Trying to start writing about Lila reminds me of when I was a kid and had to do some assignment for school - usually some important project that we had to hand in, but were given a few weeks to start researching and then perfecting our finished product. I was always excited to start but rarely ever satisfied with the finished product - my analyst, years later, called this "setting the bar too high". It sets you up for failure if you can never meet your own standards; I would never do this to a dog, I always set my guys up to succeed and to feel good about their strength, cleverness, and place in the world. Yet I continually do this to myself - and the more important a thing is to me, the harder it is to get it right. A fine line between self esteem - I wouldn't put my name on an essay I didn't KNOW would get at least an A - and self sabotage (sometimes, we have to just get a thing done and move on).
Starting to write about Lila has felt like this project from school, that I can't quite get going on, but that I know is one of the most important things in my life. On any given day, I will make muffins, prune the cedars, dust the kitchen, work with my clients, walk Daniel - just go about my daily routines - with these vistas of experience swirling in my head, things I need to share, to write, that want so badly to get out. But I don't think I can find the words; I'm a good enough writer, I suppose, but I'm not sure anyone can get this sort of thing onto paper coherently.
Last week's events however have left me no choice. Imperfect as it will be, as it must be, here it is. My darling Lila. The dog who changed my life. The sweetest of all sweet peas. My little bunny.
Lila is dying.
And there is nothing I can do about it, despite tables groaning with supplements, despite organic quinoa and fresh rabbit and spirulina, homeopathy - despite surgery, medications, chirporacty, acupuncture, research - endless research - and above all, boundless, limitless universes of love - she's going to leave me, and soon. Any day now. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe next week. But soon. The hole in the bed has appeared. Her cancer has returned and this time with a vengeance. Everything we're doing now is palliative. This - damn miserable unfair wretched bloody disease - cannot be stopped.
And the worst thing is I can see it in her face and hear it in her breathing. She is far more tired than I am, and God knows I am plenty tired now. She's only half here anymore. Half of her already walks in spirit. Only through the immeasurable grace that is Lila does she hang on at all. Only through her heart knowing how shattered mine is does it beat another minute. I can feel this, and I can't spirulina it away this time.
So now we have to face the biggest challenge of all; the batttle I go into knowing I cannot possibly win. The biggest challenge of all, to say, I will not surrender, but I know I cannot win.
The challenge now to heal. Yes - heal, heal into the death of the most important being in my life,my spiritguide, my soulfriend, my sweetheart. Because if there is anything that is clear right now - clear to me in any way that is eternal, that transcends this daily work of mine with numbers, balances, science and the material - it's that one can only die two ways; healed or unhealed. No one avoids the process. No one avoids the pain. But one can go in wholeness and completion, or in anguish and regret.
And the quality of Lila's death depends on my wholeness, my healing, my spiritual strength for it to be a healed and loving passage. I know she doesn't want to leave me. I know her whole being aches for those happy days when she was a young dog and we explored the forests together, played on the beach in NS, faced each challenge (and there were many) together, with confidence and determination and love.
But she has to go, and I have to be healed. There is nothing in herself that needs healing; Lila is perfect in her heart. And there is nothing in our relationship that is stressed, wrongful, that I need to amend; I have never been anything but a good Mom, I will say this with pride. Nothing is perfect and I wish I'd been less busy, less wrapped up in my own stuff, had more money. But I look at the 13 years and I cannot fault myself. I put her first, I did when she ruptured her cruciates at 3, the little minx, and I put her first now. Some will call me crazy, but those "some" do not matter. I find no fault with myself here, try though as I might. Yet, there is healing that needs to come. In me. So she can leave in love and wholeness.
And you know we humans would rather "be ruined than changed" yet change I will, and fast.
So, finding that peace, that wholeness, is the purpose of this blog. To tell her story, to keep this precious, sacred endtime forever alive, but to also find my healing in it as well. Because that was her role in life, aside from the sheer intrinsic beauty that dogs are, in their simplicity, open heartedness and joy, the special ones come with a purpose. So this is my last gift to you my little bunny, and the only one that really ever mattered. That somehow I can heal, release myself form my own patterns of self sabotage and frustration. In healing you, I brought myself closer, step by difficult step. In letting you go, the circle completes. I will find my power in your memory, the place inside me that YOU created, the work I do, the person I've become.
For you, Radley - anything.
