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| In Memory of Miss Cookie Miyuki | |||
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 10/17/87 - 10/22/03 about losing miss cookie home archives contact us
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Wednesday, December 31, 2003 This is the last day of 2003 and in one way, I feel like when the ball drops in Times Square, I will be leaving Cookie behind in 2003. Sounds really final and depressing and awful, doesn't it? I felt like that on New Years Eve 1987 when Papo died and in 1996 when Mamo died too. Then, it was really hard for me to leave behind the idea of their respective passings because I in part felt like I was leaving them behind too. Of course, I know that isn't true, but losing them really hit me hard and I didn't know how to move on. I guess I don't know how to accept loss. When I was really young, I remember my parents always told me I was lucky for so many reasons (which they would talk about). One of the reasons I was lucky was because I had both sets of grandparents AND a great-grandmother alive. My dad told me recently he always considered me lucky in that regard because he never really knew his grandparents and to be able to have any memories at all of them was something he always wanted. When my grandfather (my dad's father) passed away when I was six, I still remember wondering if that meant I wasn't lucky anymore. When my great-grandmother died a few years after that, I wondered what was happening. Was my luck running out? Maybe. But as long as I had Mamo and Papo around, I would always be lucky because they were my shining stars and they meant more to me than almost anyone in the world. When Papo got sick and died though, I felt like I wasn't lucky and had grandpa continued to live, Papo would be here too. I know now of course that it wasn't because grandpa died that Papo died. I did however know that I had to hold onto those people or beings that enriched my life and made me a better person. So when I lose someone who has done so much to not only make my life fuller, but also for those around me, I don't know how to say good-bye. Each day though, things get easier and I know I can't feel too guilty if I don't think about Cookie all the time or if I enjoy playing with or seeing other dogs. I already know that I will never be able to really let her go because honestly, I have never been able to do that when anyone I love passes. Maybe that's unhealthy, but it doesn't matter -- I do what I have to do for me right now. posted by lisa | linkorama | | Tuesday, December 30, 2003 There are days like this evening when I know I am moving on and I hate it. I thought getting through the holidays would be much harder without Cookie than it has been. Maybe I have incredibly supportive people in my life, but I wish I were sadder. Do I expect to be in tears every night? No. Some days, I feel really down and others I only think of her in the morning when I wake up, when I come home and right before I go to sleep. What do I expect of myself? I dunno what I expect or what I feel. I guess writing in the blog isn't the best thing to do when I am feeling so exhausted because I am right now and can't really think straight. **sigh** posted by lisa | linkorama | | Monday, December 29, 2003 When Cookie used to come with me to my parents house, there were certain areas of the house she especially enjoyed and felt were "her space." From the time we first brought her home, she always loved to live underneath the piano bench. So when she came with me to the house I grew up in for the first time, she managed to find her way under the piano. She also liked the area near the window in the living room that faced the street. When Cookie first passed away, my dad told me that Cookie loved me and that he knew I wasn't just anyone to her. He shared a story with me that proved I was wrong contrary to my belief that Cookie could care less if I was around her. Many times, I would bring Cookie with me to my parents', even if I was going to hang out w/ my friends from home. When this happened, I of course left her in the house. One time, my dad watched as Cookie watched me leave through the front door. She then walked to the window area and sadly watched me leave. "The reason she sleeps by that window is to wait for you to come home," my dad told me. I think about that all the time now and wish she would still be there waiting for me each time I walk through my parents' door. posted by lisa | linkorama | | Sunday, December 28, 2003 I keep thinking about Cookie and what a wonderful dog I had. What I keep wondering though is if I was good enough an owner/mother/person to her. Cookie had an undeniably unique personality which sometimes made it a challenge to play with or spend time with her. There were times when I wondered if Cookie had a fickle reaction to people because she was forced, early in her life (before she lived with my family), to spend so much time alone and that it was her way of protecting herself. Cookie was like this when she came to live with my family by the age of eight. Of course, I then wonder if I'm thinking too much and that her intelligence wasn't quite so complicated. She was very perceptive and smart though and I'd really hate to underestimate her mind. Due to my work and my need to go out a lot, I wasn't at home very often. When I lived alone, I managed to be home once or twice a week at the very least. Even though I was home, Cookie still liked her space. She'd like to be in the same room with me but didn't love to sit on the couch with me all time (it was usually on her terms). A few years later when I tried the roommate route again, I was rarely home after work. Cookie spent more time alone than I would have liked to leave her. That apartment was pretty depressing (both my old roommate and I agreed) which is why I didn't love to be there that often. After we moved into our current place though, I tried to be home all the time with her. In typical Cookie fashion though, she only spent time with you as long as she wanted to be there. If you wanted to hug or pet her and she wasn't in the mood, she'd free herself and saunter into the other room. In the end though, I knew something was wrong, though maybe I chose not to see it until the last week. Cookie was sick, she had been suffering through various maladies in the last few months, most notably her eye infection which almost cost her her left eye. This infection was a corneal problem that forced me to administer eye drops every hour on the hour for about a week or so. The perscription tapered off until we were down to every 4 hours for an eye drop. Many people praised me for being such a good owner, others empathized with my fatigue, but I didn't think of what I was doing as anything that needed praise or even a thought. Knowing I was doing something to help Cookie was a given -- I would have not slept for a week if it meant curing her. One night/early morning around 3 AM, as I was walking down the stairs half-asleep while trying to retrieve her eye drops from the fridge, I completely fell, tumbling down about 7 or so steps. Because I was doing it for Cookie, I couldn't get mad. Anyone who knows me, knows typically I would have had a fit. Just prior to the last week of Cookie's life though, she slept a lot. Normally, Cookie would walk from room to room while I was home and after baths, she would get a burst of energy. This time though, that wasn't so. I would leave for work and she would lie near the window and when I came home that evening, she was in the same place looking like she hadn't moved the entire day. Should I have stayed with her? Did I really know she was getting sick? Was I bad for not wanting to see the truth before my eyes? I struggle with this all the time, wondering if I failed her or if I could have been better to her. posted by lisa | linkorama | | Saturday, December 27, 2003 Today I had a really good conversation with my parents that started off with why did I have such a fascination with books about death when I was growing up. I'm weird, I know. In elementary school I asked the librarian where the stories on death were located. She looked at me like I was looney. Why the fascination? Maybe because having to deal with the death of Grandpa hit me at such a young age (I was six) that I never quite got over that. Maybe I wanted to know more, understand more and be able to adapt. I'm not sure. I've been very affected by each loss in my life (I know that isn't a revalation, who wouldn't be affected). I keep close to my heart the memories of each of the people I've loved dearly and lost. Cookie's loss has affected me most deeply and profoundly. She has been my everything since I've had her. I can't imagine what my life would be like had I not had her and especially had she not lived with just me. I was watching Love Actually today and there's a moment at the end of the movie when The Beach Boys song God Only Knows comes on and I always seem to think of Cookie at that part and I get all misty eyed. Because truly, God only knows what I'd be without Cookie. I am grateful for having been so truly blessed to have loved her and have her love me. posted by lisa | linkorama | | Thursday, December 25, 2003 Last Christmas I stayed at my parents house too. My parents had bought an air mattress so I would have something decent to sleep on. When they moved back into the house I grew up in after being upstate, I told them they could do whatever they wanted with my old room so it turned into the exercise room/soon-to-be my mom's new office. My parents haven't always been so keen on the idea of sleeping with the dog. While growing up, they didn't mind if Cookie slept in my room, just not on my bed. When Cookie came to live with me, my philosophy was "screw rules" I always wanted a dog who could sleep on my bed and by golly, I was going to do that. So after my parents went to sleep, I picked Cookie up and though my parents didn't favor it, I let Cookie sleep with me on the air mattress. I only hoped that her claws wouldn't puncture a hole in the darned thing. Come to think of it, I don't think Cookie much liked the air mattress either, but she slept there anyway cos we liked to be near each other when we slept. Last year, I gave Cookie her new pink collar-harness. I wish I could have given her a Christmas present this year too. Yesterday as I was packing my belongings to take to my parents house for Christmas, I looked around my apartment wondering if I had everything. I wondered if I had enough food for Cookie then was tremendously sad knowing I didn't need to worry about that this year. I then looked over at her urn and couldn't leave her at home by herself on Christmas. Was it silly that