Ho-ly fuck! This month has been a goddamn whirlwind of emotions, and I am wrung out.
After my 6-month check up with Dr. Armour at the start of the month (the visit was the week after Doug somehow fell getting out of bed ONTO the driftwood lamp on my bedside table - sending it THROUGH his cheek and us to the UAB ER for the day), my blood tests showed significant and alarming decline in my kidney function (the highest Creatinine level and lowest eGFR to date). So, we immediately started follow up tests, but I also have been terrified of what even the possibility that my kidneys could return those values (even if in an acute state) means long term. It is especially upsetting because I have been doing SO much dietarily speaking to try to improve my kidney health - only to have this happen.
Literally the weekend after they called to tell me about my crappy kidney results was when H died. I know I wrote a whole post on it, but it sent me into a darkness of depression I haven't known since I was a teenager. Thoughts of suicide resurfaced in a very real way for the first time in decades - always tugging at the corner of my thoughts like they used to.
While I shared some of my grief experience with Doug, I knew he was not in a place to handle all of my angst nor to give me comfort. For God's sake, last Friday, I came home with a migraine (AFTER going to the store to purchase everything we needed for a wine tasting dinner the following night for his niece Maddie), and when I told him my head hurt and I felt awful, he showed his concern by CONSTANTLY asking me how I felt, if I needed anything because he wanted to be helpful and make things easy for me because he was sorry my head hurt and he didn't want to do anything to make it worse but did I need anything so he could be helpful but he wanted to make sure he wasn't bothering me (yeah - he was AMPED from a frustrating day at work and actually wanted me for an outlet so didn't know how to turn off).
Talking by phone or text to my friends about it - especially potentially sounding a health alarm that then starts the "just checking in" cycle - also didn't seem to present the comfort I needed. In standard form for me, I just turned into my self and pushed through.
The Thursday after H's death was a bucket list life-long dream come true - seeing Tori Amos live (from only 12 rows away at the Alabama Theatre). It was an incredible show - she played mostly recognizable songs (even though the tour was in support of her new album Ocean to Ocean) but almost every song was a new musical arrangement of the original. Sometimes the tempo was different, sometimes it expanded a 2.5 minute song to a 10 minute opus. It was enthralling - plus was supported by a kick-ass light show. It was amazing to see how the guitarist and drummer supported her by musically filling in between songs while she arranged her sheet music/notes or got a sip of water so there was never a lull in the entire almost-2-hour performance.
Throughout the show, I felt connected to my childhood self that discovered - and desperately needed - her music in Jr High School. I kept accessing the feeling of relating, being seen, having validation, and having something precious while listening to Little Earthquakes cassette on my Walkman in a school van on a field trip to Birmingham in 7th or 8th grade. I talked to that girl to let her know she wasn't weird, nothing was wrong with her, and someday she would find so many more people that we like her. Plus, she'd have the money to get great seats to experience that music and that performer LIVE.
I was hoping to have a break last weekend, but then I have the Friday night migraine, a migraine hangover Saturday, a migraine Sunday, and migraine hangover Monday. I had a bit of a weather headache Tuesday again, then yesterday was a shitshow in so many ways at work.
Late in the day yesterday, though, I got the call from VCA Becker that H's ashes were ready to pick up. I confirmed with Doug that (1) he was ready for me to bring them home and (2) he didn't want to be part of the pick up. So, I stopped by on my way home - expecting to be fine since I was pretty far in my grief.
But, I'd also decided that it wasn't just ashes coming home - it was our H. So, when I got back in the car, I talked to him just like I used to when I picked him up from the vet: "Hey, buddy! Ready to go home? We've missed you!" I meant it, too. And, then I started to cry. I talked to him the whole way home about how much we still love him and that we're so glad he doesn't have to feel back anymore but are so proud of how hard he fought through when he was sick.
When I got home - just like I did when he was alive, I walked through the door and announced "Look who I've got!" That was for me. That was to keep me connected to him and feel that surge of love I have always had for him.
In the bag I picked up were a beautiful carved wooden box holding H's ashes, a clay disk with his name on one side and his paw print on the other, and a small baggie containing some of his fur. Doug also teared up, and we both had to have a little moment to grieve.
We had some errands to run then Julie stopped by so it was almost bedtime when we put the box of ashes and all the other treasures into the keepsake box with a picture of H on the front I'd ordered to make sure he had a home. I asked Doug is he wanted to return it and just display the carved wood box, but he said the box I got was a good way to keep everything together and we could SEE him. So we put it together and put it on the mantle.
Doug doesn't know, but I kissed it and told H goodnight on my way to bed then I told him good morning today. Even though it's not as fresh and it's not at the top of my emotional pile right now, I am still grieving and I do still miss him. But, I also slept the best I have in weeks last night. Maybe I just needed to close the loop and have H back home.
