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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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Friday, May 13, 2005 My last post was supposed to be the final one in Miss Cookie's Tales. However I was waiting for the CD of Little Women the Musical to come out so I could post these lyrics. When the character of Beth died (everyone knows this story, so it's not like I'm posting a spoiler) I was in tears -- partially because of the story, but I think it was more because of what it reminded me of. In Some Things Are Meant To Be, I kept thinking about Cookie...and with Days of Plenty it reminded me of Mamo because after she passed, I questioned: "who will remember that she mattered?" Anyhow, here are some of the lyrics... Some Things Are Meant To Be Music by Jason Howland; Lyrics by Mindi Dickstein (Beth and Jo sing this duet on a trip to Cape Cod just prior to Beth's death) ...Everyone has someone special in this world and I have you... Some things are meant to be The clouds moving fast and free The sun on a silver sea A sky that's bright and blue And some things will never end The thrill of our magic ride The love that I feel inside for you ... Pass the days doing only as we please That's what living is for... Some things are meant to be The tide turning endlessly The way it takes hold of me No matter what I do And somethings will never die The promise of who you are Your memories when I am far from you All my life, I've lived for loving you Let me go now... -------- Days of Plenty Music by Jason Howland; Lyrics by Mindi Dickstein (Sung by Marmee as she tells Jo how she copes with Beth's death) You have to believe There is reason for hope You have to believe That the answsers will come You can't let this defeat you I won't let this defeat you You must fight to keep her there within you So believe that she mattered And believe that she always will She will always be with you She'll be part of the days you've yet to fill She will live in your bounty She will live as you carry on your life So carry on full of hope She'll be there For all your days of plenty Friday, October 22, 2004 I memorized the irregular beat of her heart as I held her small weak body close to my own heart. I felt the two short, then three quick beats of her heart over and over knowing it would only be time before it would stop forever. Today, on the 1 year anniversary of Cookie's passing, I want so much to remember every detail, every moment of the end of Cookie's life. I want to take those memories and hold them close to my heart so that...I can let them go...and it has taken me one whole year to do so. For the first time, I am really happy and at peace with this. I have found some kind of inner strength in my heart...to release her. I will always love my dog more than any pet I will ever have in my life moving forward, and never can I or will I forget her. What I will do is hold a special place in my heart for her -- a place that will never be erased, never forgetten. A perfect place I can "go to" in my mind and heart whenever I need to. It has been a long time (even for me) to mourn anything this deeply (ie, Mamo & Papo...). It was hard for me to accept and deal with this loss in particular because of what Cookie represented to me for the years we were together. Between 5-5:30 p.m. -- when she passed last year -- I will spend time thinking, remebering and in a way I guess honoring the spirit of Cookie. I don't remember the exact moment she left this earth last year, because telling the tech "ok, now" in reference to that final injection that would stop her heart and organs instantly was too difficult a time to pinpoint. I wanted this day to be a celebration of what Cookie meant to me. I want to remember the good times and the relationship I had with her...before I bid a final adieu. Cookie was a queen...she represented love, life, peace, sanity and friendship in my life. I take solace in knowing that up in heaven, she is happy again. She is free of disease, lonliness and hopefully with other people who I loved on this earth. I'd like to think Cookie lives with Mamo & Papo (maybe Papo mostly...:)) sharing beautiful days and moment with them, loving them the way she loved me. posted by lisa | linkorama | | Thursday, October 21, 2004 Today, last year, I visited Cookie for as long as humanly possible at her vet. When she was admitted at the Animal Emergency Vet, Cookie was transported the very next day to her vet office which conveniently was next door. That afternoon, I went to visit her after lunch and hoped to get some positive news about her condition from the vet. The workers there were used to seeing me...as I was there almost weekly (if not daily) in the past month. The last visit, I remember