I brought her with me? One thing I knew for sure is that it wouldn't be much of a Christmas without Cookie around, so I had to have her with me. I'm glad I did. Cookie sat atop a big bookshelf with the Santa hat I bought her a few years ago on the urn and she celebrated with us. I tried not to think about her too much during the day because when I did, my heart just ached. What I did want was the chance to hold her again and curl up next to her. Towards the end of her life, I would always feel her heart beating against my hand when I would pet her. I wondered how much longer her heart would beat and couldn't imagine it would ever stop. Ever. Maybe I knew what was coming. How could I have? It's just not festive and really rather lonely without Cookie around. posted by lisa | linkorama | | Wednesday, December 24, 2003 Christmas Eve. There is a lot of memories I associate with this day. Some good, some bad. Twenty-one years ago today, I experienced the first loss of my life when my grandfather passed away. I was six. I don't remember very much about the day other than finding out after taking a bath in the afternoon in preperation for a Christmas Eve family gathering that Grandpa passed away. My mom came in and told me and I cried. I wasn't completely sure what she meant, but I remember she was crying and that I knew his death meant I would never see him again. I don't remember my Grandpa much other than he always sat on a brown Lazy-boy and always had dirt under his fingernails as he was a gardner by profession. To this day, my father always points out that I seem to have inherited his weird and wacky sense of humor. It is a sense of humor few find funny other than the jokster. Knowing though that I have his sense of humor makes me feel good that I have something tangible I can carry on in his honor. I hate that I don't have anything else I can remember about him though. Christmas Day approaches. It is the first for me without Miss Cookie. My family and I had dinner tonite with family friends. When we came home, both my mom and I almost said "hi" to Cookie as we walked into the house. We were both instantly sad. I didn't know last year would be the last Christmas with Cookie. We never know what the future will bring. I hope I can get through tomorrow without being too sad. posted by lisa | linkorama | | Tuesday, December 23, 2003 Too much happened today...I don't think I have anything worth posting. Sorry. :( posted by lisa | linkorama | | Monday, December 22, 2003 I have added a poinsetta to my apartment courtesy of my parents, but I still don't feel so Christmas-y. A few years ago, I bought Cookie a doggie sized Santa hat to get her into the holiday spirit, but of course it annoyed her and she only wore it for all of about 3 minutes in her entire life. This year, I pulled out the hat and placed it on top of Cookie's urn... I don't know if I'm just getting used to Cookie being gone or what, but things feel different now day-to-day at least. Maybe I'm too busy or stressed out right now. I know I haven't "gotten over it" yet becuase hey, everytime I really talk about her, be it recounting funny memories or how I am feeling I just get all teary eyed. posted by lisa | linkorama | | Sunday, December 21, 2003 Miss Cookie, I wish you would come home. I miss you. I still don't let myself fully feel the pain of your absence, because if I did, I would surely be a mess. Everytime I begin to let myself acknowledge the loss, all I do is cry. posted by lisa | linkorama | | Saturday, December 20, 2003 Trust me, it's not for lack of trying or thinking about Cookie, but writing in this blog has been really hard lately. There's so much I know I need to do for the holidays, but I'm really not so much in the holiday spirit. Every year, I buy a tree and decorate my apartment for Christmas no matter how stressed out I am or what the other circumstances in my life are. Lately though, I've even tried to force myself in to the spirit and just can't. I know that I just can't seem to get myself into the holiday season becuase I don't have Cookie around. It's funny because I used to get excited about the holidays not even so much for myself, but for Cookie. I know, she's a dog and couldn't tell mistletoe from a Christmas tree, but I used to anticipate the season and be grateful that I had someone like Cookie to share it with. Each year, I would go to Target, buy a cheap, but nice tree and come home and decorate it. I would tell Cookie all about the process of finding the right tree and then I would let her lie on the couch or her special chair while I decorated the tree and we'd listen to Christmas music. Honestly, next to falling alseep on a lazy weekend afternoon together, decorating for the holidays was my second favorite thing to do with her, and I looked forward to it every year. I had no idea that last year was going to be our last Christmas together. It's too bad Cookie didn't understand the holidays as I did. I bought her a few presents (like new bones or treats) and then of course Santa would surprise her with a bigger gift like a new collar or leash. Unfortunately, she didn't seem very phased by the present from Santa and was as piggy as usual when it came to the treats. I would give her canned dog food for a week to celebrate too -- she always liked that. It just doesn't seem fair that she's not around anymore. People can tell me that her spirit is around and while that's all fine and good, it's not the same. I want to hold her and feel her irregular heart beat. I want to smell the fresh scent of a newly washed dog. I want to wake up in the morning and see that Cookie had made her way from the foot of the bed to my pillow snoring quietly next to me. That's all I want for Christmas, just a moment or two with Cookie, the way it used to be. posted by lisa | linkorama | | Tuesday, December 16, 2003 I keep thinking about Cookie, wondering how I'm doing, unsure if I am ok, wondering if maybe I am in denial or moving on in a healthy manner. Whenever I think about her, I still get a little bit misty eyed or feel an emptiness in the pit of my stomach. Then I think that I am not capable of having another pet...ever. I am unsure of what it means to be ok in terms of "moving on" without Cookie. At first, I thought maybe I could be a foster home to a dog in need...but I'd be afraid of it living in Cookie's space. Even though she only lived here for a month, this was the last home Cookie knew and her presence is still abundantly clear everywhere. If another dog were to even come visit in this space, it would mean I would have to move Cookie's bed, food bowls, toys...and I wouldn't want another animal (or even person) to touch it. It's as if her belongings are sacred. To me, they are sacred. I don't know what to do. I feel guilty because I am lonely without a pet around but would I want another dog? No. Yes. Maybe. I don't know. Then I think about the issue of people who want to clone their pets. I used to think they were crazy (even when I still had Cookie) but now, I don't think it is so odd. In one way, I would like to have Cookie back even it isn't the same while at the same time, I would always know that it isn't truly her. I wish Cookie would come home to me...I wish I didn't have to miss her so much. I just wish she were back. posted by lisa | linkorama | | Monday, December 15, 2003 Cookie's absence in my life has left such a void. Right before I left for vacation last week, I got food poisoning. It was hard for me to be sick without Cookie. I know it sounds stupid, but whenever I was feeling down or sick, just being around Cookie was comforting. In a way, I felt even more miserable just for the sheer fact that Cookie wasn't there. While on vacation, I didn't miss Cookie as much. Maybe because I would normally be without her during vacation. It was knowing that we would soon be reuinited that I could look forward to. This trip though, I tried not to think about any of that. When I walked into my place though, I felt the absence yet again. It's now 10 days until Christmas and I don't have a tree or any decorations up either. Without Cookie, it doesn't seem right this year. I worried what I would do if I had to decorate the tree without Cookie. It might sound weird for me to be so upset over the absence of a dog, but truly when Cookie isn't around, I could really feel it. posted by lisa | linkorama | | Sunday, December 14, 2003 I failed...I promised I would write in my blog everyday for 365 days following Cookie's death. For anyone who might read this, I failed to write entries for a week as I was on vacation. It was hard coming home...knowing that I would be coming home to an empty place...what was there to come home to? posted by lisa | linkorama | | Friday, December 05, 2003 Today, I went to my town's annual holiday open house. Families with their children celebrated as did owners with their dogs. My friends felt bad, worried that seeing dogs would upset me. It could have and maybe should have...but I didn't want to think about it. I'm sure it would have been worse had Cookie come with me last year. I don't know what to say...the rest of the holidays will be hard I know. posted by lisa | linkorama | | Thursday, December 04, 2003 Almost everyday since Cookie has been gone, I go through a moment in the day when my heart just aches at the thought that she has passed. And there are days when I don't go through that pain because I almost forget that she is gone -- and that is something that really bothers me. Last night, I was really disturbed as I was going to sleep as I couldn't remember what it felt like to hold her. I thought back to all the times when I'd get ready to crawl into bed at night and I had to make sure Cookie was situated. I couldn't fall asleep unless I told Cookie how much I loved her and pet her dear sweet head. Usually, I would fall asleep with my hand on her stomach feeling the rise and fall of her breath. It's been almost two months since I've been able to do that, and I fear I am forgetting. I used to kiss her on her doggie cheek no matter how dirty she was and felt the worries of the world melt away because I was with my dog. What am I supposed to do now? There are times when I come home, and as I walk through the door, I look around and know that I have come home to an empty place. It doesn't matter if someone is with me or not because Cookie is the only one who really counted. Actually sometimes, it bothers me more if people are around and we come home to an empty apartment. Nobody could be sad or upset around Cookie -- she brought a smile to everyone's face. If you were happy, Cookie only made you happier. Being around others and seeing their reaction to Cookie only reinforced to me what a great dog I already knew I