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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 | | |
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