seeing a mother and her grown daughter waiting for their appointment with their rather ill small dog. They told me stories about the vet they had seen and hated because she suggested euthanizing their dog prematurely (which unfortunately was the same vet I was seeing with Cookie). The mother told me about having to put their dog down a few years before and how their second dog (the one currently ill) saved them from being too sad about the death of their dog. The daughter scolded her mother for telling me such a story when Cookie was so seemingly sick. I smiled politely and said not to worry, but secretly, I was afraid that it was a sign. Anyway…I was led into an exam room and the nurse told me Cookie would be in shortly. This was different…for as many times as I had come to visit Cookie, never were we given our own room to visit in. I figured I was getting in the way back in the hospital area, so they put me in a room. But…they put me us in a room for a very, very long time. At first, I was annoyed because we were there to visit and a doctor was supposed to come in and give me an update at some point that afternoon. I sat in that room with Cookie for a good 2+ hours. We made the most of it. I told her that she was sick, but I promised that she would be ok after seeing Dr. V because the doctors here were mean and possibly incompetent. So I talked to Cookie as she buried her head in the palm of my had, sat on my lap all the while, I was stroking her small, sweet head. She was quite perky and had more energy than she had in the last two weeks. I hoped it was all because things were going to get better and I’d have my old dog back to her normal self. Cookie was 16, but dogs her size lived until at least 20. I truly hoped time would be kind to us. But then…I got nervous. What if this was the end? What if after I left, she relapsed and passed…what if I wasn’t there for her when it happened? Would she be alone in this wretched cage? I was so scared…so I started to tell her “good-bye”…just in case. I let her know with tears streaming down my face, that it would be ok if she had to die…because I would love her anyway and that I understood. I told her I would be ok (what a fucking lie). I told her that she was the best thing that ever happened to me…that the years we spent together meant the world to me. But…if she had to go…I wouldn’t be angry with her. I hoped my emotional speech was unnecessary. Then, the vet came in. She explained to me after looking at her x-rays that she was very sick. I wasn’t listening fully because I truly believed she didn’t know a single fucking thing. I thought she was a cold, heartless, incompetent cunt who had the audacity to tell me…”they are always brightest at the end,” patted me on the shoulder and walked out. I tried to regain some kind of composure and thanked her…because I had to leave Cookie that night and didn’t want her to harm my dog. As I left in complete and utter shock…I remember telling myself that seeing Dr. V the next day would solve all of my problems. I told my parents and my friends that I had complete faith in her. Reason being, she was my co-worker’s vet (and she loved her) and after speaking with Dr. V for the last few days about Cookie’s condition, I had created an overwhelming sense of trust for this complete stranger. She had been studying Cookie’s case…been faxed Cookie’s records…and she was going to give me the real scoop on Cookie’s condition. “Whatever she suggests we do…will be my answer…no matter what,” I kept telling myself. I knew that the next day held my answers…I only wish I knew how much that would hurt. posted by lisa | linkorama | | Wednesday, October 20, 2004 Sometimes, if I think hard enough, I can hear the deafening pierce of her cry. I rarely allow myself to remember because it is too painful, but today, last year is when Cookie’s frightening cry signaled the beginning of the end. I still so clearly remember those final hours she spent at home. She never got the chance to say goodbye nor did I get the chance to have one last good moment with her there. I remember impatiently waiting to pick her up that night from the VCA of West L.A. I finally picked her up at the last minute possible (around 9:30-9:45 p.m.) because the hospital told me she needed to get the most of the IV (she was put in there because she wasn’t eating and losing weight). The doctors brought her out, wrapped in a towel and I held her so close and remember feeling so happy to bring her back home. I was looking forward to October 22 – the day of her appointment with Dr. V – as I hoped Dr. V would give me instructions to switch her diet and all would be well. I hoped. As Cookie and I drove home, I was bursting with relief and happiness to have her back with me. I promised to give her a bath later