had. posted by lisa | linkorama | | Wednesday, December 03, 2003 Today, I read a poem from the book Angel Pawprints: Reflections on Loving and Losing a Canine Companion given to me by Dr. V that just made me sob. I hadn't picked the book up in awhile cos it was too difficult for me to read before. There was one memory written that really hit close to home. Below are key points that I could relate to in my case... Written by Ruth Pollack Coughlin (1992) it is called, "Lucy Never Had a Bone to Pick -- She Loved Unconditionally": She was there when I cried, and licked the tears off my face; she was there when I rejoiced, and cavorted around, laughing with me. ... Even then, in those early years when the dog-expert books said I should scold her - and I did - she never stopped loving me nor I her. No matter what, she would finally smile at me, as only dogs can smile. And always, it would be a smile that went beyond acceptance. It was much more: It was pure. It was without contamination. It was something called love with no baggage, something most therapists would not be able to acknowledge. ... She was a dog who would never die, I thought, a Lucy who would continue to support me, who would be there, a dog who would see me through the darkest of anyone's worst imagination of what the bleakest days would be like. ... She was very sick, there would be no recovery. She doesn't, my husband said to me, want to leave you. I knew what I had to do. Her suffering could not go on, not for another day, not for another hour. ... For some time, I held her. I thanked her for being such a great pal. I kissed her repeatedly, on the top of her head and on her eyes. On her adorable nose and on her incomparable feet. On every part of the small body I had kissed at least a million times... Tuesday, December 02, 2003 With the holidays coming, I keep seeing decorations and gifts for pets and have this urge to get something for Cookie. Maybe I need to get something in her honor, but it just won't be the same. I'm afraid to get a Christmas tree this year...I don't know if I want to have one without Cookie around to celebrate - it might make me feel too weird. posted by lisa | linkorama | | Monday, December 01, 2003 Now when I'm home, I no longer feel like Cookie is in another room sleeping...and that bothers me. Knowing she'll never come home is a hard fact to accept. Leaving her at the vet or the groomers for the day was weird and my apartment felt so lonely, but I knew she'd return. I used to wonder how I would feel if one day she (god forbid) died. I couldn't imagine the lonliness. Maybe it's because I couldn't allow myself to believe that she would ever die. Now though, without Cookie, something is missing, the dynamic inside my apartment isn't the same. It just feels so lonely here and being home is depressing. I don't want another dog, I just want Cookie back. I'm lonlier now than I was a month ago...it sucks. posted by lisa | linkorama | | Sunday, November 30, 2003 It's weird - yesterday I was sooooo sad, and today, I think I was just too tired to be so sad. I thought of Cookie all day long (as usual) and missed her of course, but today was a good day and I was ok. When I drove to Target today though, and saw the Christmas trees, I wondered how I will be when I bring home my tree and decorate it for the first time in 4 years without my dog. **sigh** posted by lisa | linkorama | | Saturday, November 29, 2003 I woke up this morning feeling really sad which continued throughout the day. "She's a dog," I keep telling myself as if the idea of mourning the loss of a dog is any different than that of a person. Yeah, Cookie was a dog, and her passing left a gaping hole in my heart just as if anybody else had died. "But she's a dog," my mind tells me. My heart says, "So freaking what, you miss her why should you feel weird because it's a dog and not a human." **Sigh** Today was hard for me because in years past, I would love nothing more than just hanging with Cookie at home doing absolutely nothing taking in the holiday season. I couldn't do that today without feeling truly depressed. I wanted to cry but I was so sad, I couldn't even do that. I wanted to be around people but I didn't...I just didn't know what to do with myself. I ended up going to a friend's and her father's sick joke about "bachelor kim che" helped me forget my sadness. Otherwise though, I really do feel sad and lonely without Cookie. She was a dog yes, but she meant more to me than I ever thought possible. posted by lisa | linkorama | | Friday, November 28, 2003 My family came over for Thanksgiving...and as suspected I was exhausted. When the topic of Cookie came up though, I didn't want to be around to talk about it. I felt less comfortable talking about her to my own family (I'm talking about my extended family) than to my friends. Of course, I don't really know them at all, so talking about something so personal to what feels like strangers is pretty hard to do. Talking to my parents today, I knew I would get sad about Cookie. I felt really empty today. When my parents left, I never felt more lonely. Nothing felt right because I didn't have Cookie around. I tried lying on the couch with Cookie's pillow but that didn't help either. I just tried to keep myself occupied - watched a movie, did some laundry, deep conditioned my hair. Of course none of this helped. Part of me wanted to go out and not deal with how I was feeling, but how could I avoid it? I knew even if I went out and was around other people, I'd just be thinking about Cookie the entire time. I moved the blanket that was in front of the window where Cookie used to sunbathe as the relatives came for Thanksgiving. I knew that if I left it there, I'd probably get pissed off if they so much commented on it. My grandmother pointed out the astout fact that Cookie's food bowl was still out and though I know it was an innocent observant comment, it annoyed me. No offence to her, but at that moment, I just wanted everyone out of my apartment. Today, after everyone left and I was left by myself, I tried putting the blanket back, but it just wasn't the same. I couldn't put it back because it wouldn't be in the exact same spot when Cookie came home that evening, so what was the point? I hate that Cookie is gone, I really goddamn, mother fucking hate it (am I allowed to swear on the blog? If not...oops and I'm sorry). I fucking hate that she was taken from me when I still need her. Dr. V said something like she believed pets are put in our lives for a reason and only taken away when their purpose here is complete. If that were true, then why is Cookie gone now? Doesn't God or whoever put her here realize that I truly can't remain sane and survive without her? I can do one or the other, but not both. posted by lisa | linkorama | | Thursday, November 27, 2003 Long day...very tired...cooked all day in addition to prepping for the last two days. I don't think I can write anything that makes any sense. Tomorrow I will be able to say more I'm sure. :( posted by lisa | linkorama | | Wednesday, November 26, 2003 Today, I was so busy, I tried not to think about Cookie. She was always there in the back of my mind as she usually is. I drove my friend to the airport which wasn't as bad a commute as we thought it would be. Driving home was another story, traffic was awful! I didn't mind so much though (shocking, isn't it?!) Honestly, I think I'm trying not to think about this Thanksgiving being the first without Cookie. I can almost feel myself forming a wall around my heart so I won't feel the pain. When I almost think I feel something, I literally feel a change in me, flipping the switch so I won't have to think about it. I know my grandmother will want to talk about Cookie and I'll have to be strong. Of course I don't have to be "strong" but I don't know how not to. I feel the need to "act" around those I don't really know. It's sad, I don't really know my grandmother and extended family...and that bothers me too. posted by lisa | linkorama | | Tuesday, November 25, 2003 I was at the market shopping for Thanksgiving - picked up the turkey and then had to hold back the tears. This time last year, I was also buying Cookie's favorite canned turkey dog food so she could share in the Thanksgiving festivities. When I got home, I could barely keep it together. I wanted to have Cookie back with me. How could I prepare Thanksgiving dinner without Cookie to keep me company? It's hard to be home without her there, it's so lonely. I have no idea how I will be come Thanksgiving Day. Sure, I have a lot to be thankful for, but as I've said many times before, without Cookie, it's just not the same. posted by lisa | linkorama | | Monday, November 24, 2003 I saw my friend's dog today...the first dog I've really pet and spent time with since Cookie. It was weird for me. It made me miss my dog even more, made me feel even more alone. Lately, I've been feeling really alone. Not because I don't have a lot of great people around me. I do. I have some really incredible, supportive friends and the best family ever. I love them all. Not having Cookie though makes me feel so incredibly isolated and alone. Cookie filled a spot in my heart I didn't know existed until she came along. Now that she is gone, it's void is too apparent and I know nothing will ever fill it. The only thing that would fill it is Cookie - not another pet, just her. My friend told me when her parent's dog died, they kept the dog's food bowls out for almost a year...until they got another dog. That would be me...I don't think I will ever take Cookie's stuff away - I just couldn't. posted by lisa | linkorama | | Sunday, November 23, 2003 I woke up today and realzied that I missed the 30 day mark of Cookie being gone by a day. It was yesterday, November 22 and I missed it. I was disappointed in myself for not keeping better track of the days, but I had been thinking about it for several days now. While thinking about it this morning, I began to think about what led up to her "dying" for the first time that Monday evening. I had to push it out of my head becuse if I thought about it, I would feel so sad and horrible and I just couldn't go to that "place." I wondered if the fact that she had a hard time walking in her final months had something to do with the e-collar and her muscles getting weak or if somehow all of her organ failure played a part in that. Lately, when people come over and see the blanket near the window where Cookie sunbathed...STILL, I feel like I need to make excuses for it being there. I don't care that it's there and I don't care what they think, only I don't want to make them feel uncomfortable, you know? If they don't know what to say to me becuase of it, that's not my intention. I just still need to see her stuff out and remind me that Cookie lived here. All I want for the holidays is my dog back. I have a lot to be thankful for, really I do. But, without Cookie...it's just not the same. She was the one thing in my life that I could always rely on who could be there without saying a thing (hey, she was a dog for goodness sakes). She could just sit there and pass gas even and I would feel better about the world because she was in it. There wasn't anything my dog could do that would disappoint me. Ever. The only thing she could do that I knew would break my heart was to leave me. And she did. posted by lisa | linkorama | | Saturday, November 22, 2003 I don't really know what to say today. Nothing is so different than it was before, only that I still miss my dog. I could write about other things, but they don't really apply to Cookie, and I feel like what I write should be relevant. Yeah, so...