Puppy love

It’s 8 am, January 19th. It’s 36°, and I’m sitting on the patio drinking my coffee. I’m perfectly content-it’s not raining. I’m watching the girls play. I’m a dog lover since my first memories of a black poodle friend named Pepper and an English bulldog name Bubbles. I grew up with outside dogs, and I found true dog love when we got our Golden retreiver, Holly. She was my best friend during my worst possible time-high school. My dad would lament, “You cannot sleep with that dog!” But I did. We snuggled in my twin bed, and I slept in weird contortions around her. I made sure she was comfortable. An odd, unlikable professor once proclaimed during a boring history lesson that “no one will love you, be as loyal, as your dog.” The only thing I remember from college classes. Our Gigi died this fall. It left a hole in our family. She was my girl, and she would have been fine to be the only dog. By accident, we stumbled upon a litter of Goldens, and Dave fell in love. Soon we had 3 dogs. After Gigi died, one would have thought the 2 big girls would have been enough. Ellie, our baby, craved the company of another dog. Libby is a loner and would only play occasionally. Our breeder posted they were expecting in October. Molly, Dave and I started texting each other. “Please?” “Do we dare?” “We are crazy!” “It would make Ellie so happy!” So of course we did. The four of us could not agree upon a name. Harper, Peyton, Emma, etc. Molly and I finally teamed up on Harper. “Harper is not a name,” Dave protested. “Hello?! Harper Lee-the author of my favorite book To Kill a Mockingbird.  We debated for 3 hours on the way to pick up the baby. I finally threw out Scout Finch. I had my book on my mind. Scout was the nickname of Jean Louise Finch the book’s narrator. Surprisingly we agreed. Miss Scout Finch is as precious as I imagined- all Goldens are.  And just as I expected, Ellie has taken to her new best friend.  They play and cuddle, and Scout watches her and learns. Dave comes up and puts her in bed with me and she snuggles around my neck. I’m in love. I doubt we’ll ever have just one dog again. They love and need us, but they love each other as well.

Looks

Some of Jake’s former teachers saw him the other day at the high school. I guess there was a debate as to whether he looked “good” or not. I can see it from both sides. He is certainly not the same kid that disappeared from their classrooms on October 23, 2014.  Jake had lost weight by eating carefully and exercising. He was on top of the world. He had a girlfriend, had decided to go to Rose Hulman, had started making about $30.00/hour delivering pizzas. He felt good, confident, the world was his. His attitude was better than ever, and he was prepared to make his senior year his best. Then, as you know, tragedy struck.  For some reason, my dad took pictures of him in the hospital just before he became incoherent. The months that followed wreaked havoc on his body. The surgeries, tests, prednisone- they all left their mark. There were weeks when he didn’t eat. When he came home, he was pale, scarred and chubby cheeked from the prednisone. He was very weak and in constant pain from the nerve damage he incurred in his feet. He didn’t get out much that summer before he started college. It was silly to think back that we let him go. I remember my dad being upset because Jake looked so pale. He was so tired. It never occurred to me that he was even sicker than the year before- it seemed impossible. He’d been on the brink of death- of course he was tired. He was trying to go to college-of course he was tired. And then blood tests proved that it was unbelieveable that he was still conscious. When they started the chemo, I thought about him losing his hair. His hair had always been longer, and he had prided himself on it. It had been partially shaved when the shunt had been placed. None of that mattered. His hair would grow back. He lost more weight and the graft vs. host disease affected his largest organ- his skin- immediately after the transplant. His eyes are dark, his skin looks dirty, he has scratch marks where he has itched during the night. His hair has grown back to the point he needed it trimmed. He is still pale. The hopes that we’d spend time outside while living in Indy faded. I hadn’t expected Jake to feel so bad for so long. They chemo was brutal. It has taken a long time to recover from it. Now he is battling graft vs. host on the inside too. The prednisone has actually made his face fill out to where it looks healthy. When he first started working at Kroger, I told anyone who asked about him. I knew people wouldn’t recognize him. A friend told me that Jake had thanked them for recognizing him and talking to him. She said it made her want to cry. Jake spent many days and nights alone- of course Dave, Grandpa, or I was with him, but without the company of friends, he was very lonely. He has done a good job of reaching out to friends. He’d like to date again. Maybe people are nervous that he is still sick or fragile. His new immune system seems to be woking beautifully. I predict in a few years, no one will be able to tell he’s been through this ordeal. I have said to people, “You may not recognize Jake,” He does look different. One could argue that he looks bad, comparatively. I have turned the corner, along with others who’ve seen him the past year. “He looks good!” I now say. He’s come a long way. He still has a ways to go, but he’s happy, motivated and getting stronger. His attitude is amazing. He’s becoming very independent and is driven to get back on course. He’s beautiful…