Mommy loves Lila - so much love Lila.
Starting to write about Lila has felt like this project from school, that I can't quite get going on, but that I know is one of the most important things in my life. On any given day, I will make muffins, prune the cedars, dust the kitchen, work with my clients, walk Daniel - just go about my daily routines - with these vistas of experience swirling in my head, things I need to share, to write, that want so badly to get out. But I don't think I can find the words; I'm a good enough writer, I suppose, but I'm not sure anyone can get this sort of thing onto paper coherently.
Last week's events however have left me no choice. Imperfect as it will be, as it must be, here it is. My darling Lila. The dog who changed my life. The sweetest of all sweet peas. My little bunny.
Lila is dying.
And there is nothing I can do about it, despite tables groaning with supplements, despite organic quinoa and fresh rabbit and spirulina, homeopathy - despite surgery, medications, chirporacty, acupuncture, research - endless research - and above all, boundless, limitless universes of love - she's going to leave me, and soon. Any day now. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe next week. But soon. The hole in the bed has appeared. Her cancer has returned and this time with a vengeance. Everything we're doing now is palliative. This - damn miserable unfair wretched bloody disease - cannot be stopped.
And the worst thing is I can see it in her face and hear it in her breathing. She is far more tired than I am, and God knows I am plenty tired now. She's only half here anymore. Half of her already walks in spirit. Only through the immeasurable grace that is Lila does she hang on at all. Only through her heart knowing how shattered mine is does it beat another minute. I can feel this, and I can't spirulina it away this time.
So now we have to face the biggest challenge of all; the batttle I go into knowing I cannot possibly win. The biggest challenge of all, to say, I will not surrender, but I know I cannot win.
The challenge now to heal. Yes - heal, heal into the death of the most important being in my life,my spiritguide, my soulfriend, my sweetheart. Because if there is anything that is clear right now - clear to me in any way that is eternal, that transcends this daily work of mine with numbers, balances, science and the material - it's that one can only die two ways; healed or unhealed. No one avoids the process. No one avoids the pain. But one can go in wholeness and completion, or in anguish and regret.
And the quality of Lila's death depends on my wholeness, my healing, my spiritual strength for it to be a healed and loving passage. I know she doesn't want to leave me. I know her whole being aches for those happy days when she was a young dog and we explored the forests together, played on the beach in NS, faced each challenge (and there were many) together, with confidence and determination and love.
But she has to go, and I have to be healed. There is nothing in herself that needs healing; Lila is perfect in her heart. And there is nothing in our relationship that is stressed, wrongful, that I need to amend; I have never been anything but a good Mom, I will say this with pride. Nothing is perfect and I wish I'd been less busy, less wrapped up in my own stuff, had more money. But I look at the 13 years and I cannot fault myself. I put her first, I did when she ruptured her cruciates at 3, the little minx, and I put her first now. Some will call me crazy, but those "some" do not matter. I find no fault with myself here, try though as I might. Yet, there is healing that needs to come. In me. So she can leave in love and wholeness.
And you know we humans would rather "be ruined than changed" yet change I will, and fast.
So, finding that peace, that wholeness, is the purpose of this blog. To tell her story, to keep this precious, sacred endtime forever alive, but to also find my healing in it as well. Because that was her role in life, aside from the sheer intrinsic beauty that dogs are, in their simplicity, open heartedness and joy, the special ones come with a purpose. So this is my last gift to you my little bunny, and the only one that really ever mattered. That somehow I can heal, release myself form my own patterns of self sabotage and frustration. In healing you, I brought myself closer, step by difficult step. In letting you go, the circle completes. I will find my power in your memory, the place inside me that YOU created, the work I do, the person I've become.
For you, Radley - anything.
Mommy loves Lila - so much love Lila.
3 comments:
My heart is breaking for you, Cat. I'm so sorry....
Donna F.
Thank you Donna, it's a heartbreaking journey allright, but I always knew this day would come and atleast we don't walk it alone.
I take great comfort from knowing how many others out there love and care for us and know what we are facing. Those who don't understand, who think this is "just" a dog - well, who can explain to them? Why even try?
My heart breaks with you and as i read your blogg i too shed tears of you heartache. I Feel your pain as i have been there too. But as time has it hearts will heal and God will guide you and with time we will all walk the rainbow bridge with our fur kids with all of our health renewed we will once again be happy and whole.
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