**sigh** posted by lisa | linkorama | | Friday, November 21, 2003 I felt ever so guilty today when I looked at dogs up for adoption online. Nothing was really appealing to me though. When I got home tonite, I began thinking about Cookie and what she looked like when she'd waddle into a room or how she'd sniff everything new I'd bring into our apartment. I keep reminding myself what it felt like to hug her becuase right now, I really miss her and I am worried that I will forget what it felt like. I just want to feel her heart beating, her wet nose alerting me that she wants to be pet, seeing her face and knowing that she loves me. posted by lisa | linkorama | | Thursday, November 20, 2003 For a moment, I forgot Cookie was gone again. On my way home from a movie, chatting with my friends, I thought that though it was cold outisde, I thankfully had Cookie to come home to. It had been a long couple of days at work and a lot of the stress was over. Each time I walk through my front door or walk into my bedroom and turn on the light, I keep hoping that maybe all of this was really a dream and Cookie will be sitting there waiting for me. posted by lisa | linkorama | | Wednesday, November 19, 2003 It's hard to believe that Cookie has been gone for a month now. I don't even know what to write after that. Four weeks...and now I don't have a dog anymore. All I want is just one more chance to hold her again and tell her that I loved her. I keep thinking that I shouldn't say that because I essentially got that when she "came back" after the first time I thought she died. I got another day and a half with her. I only wish she could have spent that time here, at home with me instead of at the vet where she spent most of that day. I went to visit her the day after she first "died" a few times that day. In the morning she seemed fine and a bit more energetic. I stayed for about an hour and then went home and got something to eat before I returned. With the 2nd visit of the day, the staff allowed me to visit with Cookie in a room instead of in the "hospital" area where I usually visited. I was able to pet her, hold her on my lap and talk to her. I promised her she would be ok. I told her how much I loved her and that I was going to make sure she would be fine. We were waiting for her vet to come in and give me an update on her condition. Luckily, she was busy that day, so I ended up spending about 2-2-1/2 hours with Cookie as we waited. I considered that a gift...even then. I didn't know what was going to happen to her, but I knew that I had to let her know everything I felt just in case I would never see her again. I remember telling Cookie that if she was tired and really sick, that she could go. I cried knowing that I obviously didn't want her to go anywhere, but that if she was barely holding on and only sticking around for me, that if it meant her suffering...she didn't have to. The vet and I chatted that afternoon and when she asked what I was going to do about Cookie's condition, I said that since Dr. V was so reputable, that whatever she suggested I do would be it. I trusted this woman from the few phone conversations we had and the trust my co-worker gave her for the care she gave to her dog. The last thing I wanted, was for Dr. V to tell me about putting Cookie down, but somewhere in the back of my mind, I think I knew what was going to tell me. The next day, I picked up Cookie to go to Dr. V's office. I remember telling my parents the night before that I trusted Dr. V wholeheartedly. My mom told me Cookie would be ok...my dad agreed. I wasn't so sure. I wanted to believe she would be ok and that Dr. V would give her a cure-all. "Just remember, Cookie is 16..." I would tell myself while trying to remain positive. We arrived a bit early for Cookie's appointment. Dr. V's staff was awesome and we waited in the exam room for Dr. V. As I was walking around the room holding Cookie, I noticed an article about her on the wall. Before I read the article, I noticed the photo caption in which I saw the word euthenasia. I regretted seeing those words. I knew it was a sign. When Dr. V entered the room and we started talking, I continued petting Cookie hoping she knew I loved her. I was hoping the whole time Dr. V wouldn't mention the "E" word. Luckily for me, she didn't. She did ask if I was prepared to leave Cookie there though. For a moment, I didn't know what she meant, hoping she didn't mean what I thought she meant. "LEAVE HER HERE? ARE YOU KIDDING ME?" I thought. "OF COURSE I'M NOT READY TO LEAVE HER HERE!" my head told me. Tears started to fall, and my heart started to break. Am I killing my dog? I wondered. I couldn't think about that. I would never leave my dog - I hated to board her at the vet's office when I went on vacation, how could I leave her forever? I was given a lot of time to say good-bye to Cookie that afternoon. I was thankful that I even got that opportunity. Most people don't get to say good-bye the way they want to and I did. How lucky. I wanted to hold onto Cookie and freeze that moment forever. I never wanted to let her go, I didn't want to be that person who would cry and be sad because I wasn't ready to loose her. I knew what I had to do, but I didn't want to. My heart would just crumble without her. It has, you know. Everytime I think of Cookie, my heart fills with love, but everytime I think about her being gone, it breaks again. Cookie lived with me for four years of just the two of us. I can't imagine how I would feel if I had her my entire life. In the time we had together, I loved her more than the world, more than my whole life...I told her that all the time. posted by lisa | linkorama | | Tuesday, November 18, 2003 Everytime I read the entries on this site, I think about what I need to say to convey what I am feeling. I still haven't been able to do that yet. Sometimes, I think maybe I love Cookie too much and that I should learn to let go. What is the point of that though? There is no shame in loving your dog and grieving her loss. What am I supposed to do about that though? Do I continue to talk about her until I am "ok?" Will I ever truly be "ok?" Honestly, I don't think I will ever be the same. I am still not "ok" with Mamo & Papo being gone, but I've learned to adjust without them. When Papo died, it was the first real loss that I could understand in my head and my heart. I think I cried myself to sleep for months afterwards trying to make sense of it all. I remember surrounding myself with everything that reminded me of him - dolls he and Mamo gave me from their vacations, pictures, old sweaters and jackets. I wrote him letters about what was going on in my life hoping that by doing so, he would somehow know how much I missed him. I would purposely devote time to think about him before I went to sleep feeling that my tears were my connection to him. When Mamo died though, I was more distraught then ever. I felt a connection with her that I felt with no other. Becuase of that, I wanted to try and keep her spirit alive by doing what she would have done or said when possible. Sometimes that wasn't the best thing to do, but I didn't care. If Mamo would say it, so then would I. While grieving Mamo's loss, this time I had Cookie. When I looked into her big brown eyes, I felt like I saw a part of Mamo's soul in her. Cookie took care of me by just being there, by letting me love her and play with her when I was sad and crying, then stayed with me instead of walking away like she normally would have. When Mamo was gone, I felt lost. Without Cookie I feel lost too. Honestly, if I don't allow myself to fully think about what happened, I'm ok. When I do truly think about being without Cookie, I just can't stop being sad and angry that I am left without her. posted by lisa | linkorama | | It is currently 2:30 in the morning...and I can't sleep. I keep thinking about my dog and how much I miss her. Sometimes I think it's silly how much I miss my dog and wonder why I'm as sad as I am still. I don't know. I just know that I miss her so much. Honestly, words cannot describe what kind of a dog Cookie was and what she meant to me. She was more than just a dog who provided companionship, but she was my stability. As long as I had her around, I could get through anything. And I did. I got through family problems, job stresses, broken relationships, broken friendships, financial strain, life stress...and we celebrated all the good things that happened in my life as well. I can't imagine having gone through any of that without her. She let me cry on her when I needed to and let me hug her when I needed one. I don't think I went more than a few days in the last 4 years without a hug from Cookie or vice versa. I am the kind of person who needs to do things on her own. My mother thinks maybe I am independent to a fault. With Cookie though, I wasn't doing anything on my own. As long as I had her around, there was always someone to listen to me or to depend on. I know it sounds dumb, but my dog was always there for me. And I obviously grew to depend on that. I was worried that if I depended too much on her, what would happen if one day she wasn't there for me anymore. What would I do then? Of course I didn't want to think about that. I couldn't imagine my life without my dog who meant the world to me. In one way, I was afraid to love her too much out of fear that she would one day have to leave me. There wasn't a way to not love her more and more each day though. I was always so afraid though of her leaving me. When Papo, then Mamo died, I was beside myself. How could this happen? I grew to hate (but accept) that the people you love and need in life will die and then you're left to try and pick up the pieces. Maybe I'm selfish, I don't deny that, but what if you need these people. Then what? How do you