Let it go

30 years ago I had the best closet to go through for dress up days and sorority parties. My friend, 60 years my senior, had saved about everything she owned. I barely remember her shopping for anything new except for my wedding. Her wardrobe to me was a 70’s goldmine. Years later after Katrina, she declared that she wanted to box up some clothes for the victims. Unfortunately our conversation turned awkward when I laughed thinking she was joking. No matter how bad things were, no one wanted her polyester pants suit from the 70’s. They’re perfectly good clothes. They had been well taken care of, but they were horribly out of style. Later I was helping my sister move to her first apartment. We had huge closets, and she had a lot of clothes.  I pulled out a sweater.  Ok, this has to go! No, you aren’t going to wear it. Even if you wanted to wear it, I wouldn’t let you. Seriously, when did you buy this? Sophomore year? Of high school? I promise-there is no occasion unless there is an 80’s dress up day at your job that you will wear that sweater… I convinced her to donate a lot of her old clothes. It was hard. She had a large collection that made her feel comfortable. She might need that. The truth is that many of us hoard clothes “just in case”. We might lose that weight. I might need a white blouse. By the time we can finally let it go, it is out of style. Recently, my goal was to give nice, new gifts to some of our teenagers. I didn’t want people to go to our Walmart. I wanted more for them. I encouraged the counselors to have them make wish lists of their wildest dreams. One girl was thrilled with her American Eagle jeans. They were new. They were hers. They weren’t the flared leg, used jeans with the stain while everyone else had the new slimmer, straight legs. I know that we pack up our old clothes that may have been shoved in the back of our closet for 10 years and think, someone can use this. Someone will be thankful to have this.  And some are. But the reality is that most of us spend way too much money on clothes we never wear and then we hang onto them for way too long. I urge everyone to shop smarter and donate sooner.

Moving on…

Jake asked me to go with him tomorrow for orientation at the university I had attended. It’s not the school he will finish from, but they have an excellent pre-engineering program. This was his idea. He couldn’t have made a more sensible decision. He wants to take physics and calculus, and he knows he needs to ease back into it. He looks good, he feels good, and his attitude is excellent.  This amazes me because he recently had to endure a liver biopsy and was diagnosed with graft vs. host disease. He’s being treated with prednisone. He has been on that drug before and knows it’s nasty.  Ironically graft vs. host wasn’t a devastating diagnosis even though it cost Liza her life. It destroyed her mitral valve and lungs. For Jake, having a biological, perfect match donor, it meant his transplant was a success. It decreases his chance of having leukemia again by 50%. It meant Molly’s cells had completely taken over, giving him a new immune system.  He has been fighting sinusitis and congestion. He has watched his parents battle the same thing- it put me in bed for a week. Luckily he’s felt pretty good despite his symptoms. For the first time in his life, he’s experienced just having a cold. He’s been working part time and socializing with friends. I found out, they have been skateboarding in the parking lot. The other day a friend was lamenting her disappointment with a couple of coaches her kids had. I knew the feeling. Both of my kids have faced disappointments in life. Had Jake been healthy, I can only imagine what might have been as far as his high school sports career. Instead, he never finished a season. He tried. His coaches liked him, but knew he wasn’t their strongest player. He always appeared to be out of gas.  I told her that I understood, but then I added more. Her daughter was doing very well. She had not let her disappointments define her. She moved on. I understood, as a mom, how hard it was to let my own heartbreak for my child go. For me personally, when my son was dying, I realized none of that stuff in the past mattered. We all face disappointments. Humility isn’t a bad thing to experience. Her child had risen above it and moved on. My child will too. We need to also let it go…