me and Oskee on the couch while I graded papers at night (and yes, I allowed her on the couch the first time when we had agreed that she wouldn't be a couch dog - I mean, how could I resist my daddy's girl.

Yes, that's how she came into our lives. Before Ami, before Nadav, before Alon - there was Oskee. She was our first baby. The one that taught us responsibility: we can't go to happy hour, we have to get back to walk the dog; we can't just stay overnight, we have to take care of the dog; we'd love to spend the day in the suburbs, but can we bring our dog? The one that watched over all 3 of our boys when they were infants, so gentle and curious and protective.

And this is how she is leaving us - suddenly unable to stay totally balanced last night, a few falls - unable to get back up, unwilling to relax or lay down - seeming fighting to stay with us one more moment. And here I sit, just watching her, blubbering my eyes out, unable to imagine what life is going to be like tonight, tomorrow, the next day. Not sure how I'm going to ease the pain. Not sure what to do with myself. Not sure how to stay strong for my awesome wife and amazing kids.

So many memories I'm probably going to write about when I can't sleep over the next days, weeks, months - but I probably won't publish on FB as I realize most won't really want to read through my depression - I get it. They're mostly for me and Brandi - and maybe for the kids one day. For Alon who loves Oskee but won't remember. For Nadav and Ami who have only known life with her and went to bed last night crying. And for Brandi and me, whose lives have been so enriched by the presence of one sweet, simple, loving being, that we cannot even imagine what tomorrow will bring.

If you're still here, I know you care. I may not be able to talk about it, and I may not respond to messages/emails for awhile, but I know you're there and you care. And I know you'll understand that my heart is absolutely shattered - and I'm not sure it'll ever, ever be fully repaired.