depend on them when they are gone? Is there a crime to love and need people? Then you learn that all of it is so temporary - how much of your heart do you put into it when it is inevitable that it all must end? Of course you can't think about this fact otherwise who will make the effort to love anyone or anything if they know it is only temporary? I'm not ready to give up with Cookie. I can't let her go, I don't know how to let her go. I still need her way too much in my life to accept that there is nothing else and all I have left to survive on are memories. I don't want to hurt anymore - I want to have things back the way they were before she got sick. And if I can't have that, then I don't care anymore...I'd rather hurt than move on and forget Cookie. posted by lisa | linkorama | | Monday, November 17, 2003 So I don't like to talk about Cookie being gone, I feel like it's a private thing I need to get through by myself. The only way I know how to express how I'm feeling is here. I don't know how to talk about it because I don't think I want to discuss it. Cookie was special to me as was the way I felt about her. With her around, I felt like I could seriously do anything. I was watching Legally Blonde 2 (no comments on this one please) this weekend, and I got sad when Elle was going on about how important Bruiser was to her. After all, he was her inspiration (watch the movie if this makes no sense). Seriously, I know Cookie was a dog and not a human, but I just can't express enough how much she meant to me. She was a dog yes, but the fact that she depended on and loved me meant a lot. Knowing she was there helped get me through bad days and made the good days that much better. I can't imagine what it would have been like had she not been a part of my life. People underestimate the value of pets. I think they do more for people emotionally than any drug or therapist. posted by lisa | linkorama | | Sunday, November 16, 2003 Today I was in a pretty bad mood. I thought maybe it was fatigue as I just wasn't in the mood to deal with people at all today. I ran some errands, got really annoyed when it took me like 20+ minutes to find parking at Target and everyone was getting in my way when I finally made it into the store. I flaked on hanging out with a friend becuase I just didn't feel in the mood to be around people. I wanted to be alone. I called my friend and flaked and hoped I wasn't being annoying. Then as I was driving home, I realized it wasn't me being in a bad mood, it was that I missed Cookie and then I started to cry. All of my emotions were bottled up (maybe in denial) and it was coming across as anger when really it was sadness. All the way home, I just wanted to be home but I wanted Cookie to be there when I walked through the door. When I got home, I fell asleep on her leopard print bone shaped pillow. I woke up feeling much better, but still sad. Honestly, I feel really lonely without Cookie. Then I started to feel guilty. I worried that when she was around I wasn't at home enough and now that she's not, I only want to be home. Sometimes I feel guilty that I wasn't around enough for her towards the end. I know I can't think too much about that or else it will just drive me crazy, but I really can't help feeling the way I do. Maybe I am just looking for a reason to blame her passing on. There is no reason why she passed away. She just did. It happens and I know that there isn't anything I could have done to prevent that from happening. I truly believe that when it is your time to go, there's nothing you can do to change that. posted by lisa | linkorama | | Saturday, November 15, 2003 I just ran into my neighbor who asked about Cookie. "How's your little one doing," she asked, "I haven't seen you guys in awhile." Then, I had to tell her the truth. What bothered me though, was the way I told her. The way I explained what happened to Cookie was very factual and lacking emotion. I didn't want to sound like losing Cookie didn't matter, but honestly, I don't know any other way. Again, maybe it's because I can't fully accept the truth. The more I think about it, the sadder I get, so I to prevent myself from hurting, I don't think about it. I was gone all day today. I went to lunch and got a facial with a friend, then met another friend for dinner and karaoke. While relaxing during the facial, I kept thinking of Cookie. I kept telling myself that thinking of Cookie would make me happy and relaxed...I was right. Throughout the treatment, I thought of all the good times we had together and how incomplete things feel without her. Things really don't get easier with time. The more days that pass without Cookie, the more I feel I am missing. Maybe this is becuase I know Cookie really should be here with me, but she's not. Maybe I don't want to believe she's not coming back. Of course, this could very well be true becuase I've said that more than a few times a week in the blog. I don't want to completely accept that Cookie is never coming back. I just want the emptiness in my heart to be filled again...and there's only one thing that could do that...Cookie. posted by lisa | linkorama | | Friday, November 14, 2003 Talking about how I feel about Cookie to anybody is hard for me. The only way I know how to express my sadness or the way I am mourning her loss is through this blog. When I even try to discuss how I am feeling, I just can't verbalize it. Cookie was more than just a dog to me. I used to think the idea of a dog being "a man's best friend" was a little weird. How could a dog mean so much to a person? It couldn't talk, it couldn't understand...or could it? Cookie wasn't just a dog, she was my dog. She gave me unconditional love, would listen to anything I had to say, seemed to know when to give me my space and when I needed her. Holding her made me feel safe and happy, knowing she depended on me and only wanted my love and attention gave me something I can't explain. She was definitely the best friend I've ever had, and enriched my life more than I can explain, more than I ever thought. It doesn't seem right that she is gone. My life is different now. Without her, something is missing. Without her, my life will never be the same. posted by lisa | linkorama | | Thursday, November 13, 2003 I'm incredibly tired...it's been a long day. I just cooked my family two complete dinners for the week...to help out. Everytime I made a big noise or dropped food, I expected to see Cookie appear waiting for the scraps (which she never got anyways). What a pig. :) I miss her a lot. Let me tell you, it really doesn't get easier. posted by lisa | linkorama | | Wednesday, November 12, 2003 Today also marks the third week without Cookie. Unbelievable...it's hard. **sigh** posted by lisa | linkorama | | My dog had a big fear of thunder. When freaked out, it wasn't uncommon for her to beeline to the bathroom and throw herself into the toilet. I know, I know, it's just weird. Today though, when it started thundering and I nearly jumped out of my chair, I thought of Cookie heading straight for the toilet. Naturally, it was the first thunder storm since her passing and my first inclination was to rush home to give her her sedative. I lucked out again today as it stopped raining by the time I got home. I guess I am really not looking forward to the rain if I have to be home without Cookie. In the last day, I've had to tell three people about Cookie that I hadn't initally told. It's weird because while they were all sympathetic, I am sure I didn't sound as upset as they would have thought. I think I play it off that I am not as bothered or sad as I appear. Of course, if they read this here blog, they would see otherwise. When I'm with other people, I guess I try not to talk about her being gone...and if I do mention her name, I am given a sympathetic look and there is a moment of silence as if nobody knows what to say. Who am I to intentionally make someone uncomfortable, so I try and change the subject or not harp on the matter. What do I expet really? Do I expect other people to feel as sad about Cookie as I do? In a way, it would be nice, but I know that's not realistic. Even if they did, want to talk about her all the time, it would probably bother me because I'd just be too sad. I guess it's just my problem then, huh? I guess the way I am grieving for Cookie is the same way I was with her. People around me knew I adored Cookie, but I wouldn't let on just how much she meant to me. When I was home though, I played with her and treated her like she was the queen of the world. I think she knew that she was my heart. For some reason, I couldn't let other people see that. I guess I can't let other people see how much I miss Cookie either...if you read it, you know. If you don't...then, you don't. posted by lisa | linkorama | | Tuesday, November 11, 2003 My parents & I invited some of our extended family over to my place for Thanksgiving. Last year, I did the same thing, only Cookie was there. This year, all I will have is an empty food and water bowl that indicates Cookie ever lived here. All of her stuff is still out, I don't ever want to put it away. I know for sure that I will never be ready to do that. Maybe it will look odd to my family to see Cookie's stuff out seeing as by then, she will have been gone for over a month. I don't want to take the blanket away that sits near the window where she used to sunbathe while I was at work. Honestly though, I'm also afraid to leave it there, because what if someone drops something on it and I have to wash it? I don't want to. I don't want to do anything that acknowledges her being gone. It's hard enough having to face it in private at my apartment everyday, but knowing that her stuff is still around is what keeps me sane. It reminds me that she lived here with me and that I can always count on that fact and those memories. I can't change anything...maybe I'm a nutjob, but that's what I have to do for me. posted by lisa | linkorama | | Monday, November 10, 2003 Monday evenings will never be the same to me again. I remember that it was a Monday night when I first thought I lost Cookie and remember how hard it was to hear her screaming in pain. It's not something I like to remember, but it's something I can really never forget. Today, I came home at lunch after running some errands. I wasn't comfortable being there during the day knowing Cookie wasn't around. But it was a first...and the first of anything without Cookie will always be hard. I feel like I keep writing the same thing everyday. Nothing changes, I miss my dog everyday and it's hard because I know she's gone, but if I truly think about that then I am a total wreck. It's not healthy to live in denial, but I don't know how to live in