Joe The Blog

One third of someone's life is a lot. Especially when that person is, ahem, over 40. Joe the Dog was with my husband and I for a third of our lives. And he was with our son 100% of his life up until a month ago. Gosh. I have always felt the "Acceptance" part of the established Five Stages of Grief by Ross and Kessler is the hardest and least definable, especially when you look at things on a time/space continuum. The moment we are blessed with a pet we know this moment will come. Unless we own a Galapagos Tortoise, of course. (Which is highly illegal and not at all encouraged by this blog.)  What does "Acceptance" really mean - whether or not we are talking about the loss of a pet, a job, an opportunity, or worse - a dear friend or family member? Does acceptance mean you are "Okay"? Does acceptance mean you are "Ready to Move On"? Does it mean you don't notice the pangs of emptiness anymore? Does it mean you should give up...

It's those little moments that make you remember what you are missing. Yesterday, we had some workmen come out to the house to give us an estimate on repairing the driveway. Upon greeting them at the door and walking outside to review the job at hand, I left the front door slightly ajar. A few minutes into our discussion, I instinctively glanced at the front door. I was expecting Joe. I was expecting Joe to totter out the door and make more new friends. Even in his old age, he never missed an opportunity to greet someone or somedog. Joe's personality was such that he, much like some of my beloved family members, had never once met a stranger. Whether it was the bug man, the plumber, the painters, ServPro or Charley the Snake Guy (from DeLand), Joe insisted on greeting everyone by way of thorough inspection. I could usually tell if someone could be trusted - not just by how Joe acted - but, by how they reacted to Joe. 99.9% Of them would pet him and then procee...

With Hurricane Florence about to make landfall - and millions evacuating as we on the coasts more and more frequently must do, I started thinking about the many times we have made that harrowing journey inland, away and to higher ground. In the midst of the fear and speculation and all of the unknowns and "what ifs" running through the minds of families fleeing these monster storms, there is nervous energy. The chaos of making darn sure you have plenty of gas before you leave, and if you don't, the ensuing panic of seeing lines of cars and "sold out" signs as you sojourn on. And then. Do you have the keepsakes? Did you board up sufficiently? When will we be able to come back home again? Will there be power? What about the trees - which ones could fall on the house? What about the lawn furniture and any other potential projectiles? You calm yourself with - we have us, we have the dog - we're good. And we're going. Joe the Dog helped make these panic...

That's the thing about a dog. He's just supposed to "be there". I mean, I sure don't want to be a jerk - but I always feel like I appreciated the fact that there would be a smiling and beautiful creature at my house to greet me. (No offense to my wonderful husband and son - who are truly amazing creatures and do greet me warmly). I sure hope Joe knew. I sure hope I didn't NOT illustrate to him how much I appreciated him. Because I sure am missing it now. No offense, "Jaws the Fish". But, seriously - I kept asking my husband, "Do you think Joe knows how much we love him?". He assured me he did. Did he? Do any of us? Do our children know they are the loves of our lives? Do our brothers and sisters? Do our parents? Do our in-laws and out-laws? Do our best friends? Do our teachers and co-workers - such as they may be? Well, I must admit I often did feel guilty that I was expressing my deepest love to my dog (which ...

One of the most amazing things about Joe the Dog that contributes to his presence being constantly felt, has been folks' reactions about his loss. Still. So many of you have expressed to me that you thought Joe was a good dog. The fact that you even thought about him. A dog. Means just so much. All beloved pets have special qualities and I like to think they have little souls. Joe's most special quality, that I honestly aspire to replicate, was his ability to welcome people and make them feel happy. While he could pass as a "watchdog" and was "protective" at times, Joe had the gift of making everyone feel warmly welcomed to our home, or really wherever he was at that time - on a walk, road-trip or just in a parking lot waiting in a car (with windows open and never on a hot day). Joe the Dog frequently jumped into the USPS Truck, the UPS Truck and other people's boats and cars. He loved people. He loved dogs. (He was, however, afraid of ants.) ...

I hadn't realized until Joe's passing that I had never lived in a house in Florida without a dog. Joe the Dog, specifically.  We couldn't have puppers in our Chicago condo, so as soon as we moved, we were able to have Joe and his brother Chester - who belonged to my in-laws. The brother dogs spent lots of time together and loved each other dearly. Chester had cancer pretty severely by the time he was 12, so we lost him several years ago.  It didn't occur to me how physically and literally empty the house would be until that first day I came home to work. No yellow dog on the kitchen floor. No sleepy-eyed Joe on his family room bed. No disjointed footsteps arriving from a deep slumber in the bedroom to the landing in the great room.  Even if he seemed slightly perturbed and perhaps mildly annoyed that I had inconveniently arrived home during peak sleepy-time, I was always so blessedly greeted by that sweet face. And, in his later years, able to feel I was here...

We picked up Joe's ashes this week. Our thoughtful and sympathetic Vet advised us not to look at all of the accoutrement until we got home. After yet another fresh round of tears, I gingerly placed Joe's ashes in the lavender toile wrapping on his dog bed. I/We still have not opened the contents. The balance between acting/being logical and practical and properly sentimental v. wallowing in complete and overwhelming grief and utter sadness is tough to achieve. With any loss. There's also that guilty feeling of experiencing things and living daily life - never mind actually having moments of happiness. Funnily enough, we were asked to puppy-sit for a dear friend this weekend. I knew it would help to temporarily eliminate the lonely and stagnant feeling settling over the house. I further knew it would be a fun and happy responsibility for our young son. Puppies are a welcome distraction when one is trying to avoid anything more serious or pressing, because they cause a ...