Thanks for joining me!

Good company in a journey makes the way seem shorter. — Izaak Walton

I read that it was therapeutic to write a Thank you letter to the one you have lost and that struck me as a really good idea.

But where to start?

I am creating an outline below of the things I am thankful for and will dedicate a post to each of these in time:

1. Coming home from work
2. Making us laugh
3. Unconditional love
4. Enjoying outdoors and making us enjoy it even more
5. teaching me about:
6. Responsibility
7. What animals know – they have different skills we don’t
8. Caring for the planet, for other species
9. How to be silly – songs and games
10. How to stop worrying about things like work – life is more important
11. How to love each other

Today is one of the hardest days of my life. Today, our best friend Jake went to sleep in peace eternally.

We didn’t see it coming.

Jake was a healthy cockapoo who had been hiking all his life and fed only home made food since being a small puppy. Anyone who met him was shocked at his age because he was so playful – always up for throwing balls or long walks, and happy.

Happy, but he was slowing down – we saw that. As a puppy Jake was “hyper” – always running and playing. He had settled into longer nap times, and had a lot more interest in cuddling on the couch. In the last year he acquired 3 floor beds. one cuddle up bolster sided bed and two large flat supportive beds (because he like to splay out – completely stretched out). These were so he didn’t have to jump up to a couch – we saw it was getting a little bit harder – but we would give our 28 pound pup a lift if we were around.

We didn’t see it coming.

Eric brought Jake to the apartment in Philly from our home in the mountains in New York three weeks prior. Last weekend, I noticed Jake wasn’t feeling well, not eating much, not wanting to walk much, just not feeling well. He started drinking a lot of water and then over Christmas started breathing heavily and rapidly. We called the vet.

On Friday Dec 28th, Eric returned from the vet around 1PM. I stopped filing documents to unlock the door to let Jake and Eric in. Eric had tears streaming down his face. He pulled me to him and told me the vet’s news – it was bad. Jake had terminal cancer. Tumors originating in the spleen, filling the lungs and traveling all over his small precious body. The vet wanted to put him to sleep that day. Eric said he needed to talk to his wife and the vet said “take a few days”.

I said No. No. No. No. No. We cried. We balled. I wanted to throw up. We questioned, doubted, bargained for those few days. We planned to take Jake to the park in the AM and carry him to the lake where he likes to run.

But there was no visiting the park. Friday night was a sleepless nightmare as Jake’s health deteriorated rapidly. He was in pain, whimpering, staring into space, couldn’t sleep. We took turns trying to comfort him. We told him we loved him. We wept and tried and wept and cried.

On the floor in the dining room, Jake came to me. He lifted his paw and gave me a “scratch-scratch”. He then laid down. Jakey does that move when he wants something. When he wants me to play ball, when he wants me to play with toys, when he wants to go out, when he wants some of my breakfast. When he wants something from me. This time, I couldn’t give him what he wanted – relief from this horrible pain and suffering. He wanted it to end. That is how I interpreted it anyway. And how I cried and looked at his sweet root beer colored eyes and told him we would help him soon – in the morning. That is when we decided that we would not be going to any park and we didn’t have a couple of days, but instead we would be going to the vet in the morning. We looked at each other throughout the night. He suffering, me crying and trying to give reassurances. At some point your tears stop being about your personal loss and more about the pain your loved one is going through.

The longest night in the world was followed by the saddest morning and surely the days to follow.

Eric called at 8AM. Eric drove. I had Jake’s favorite fluffy blanket on my lap in the car and Eric laid Jakey on top where he sunk into the blanket and my arms. He was quiet. For the record, Jake hates car rides and is never never ever quiet in the car. He laid without moving, so very exhausted and so very ill. My poor poor baby.

At the vet they immediately took us into a room with a table. They put Jake on the table with his blanket fluffed up under him – puffing the blanket under his his little head into a makeshift pillow.

He received a sedative which relaxed him. He had not been able to relax all night with the pain, the labored heavy breathing, the whimpering, the need to drink water, the stumbling, and the confusion.

He was peaceful now, and we were given the opportunity to say our goodbyes. We took turns holding him, looking into his eyes and telling him how much we love him. I kissed his head and told him he would feel better very soon and how brave he was.

It was time. A simple injection and Jakey Bear went to sleep. The vet checked his heart rate in a few minutes and it was still. Eric closed Jake’s eyes. We were left alone to weep and grieve. That was only the start of what I believe will be a long grieving process.

Soon we will receive a paw print and Jake’s ashes. Not much to represent the beautiful life of the sweetest, most loving, happiest part of our lives for thirteen years. All reduced to that. We are taking solace in our memories.

We knew this day would arrive – he was thirteen after all. But now? Without warning? I thought he had the flu. Had I known, I would have spent every single waking minute making him happy – trying to give back in some way all that he had given to us.

We are in shock. We are distraught. Every where I look I see signs of him. The grocery store frozen vegetables (for his home made dog food), made me weep. The place where he ate, the smell of him on the blanket. The toy box, his little coat hanging in the closet – ready with his new Christmas booties for another winter season. The message from the new potential dog walker, his empty bed with his name sewn in “Jake”. Pictures.

I don’t want to forget how it felt to pick him up, how his head would lay on my lap and he would look up at me. I don’t want to forget how it felt to feel his warmth in bed at night and be awakened by his dream barks, how he would push into me if he got cold or needed to know I was there sleeping with him. I don’t want to forget how his hair felt running my fingers through it on his head, or giving him ear rubs for itchy ears. I don’t want to forget how he would raise his head and say “roo – roo” and prance around in joy to see me and then rush off to get a toy for us to play with.

I don’t want Jakey Bear to ever fade. My beautiful boy, I will love you forever.