reality knowing she's really gone. When I think about the fact that I'll never see her again, I just...can't. posted by lisa | linkorama | | Sunday, November 09, 2003 For as long as I've had Cookie, everytime there was a birthday or anniversary or even on Christmas cards, I would sign the card from myself and Cookie. She was a part of my life and every good wish I'd send to anybody would also be on behalf of my dog especially if it was to any member of my family. Today is my dad's birthday. It took me at least 20 minutes to sign my dad's birthday card. I know it sounds stupid, but I couldn't sign it because it's hard to do something like that when you can't see through the tears and you know reality is setting in. I didn't know if I could sign a card with just my name on it or if it would be insanely stupid to put Cookie on it as well. She isn't here anymore, but she loved my dad too. I signed the card from both of us today, but knew this was the last time I would ever do that and it just reminded me she is really gone. My family & I talked about her throughout today and a few times I almost forgot she wasn't around. Several months ago, I had a dream Cookie died. I now remember feeling so broken hearted and lost in the dream. I don't really remember the details, other than she was gone and there wasn't anything I could do about it. Luckily, I was able to wake up and knew that Cookie was alive. I remember wondering what I would do if I ever lost her but relieved that the thought of her being gone was so far away and unnecessary. Every morning when I wake up now, I wonder what I am going to do. How I will get through each day isn't the problem but getting through each evening and weekend when I would have been with her is what I wonder. How do I come home to an empty apartment without her. How will I celebrate the holidays when the thing I loved most is gone? posted by lisa | linkorama | | Saturday, November 08, 2003 Last night, I went into a pet store. I've seen dogs around the neighborhood and would feel both sad and envious of how happy and content they looked with their owners. I missed the sweet innocent eyes, the four little paws scurrying along... When I walked into the store and saw the various Shih Tzu and Lhasa Apsos, I held my breath hoping they wouldn't make me burst into tears. While I was ok I also realized that no other dog came close to the adorable and just plain cute & sweet factor that Cookie had. And then I wondered if I even wanted a new dog...ever. Maybe I will, I'm not sure. What I did know was that any future dog of mine would have to live up to Cookie (as unfair as that might be). It's hard to live up to perfecton, but that's exactly what Cookie was to me. Now that she's gone though, I even miss how badly she smelled when she was due for a bath. I miss the way her little butt swayed from side to side as she walked around with her tail held high. **sigh** It really doesn't get any easier. In some ways, the more days that pass the harder it becomes. It's getting harder to remember certain little things about her or the way she smelled (on both good and bad days) or what it felt like to hug her. It's harder to be at home because all I want to do is hold her and I just miss her so much. posted by lisa | linkorama | | Friday, November 07, 2003 When my grandfather (who I called Papo) died, I heard Linda Ronstadt sing this on the radio...I thought it was appropriate then and do in this case as well. Oh we never know where life will take us I know it's just a ride on the wheel And we never know when death will shake us And we wonder how it will feel So goodbye my friend I know I'll never see you again But the time together through all the years Will take away these tears It's okay now Goodbye my friend I've seen a lot things that make me crazy And I guess I held on to you We could've run away and left well maybe But it wasn't time and we both knew So goodbye my friend I know I'll never see you again But the love you gave me through all the years Will take away these tears I'm okay now Goodbye my friend Life's so fragile and love's so pure We can't hold on but we try We watch how quickly it disappears And we never know why But I'm okay now Goodbye my friend You can go now Goodbye my friend -written by Karla Bonoff © 1988 Seagrape Music (BMI) I don't know my thoughts on the afterlife other than the conventional idea of heaven. When I thought of the above lyrics, it reminded me how I always wanted to hear them after Papo died. Then I thought that if there is a heaven, that when Cookie got there, I wouldn't want her to be with anybody else other than Papo & Mamo. It made me feel good knowing that Papo could finally meet Cookie and that she would keep my grandparents company and they could take care of each other. posted by lisa | linkorama | | Thursday, November 06, 2003 I've decided that I am going to write in here everyday until next October 22 even if I don't really have anything to say. It will be good for the healing process I think. Tonite, I heard a noise in my apartment and I swear it sounded like Cookie was here. It threw me for a moment as I thought maybe she really was in the other room. **sigh** I went out tonite and it was the first time I didn't go home first before going out in five years. Everytime I would go out after work, I'd have to take Cookie out for potty before I went anywhere. By not going home first, I felt sort of lost and confused in a way. There have been other times when I've gone out after work, but always came home first out of habit or even necessity. It's weird when your life changes like that and you just don't have any control over it. **sigh** posted by lisa | linkorama | | Wednesday, November 05, 2003 I was looking at something I had written rather recently in which I listed Miss Cookie as one of the three things I couldn't live without. Look at me now, I'm doing it, but I hate it. I hate that I've been trying to convince myself that Cookie isn't truly gone in order to not go insane. I hate that it feels like I'm living in a fantasy world and that everytime I come home, I greet an empty apartment or when I wake up in the morning, she's just not there. I hate that when it all comes down to it and I really think about it, I know that Cookie is gone and that just kills me. But I don't want to think about it, because each time I do, my heart just breaks. posted by lisa | linkorama | | I felt guilty tonight. Two week ago today, we lost Cookie and I almost forgot. I was at my spinning class and realized that for the last two weeks, I've somehow managed to go on without my dog. Am I an awful, awful person for almost forgetting? Probably not. It made me feel horribly though. posted by lisa | linkorama | | Tuesday, November 04, 2003 I know I cannot do this to myself, but I keep thinking that maybe I could have done more for Cookie before she died. I worry that maybe I didn't pay enough attention to her or lived in places that made her sick or could have prevented her eye from getting infected. I know her kidney and liver problems were chronic and it's not as if my actions (or lack thereof) caused her illnesses. Just last year, she was still more active and able to maneuver up and down the stairs of my old apartment on her own. It is when she got her eye infection that her health started to go downhill. She wasn't as active because the e-collar kept her from moving around, especially navigating the stairs; her muscles became even more mushy and inactive and she began having problems walking around; she started sleeping more too. Maybe I should have taken her to the vet earlier. I worried a lot. My friend's cat died relatively recently. His cat lived with his family on the East Coast, but his parents told him they thought the cat was dying as it was sleeping all the time. When it did die, I worried that Cookie's inactivity and more frequent sleeping was the same sign. It wasn't unlike Cookie to sleep half the day away, but when it seemed like she was sleeping even more often, I wanted to believe that maybe it was a phase. I couldn't deny that she was getting older and had encountered a lot of health issues in the last year of her life. However, I really wanted to believe that she was the only dog who would live to be 50. She was able to get through every other problem in her life, why not whatever she was dealing with now? I know that if I keep obsessing about what could have been, it will do nothing but depress me. But, it's natural to think "what if." I hope Cookie didn't think that I gave up on her too soon by letting her go and knew that I loved her and always will. I'm still not ready to let her go and want nothing more than to have her back with me. posted by lisa | linkorama | | Monday, November 03, 2003 It's cold and smells like fall here in Southern California...finally. Around this time, I would pull out the doggy sweater and force poor Miss Cookie to wear her red sweater with the white trim to keep her warm. She really hated that thing, but couldn't look more adorable. When it rained, I would pull out her matching red doggy booties to keep her feet warm and save my carpets if she wandered through the mud while looking for a place to go potty. Unfortunately, she hated those too, probably more so than she hated the sweater. Cookie was pretty resourceful and smart when it came to her sweater. Somehow, she would manage to pull the sweater off. Let me tell you, that is no easy task considering how fitted the darned thing was. As she got older, she grew to realize that no matter how many times she would pull off the sweater, I would put it right back on her. I would like to think that she learned to like the sweater, but in actuality, I think she got too tired of struggling to remove it time and time again. The smell of approaching winter makes me sad as it was my favorite time of year to spend with Cookie. There's nothing better than snuggling up on the couch with a good movie or book and my dog. I seriously wonder how I will make it through the season without her...especially Christmastime. It didn't feel very festive or holiday-y unless she was around. I know Cookie was a dog and had no concept of the holidays, but for me, having her there made me happy and gave me even more of a reason to celebrate. posted by lisa | linkorama | | Sunday, November 02, 2003 Today, I pulled the soundtrack score to Somewhere in Time from my collection of CDs. I started listening to track #5 - Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini and was reminded of how beautiful it is. I listened to it continuously on my way to Beverly Hills and back home again. As the song crescendos, it becomes incredibly powerful and gives me a sense of joy and relief at the same time. Music can be healing