Samson, 3 years later….

Here I am three years after your passing and still it seems like yesterday. Tomorrow is your birthday, you would’ve been 15. Now is the time I should be worrying about you leaving me, not when you were 4 months shy of your 12th birthday.

I’ve tried not thinking about you, but that doesn’t working. I think about you 24/7, 365 (366). I caught myself crying at work yesterday. When I realized I was crying, I stopped what I was doing and wiped my face. I heard my 2nd momma say, ‘pull up your big girl panties and get over it’. It’s not the best mantra, but one to snap me out of the tears.

A friend of mine re-posted a post by Cora Neumann on Facebook yesterday, https://medium.com/@coraneumann/no-one-tells-you-this-lesson-from-loss-3b2bf0a6941d#.nhec2wpr1. I think it’s a wonderful post and everyone who’s suffering a loss of life of any kind (or is watching someone grieve), should understand it’s ok to let us grieve and mourn. You just need to remind us not to ‘die with the dead’.

I know my friend, nor Cora, intended for this post to seen by anyone in particular, but it has touched me in such a profound manner. I also know you were a Chihuahua and not human; however, you were my very best friend. We were spiritually|emotionally bound to each other from the moment I put you in that little box to take you home. You were a 1 lb 2 oz, full of piss and vinegar, Chihuahua. The box swallowed you! I had to dump you out of the box to show you to my siblings. You ran straight to me, barking at my brother and sister because they tried to pet you. It was over. I knew I’d give my life for you, but you never asked. You never asked for much of anything. I made sure you had the best of everything. I just didn’t see your death coming. If I would’ve, I would’ve hocked my life to have your valve replaced.

I miss you so badly. I don’t have anyone to tell my deepest thoughts to. I have no one to just talk to. I have no one to cry with. I knew you wouldn’t/couldn’t tell on me, and  you used to let me snot all over you and then let out a sigh of relief when I was finished. You knew when I was hurting emotionally, spiritually and physically, and you made sure you stayed on me for comfort. I have no one to do that now. The ladies in your pack, they don’t love me the way you loved me.

Our family always ‘gets on to me’ for still crying for you. The day I stop crying for you, is the day I take my last breath on this Earth. And most nights I pray for Jesus to come get me, I get so tired of fighting for a place in this rat race called life – without you.

I love you. I still need you. And ask Jesus every morning|night to give you a kiss right between your ears – your fur was so soft there.

Nope, I’ll never stop missing you, nor crying for you until we are reunited again.

One day Samson, one day we’ll be reunited and all of Heaven will be ours to explore together!

Mommy loves you. Please tell me how to make the tears stop, please!

Hugs and belly rubs!

Advertisements

The first of many first….

As the holidays are quickly approaching, I’m beginning to dread them. This will be the first time in 12 years I’ve had a Thanksgiving without Samson. The first time in 12 years I’ve had a Christmas without him.

The holidays always depress me. Always have as I think about everyone without. Samson made the holidays bearable. He loved turkey at Thanksgiving and wasn’t ashamed in the least bit to beg as long as it took for me to cave in. As much as he loved Thanksgiving and the food, he loved Christmas much more. I would buy him treats and toys, wrap them in paper, and he’d unwrap his gifts. If you think he was content with just his gifts, you’d be wrong. He unwrapped all of mine and shred all of the paper for me. Actually, I think he just liked to have a go at the paper. He thought everyone’s gifts were his. We’d wait until a few days before Christmas to put out the gifts because of him. He’d smell and paw no matter how many times we scolded him. He had a knack for finding my gifts. How he knew those were for me, I’ll never know.

There’s a lot of things like that which Sam did. He knew when I was on my way home if I had been gone on a business trip or vacation. He knew how to calm me when no one else knew I was frazzled. It’s those little things I miss.

While I may blog about my animals, I’m a very private person. No one gets in so I don’t get hurt. When Samson died some part of me died, too. I find myself shutting down and locking the door, again. I don’t want to but it’s a fight or flight instinct in us all, and I don’t have any fight left in me. I really want to fight, but it’s not worth the energy.

I have Maebelle and Molly, but it’s different when you have them within their first few weeks of birth. The bond is like that of any animal imprinting on their mother. Only I bonded to him as much as he bonded to me. He gave me stability at a time when my life sucked.

Tears can’t bring him back ’cause if they could, he’d have been home the minute I had him put down. A coworker’s brother wrote “Grief is the price we pay for love.” And the Bible tells us to rejoice in death for there is no more pain and cry at birthing because a life of pain lies ahead. I’m still trying to figure how to rejoice in Samson’s passing when I miss him so dearly.

Ranchrunamuck wrote “if the pain ever goes away, you didn’t do it right.” If this is the case, I did a freakin’ excellent job rearing my awesome, toe-biting, teeth snarling Samson.

I hope you are putting in a good word for mommy ’cause I’m gonna need it. See you on the other side Chubaca.

Muchos besos y abrazos mijito….

All life comes to an end…

ImageUpdate 29 Oct 13: Teddy has joined Sam in Heaven. My parents put him in their vehicle, I followed, and was their as their support system, for all the good it was.

They were hoping to hear better news, but it wasn’t to be.

God took Teddy home and some small part of me finds it comforting that Sam is no longer ‘alone’. Sam now has his friend to show around and play and enjoy life with no pain.

Funny how “living life out loud never gets easier, only shorter”. (my quote)

 

28 Oct 13: Teddy’s lymphoma is progressing really fast now. He’s having trouble resting, sleeping, eating, and doing his business. His soul is so willing to follow us all over the place, but his body is just failing him.

Tomorrow, he and I will take a trip to the vet, only he will not return home. My parents can’t bring themselves to do it, so I’ve taken on the task. This will be a grueling, cruel one for me because it’s only been 8 months since I had to put my little man down.

I keep telling Teddy to make sure he finds Sam and tells him I miss him more everyday. There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t cry for him. I tell him good morning and good night every day/night. I will see something or eat something, and think about Sam.

I keep praying and asking God for mental strength to get through tomorrow. However, the tears are flowing now, just thinking about tomorrow.

I’m a strong woman. Samson made sure of that before he left this Earth, but I was so much stronger when he was here. Still, after 8 months, I feel like I’m just going through the motions of everyday life.

I know all life must come to an end. My Bible teaches me that, life teaches me that, but it doesn’t make losing someone you love any easier.

Teddy has been part of our family from the day he was weened until tomorrow – 10 years! Ten years is a long time.

Teddy is able to accurately tell me and my sister when we are getting ready to have a migraine and when we come home from work with one, he reminds us we have it, least we should forget, smile. Teddy has accurately told my momma she was having issues prior to all three of her surgeries. Now who will tell us? Who will warn us?

Now Teddy is following us all around. Getting in our laps, something he’s never done. He’s making and keeping eye contact as we talk to him. The light in his eyes is gone. When he looks at you now, it’s as if he’s begging for help, begging for us to do something about the pain he’s in. I told him yesterday I was sorry, and I would help stop the pain, but that meant he won’t come back home. He just laid his head down on my knee, he knows. He understands his time on this Earth is over. He is ready for the pain to stop.

I write this now because tomorrow I will not be able to. I will do a memorial page to Teddy, just as I have done for Sam, but it will not be soon.

I’m sure he’s counting the hours before he’s at peace….