to me...if you've read the other entries, you will see how I can find some comfort by certain songs. After Cookie died, all I could do was listen to classical music in hopes of maybe finding something that would give me a sense of relief or something that I could even relate to. I've found that with Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini. It's a beautiful, beautiful song. If you haven't heard it (and I'm sure you have) listen to it and think of Cookie...maybe then you'll know what I mean. posted by lisa | linkorama | | Saturday, November 01, 2003 I've been sitting here for awhile trying to figure out exactly what I'm feeling. Cookie is gone and though I constantly miss her, I am slowly beginning to get used to not seeing her when I get home or not hearing her walking through my apartment. I don't like the silence, I don't like that I know she doesn't live here anymore. My life is moving on as I know it should, but it's weird for me knowing that it's going on without Cookie around. When people come over, they see the sheet on the ground that Cookie used to lounge on near the window. I have yet to move it as that is where Cookie hung out on the last night she spent in our apartment. I left the crumbs from her dog treats on it and the red sttretchy first aid tape that held her bandage from the IV on her right paw. Her eating area still has a full bowl of food and water that I filled that evening as well. Knowing that it is still there is what gives me comfort and I wonder if I could ever move any of this stuff. For the last five or so years, making sure she had a comfortable living space was as important to me as making sure I did as well. In my mind, I know Cookie isn't ever coming back, but part of me still thinks that she is at the vet or that I've let her keep my parents company at their house for awhile. But part of me thinks that she is coming home soon. I don't know if I can ever truly accept that she is really gone. You would think that having her ashes in a solid oak box above my mantle would be a clue. But in as much as that makes me feel like she is with me in my home, I know she isn't coming back. I dunno, I need to feel her presence around me somehow. I don't know what I'm trying to say. I know she's gone, but I want her back. I need to feel that she is still alive somehow because otherwise, I don't know how I will be able to be ok. People think I'm brave and holding up well considering I lost my dog. But I'm not really ok. The only person or thing who could ever get me through something this traumatic is Cookie, but she's gone. What am I supposed to do now? Keep acting ok and keeping busy so I won't be so sad. This afternoon, I started watching a movie. I was lying on my couch waiting for Cookie to come over to me so we could watch the movie together. We used to watch a lot of movies and TV together all snuggled up on the couch (especially during my unemployed days). It was sad and weird to be doing that this afternoon without her. I pulled her bone shaped pillow out of my room and watched the movie with that...it made me feel like Cookie was there with me. posted by lisa | linkorama | | Friday, October 31, 2003 It's raining outside now. How I've been awaiting the rain. One of the things I loved the most was going to sleep to the sound of the rain while I would pet Cookie or on a clean day (for her), I would let her sleep near my pillow. As I was driving home from seeing Mystic River tonite (great score by Clint Eastwood by the way. Can't wait to buy it), I kept hoping that it wouldn't rain by the time I decided to go to sleep. I loved feeling cozy in bed with my dog near me or snuggling with her on the couch with the fireplace on while watching a movie. She was so relaxed (I know, I know, when was she not) but it was just so...perfect. I still can't believe she's gone. I miss my dog a lot, especially tonite. posted by lisa | linkorama | | Thursday, October 30, 2003 Ever since I brought Cookie home, things feel different. I'm not as sad and things aren't as lonely or depressing. I have her remains with her picture on the front (in the frame thing) above my fireplace. I feel like she is able to look upon my apartment and watch over me. With her picture on the urn thingy on the fireplace (and facing the front door), it is the first thing I look for when I walk into my home. I guess it feels like I have finally brought her home again. Now though, when I think about Cookie, I feel relief knowing I did the right thing and that I truly gave her a gift. What if I had waited a day or two to let her go? I'm sure she would have felt awful or even worse, what if she were in pain or suffering? Everyone tells me not only am I lucky that I had Cookie as long as I did, but that the way she died sounds peaceful and the way it should be. I mean, I got to hold her and she had to feel the love not only from me holding her, but from my parents who also let her know what a good dog she was and how much she was loved. I hope she did...I don't think any dog was loved as much. There wasn't a person who saw her who didn't think she was the cutest thing ever. The more I think about it everyday, the more I understand how lucky I am to have had her in my life. I know it sounds cheezy, but when I think about her, my heart fills with love for her even more than it did before. I never thought I could love her more than I did when she was around, but I guess I can. posted by lisa | linkorama | | Wednesday, October 29, 2003 It's hard for me to believe that Cookie has been gone for a week now. Today, I picked up her ashes from Dr. V's office. I ended up going to pick her up by myself because I found out the office closed earlier than I thought and nobody could get off of work. This ended up working out better because I think I needed to do it alone. It was weird going back to the place where I left her just one week ago. I ended up picking her up at about the exact same time we let her go last week...it was a weird feeling but strangely enough, it was oddly comforting too. I kept thinking about Cookie all day long. I rembered where I was at each hour, how I was feeling...and what time I called my parents to come to Dr. V's office to say a final good-bye. For some reason though, knowing that I would get to bring Cookie home today, made me feel "happy" oddly enough. Not "happy" in the traditional sense of the word, but I was glad that I would get to have her with me again. I mean, it's really hard to accept that Cookie's ashes are in a small box, but at the same time, I get to have her back. I still come home everyday and expect to see her sleeping on her bone shaped leopard print pillow or near the window sun bathing. I'm not used to the empty feeling in my apartment or in my heart when I am reminded that I no longer have her around. Today, is the first day I didn't cry when I got home and thought of Cookie...and it bothers me. I felt sad and "blah" all day, but I tried to hide it from everyone. I have great friends and a ton of people I am close to, but for some reason, I just didn't want to talk about it. I still don't ever really want to be ok about losing Cookie. I know I will be ok...but for someone who gave me such joy, comfort and unconditional love...I shouldn't even be close to feeling "ok" yet. posted by lisa | linkorama | | Tuesday, October 28, 2003 Interesting... looking back on my old blogs...it's too late for "what ifs" now... posted by lisa | linkorama | | If people actually read this thing, you might wonder why I have a blog for Cookie. A few years ago, after I quit my truly heinous job at a "family-friendly" cable network, I found myself bored and without a project while sending out resumes. A friend of mine had a blog (people actually read his...and some even considered his "cool"), so I thought, why not build one myself. And I did...for myself and not wanting Cookie to feel left out, built one for her too. Of course, her poor blog was ignored for quite awhile. After she died though, I thought it would be nice to turn her "tales" into a site where I could write about her publicly (ok, so NOBODY reads this, and that's fine, but whatever). And it's been helpful to me...and to maybe the only two other people who read this (my parents). posted by lisa | linkorama | | It's funny, I think about how much Cookie means to me still and how I never would have thought I could love a dog that much. Even when I still had her, I knew I would be distraught if she died, but I never thought I could feel this way. And it's weird...in one way, when people ask me how I'm doing, and I say "ok" I know I don't really mean it, but when it comes out of my mouth, I do mean it. In one way, I don't know if I still haven't fully accepted Cookie being gone or if I really have. I come home and think she's just sleeping. But I come home and my apartment feels so empty and lonely I have to pretend she is here so I don't freak out on myself. Once, when I was picking Cookie up at the groomers, a woman commented how young Cookie looked until I informed her that Cookie was 14, definitely no spring chicken. She told me she once had a Shih Tzu and when it died, she was so distraught, it took her twenty years before she could get another dog. I have thought about her comment a lot, especially recently. At the time, I thought the woman was nuts. Yes, I understand a mourning period, but twenty years? Now though, I get it. I don't think I could ever get another Shih Tzu...well, maybe in twenty years. I always said that because Cookie is/was so cute, no other dog could EVER measure up. In a way, it reminds me of someone who re-marries after the spouse dies. One has such love for another, but their lives must go on. How though can they love someone else when they never chose to split from their mate? Will I be able to get another dog? I think so. Will I love it like I loved Cookie? Honestly and truly, I don't think I could. What bothers me the most is that when I think about Cookie, though it's only been a week, I feel like I am forgetting. Today for example, I tried not to think about her then I got sad. Sitting here, looking at her pictures, I try to remember what it felt like to hold and play with her and the more I think about it, the less I remember. If I don't remember I get sad, if I do remember, I get sad. Then I get annoyed that everybody else doesn't think about her. Why should they? She's not their dog. But it's like, how can everyone else go on about their lives when she's not here. Then I think about the lyric from "I Don't Know How to Say Good-bye:" The world moves on With no regret And though you're gone There are feelings I'll never forget So I remember you And though I try I don't know how to say good-bye posted by lisa | linkorama | | Monday, October 27, 2003 I just finished typing this entire thing about Cookie and hit "post" and the entire thing just vanished. I should have known it. My heart just sank when I realized it disappeared. Normally I would have cursed at my computer, just short of throwing it out the window. This time though I felt what happened was typical considering all the shit I've gone through in the last week. Why wouldn't it disappear? Why wouldn't some heartfelt thing I wrote about Cookie just vanish, everything else seems to. This time last week my entire life changed. I was about to lose the one thing I loved the most in this world. Cookie was my life. Everything I did, I had to think about her. From going out or even staying in, I had to make sure Cookie was taken care of. Sometimes, I wanted more freedom, but for the most part I was so grateful I had her. As she got older, I tried to prepare myself for what it would be like when I would eventually have to say good-bye. In one way, I never thought I would have to. Today, I went back to work for the first time since I lost her. When my alarm went off, I instinctively reached for Cookie only to find the pillow she used to sleep on in her place. Going back and forth from the bathroom to my bedroom while getting ready, I kept expecting to see her sleeping until I would take her out for potty. As I walked out the door, I saw her leash just sitting there near the door. I was sad seeing the grass outside knowing that I didn't have to walk Cookie that morning. At work, I kept looking at pictures of Cookie to remind myself that I needed to feel sad and that she was gone. I was afraid of getting too wrapped up in my work that I might forget her for just one moment. I couldn't bear to let that happen. But sure enough, I did get so busy that I did forget she was gone and I really hated myself for that. When I left for home, I was sad knowing that there really wasn't any reason to go home. After all, what was left there for me now? All I really wanted was to go home and hug Cookie and look at her to know that everything would be all right. The last four years I did that if I was feeling down or angry or frustrated. What would I do with myself now? I just miss my dog. I miss announcing my arrival or departure in a room to Cookie only to see her raise her ears and ignore me. I miss hearing her eating her food or lapping up her water. I even miss her awful stench when I knew it was time for a bath. I surround myself with her pictures - on my night table, the tv, bookshelf, mantle, desk, bulletin board...she's my screen saver and my desktop image on my computer at work and at home. I don't know what to do with myself. If I talk about her too much it bothers me because it gets me too sad, but if I don't talk about her I feel the same way. I don't feel like she's gone yet, maybe that's because I don't want to believe it. Either way, it doesn't matter, she's gone. I look around my apartment and it is not the same anymore. I am surrounded by her stuff becuase I can't bear to put anything away. I want to know when I will feel better but at the same time, if I do, I think that will break my heart more than anything. I hung out with a friend this evening and while he was being his usual amusing self, all I wanted to do was be at home and think about and remember Cookie. I am really freaked out that all Cookie will be to me soon is just a memory. How can that be good enough? Cookie kept me sane when the world around me was spinning out of control or when my life wasn't the way I needed it to be. All I had to do was be near her to know that as long as I had my dog, I had nothing to worry about. I loved Cookie more than I ever thought I could...without her around, I really don't know what I am going to do. How will I ever be ok? posted by lisa | linkorama | | Again, I found another song that makes me sad. Yet I need to listen to it in order for some kind of comfort... The leaves must turn The wind must blow The heart must learn when it's time for the heart to let go But when I think of you My heart knows why I don't know how to say good-bye The world moves on With no regret And though you're gone There are feelings I'll never forget So I remember you And though I try I don't know how to say good-bye ... The evenings fall Much harder now The stars grow small And the moon seems so different somehow But everytime I think of you The moon and I Know you're the only reason why I don't know how to say good-bye... - "I Don't Know How to Say Good-bye" by Frank Wildhorn and Jack Murphy from Linda Eder's album It's Time posted by lisa | linkorama | | Sunday, October 26, 2003 When you lose someone you love, you are often told that time will only make it easier. What if you don't want it to be easier? When you no longer feel the pain of their loss this means you are healing. I don't want to heal. I want to miss my dog everyday. I want to imagine her sleeping in her bed or coming to me at every rustle of a plastic bag. In a way, I don't want to be ok. And when I start to feel ok, it bothers me. How often I think of my dog is up to me of course. I know I won't forget. When I was six, I experienced death for the first time when my grandfather passed on Christmas Eve. I don't remember anything about my life at that time really, other than being told he passed and what that felt like. At eleven, I experienced the first devistating loss of my life. I was now old enough to really understand the finality of death when Papo (my maternal grandfather) passed. And at twenty, we lost Mamo (my maternal grandmother). After my parents, she meant everything to me. I loved her more than anyone. When she died, I experienced true heartache for the first time in my life. I never knew my heart would actually ache, but it sure did. I am glad I haven't forgotten any of them. I think of grandpa at least once a day, I think of Papo several times a day and I don't think I've ever stopped thinking of Mamo. So I know I won't forget Cookie, but in a way, I don't want to stop hurting. Am I crazy? When a person dies, people send their sympathies and people mourn your loss. When a pet dies, people send their sympathies and mourn your loss, but it's different because it's a pet. The loss of a pet to me, is no different than the loss of a human. A loss is a loss, and your heart breaks just the same. Yet, sometimes I think there is almost a sense of shame associated with mourning a pet, but there shouldn't be. A friend of mine e-mailed me the following and how right I think he is: I don't think there is anything more pure and real than the love and devotion of a dog. All he asks, is a little love, a kind word, a gentle pat, a bit to eat and in return he gives you his complete unconditional love and loyalty. I used to tell Cookie that I loved her more than the whole world. And now that she's gone, so is my world. posted by lisa | linkorama | | Saturday, October 25, 2003 I think animals feel love. I hope Miss Cookie felt this way about me: When somebody loved me Everything was beautiful Every hour spent together Lives within my heart And when she was sad I was there to dry her tears And when she was happy, so was I When she loved me Through the summer and the fall We had each other That was all Just she and I together Like it was meant to be And when she was lonely I was there to comfort her And I knew that she loved me. When somebody loved me Everything was beautiful Every hour spent together Lives within my heart When she loved me. - From "When He Loved Me" by Randy Newman, Toy Story 2. posted by lisa | linkorama | | Friday, October 24, 2003 A profound thank you to Dr. Alice Villalobos for her support and encouragement through a very difficult time. posted by lisa | linkorama | | Thursday, October 23, 2003 COOKIE MIYUKI (October 17, 1987 - October 22, 2003) nee Naughty Cookie Johnson 
Last night, October 22, I made the difficult decision of letting my dear sweet dog go. In the last week, she had undergone several tests, hospitalization in three different locations and too much discomfort to live a quality life. I was referred to a wonderfully compassionate veterinarian who informed me that Miss Cookie was much sicker than we had initially thought. In addition to chronic cirrhosis, her kidneys were withering away and she had painful gallstones. Unfortunately, it would only be a matter of time before she would suffer. I love my dog too much to see her go through anything more than she has to. The recommendation was that she be euthanized as none of the treatments she had been given in the last week were improving her condition. I didn't want her to sustain a miserable life on IVs. As most of you know, Monday night, I thought Cookie had died. I was giving her a bath and we were half way through when she started screaming (particularly disturbing as she hasn't barked in three years) and went limp in my arms. As far as I knew, she stopped breathing and I truly believed Cookie died an excruciating and traumatic death. When I found the courage to see her one last time, I happily discovered that she was not there - she had picked her little body up and walked into my bedroom and was sleeping soundly in her bed. Whenever somebody we love passes, we always wish for that one extra opportunity to share with them in order to say a proper good-bye. I was lucky enough to get this. Both my doctors and my family believe that Cookie came back for a reason. I believe it was to allow my family and I to let her know how much we loved her and to hold the last memory of her in our hearts as being peaceful and loving and not frenzied and traumatic. In her last hours, she looked spent. Throughout her life, she was always willing to fight to stay alive no matter how grim her diagnosis. But this time, she looked as if she didn't have any fight left in her. It was then that I knew putting her down was the right decision. I was able to bid a proper farewell to my dog and let her know it was ok to go. The hardest thing I've ever had to do was to make the decision to say good-bye. But I knew that this way, she wouldn't have to suffer anymore and hopefully she would find some peace. In her final moments, she became relaxed, peaceful and she even smiled at me. As the nurse motioned that she was gone, my dad noticed her tail wagging, as if to say a final good-bye. I know this e-mail is rather lengthy and well, an e-mail. As much as I would have preferred telling each of you what happened, I just don't think my heart could handle it. Thank you for being my friends and for showing your love to both me and especially Cookie. My baby lived a long, happy life, and for that, I am most grateful. posted by lisa | linkorama | | |
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