that night and couldn’t wait to spend some much needed quality time with my best friend. I brought her home excited and hopeful. I laid down a sheet and she went to lie down on it. I hoped she would want to eat, so I prepared a variety for her to choose from -- some of her loved canned dog food…the hospital said she was eating some on her own there. She didn’t want any of that, so I gave her some of the home-made dog food Dr. V had prescribed to one of my co-worker’s dogs that I freshly made for Cookie. She didn’t like that either. In fact, it kind of made her cough and wasn’t so tasty. So I went with my last ditch effort of carrot baby food. She liked that…licked it all up and I laughed because her whole mouth area was orange and she looked awfully cute. After her dinner, I wanted to curl up on the sofa with her, but she didn’t want to do that, so while I was lying down on the sofa, she hung out where she ate her food (on the sheet). I checked some email at my desk and she lay on my lap then decided lying down would be better, so she did that while I talked to her, still sitting at my desk. Finally, around 11 or so, I went to run her bath water. I took off that horrible Elizabethan collar she had to wear because of her eye infection and we started in on the bath. I had been bathing her with Johnson & Johnson’s baby shampoo – lavender scent – something the doctor suggested and something I wish I had done before (because it smelled far better than the doggie stuff she had). I started in on the bath and suddenly, she started to snort and then she screamed a painful and agonizing sound. Then…she went limp in my arms. I remember as she started snorting that she couldn’t die and was afraid she was having a heart attack. My heart started to race and my fears were getting the best of me. I only remember screaming as loud as I possibly could hoping it would somehow either wake her up or that maybe God would hear me and help. Cookie wasn’t moving…and I kept screaming…louder and louder…I felt my heart breaking and as silly as it sounds, I felt a certain part of my life ending. I set her down on the ground, on the towel waiting to dry her from her bath she never fully finished and kept screaming for Cookie to be ok. My neighbors from upstairs came down to make sure I was ok – they thought I was being raped. I called my parents and Mark and my friends…not really knowing what I was doing, only afraid that my absolute worst fear was coming true right before my eyes. This, on a day I feared most – the day Mamo had passed away only 7 years before. While my parents were on their way, I tried to get a hold of Mark again, hoping he could come over and keep me company. He slept through the ringing of the phone. So Heidi came over and sat with me… a broken hearted, inconsolably sad me…and I kept telling her how I feared Cookie dying on the same day as Mamo and how I couldn’t believe what was happening. All the while, the events of the evening playing over and over in my head. I told Heidi I just couldn’t believe Cookie was gone yet…it just wasn’t right…and I had to see her one last time. So I opened the hall door that I had closed so I wouldn’t have to see her limp body lying there in the bathroom and noticed…that…she…wasn’t…there…any…more? What? I started to jump up and down and happily screamed to Heidi that Cookie was alive. In fact, my yelling for joy actually woke her up. That was some gift…that my dog wasn’t gone after all! When my parents finally got to my place, I thanked Heidi profusely for coming over and helping me…and told her to go home and sleep since she had to work the next day. We prepared to take Cookie to the emergency vet, and when I picked her up, she screamed again. I screamed and made my dad take care of her. The scream was the most excruciating sound I’ve ever heard out of a living being…and I heard it twice. So my parents & I rushed Cookie to the 24-hour emergency vet…and had to explain everything. The story was now humorous to me because in my mind, she “died” once already…and…she has gone through so much before and never gave up. So…maybe this time…hopefully, things would be the same. How wrong I was. posted by lisa | linkorama | | Sunday, October 17, 2004 Dearest Miss Cookie, Happy birthday!!! Today would have been your 17th birthday. I am flooded with memories of the birthdays we spent together and how important they were to me (maybe more so than for you). It was so much fun for me to buy you presents and shower you with attention in hopes that you wouldn't get annoyed an walk away. Heehee...you knew how much attention you wanted and could put up with, but nothing more. Every year for your birthday, I give you a present and remind you that the day is for you. Unless I had to go to work, I would spend the day home with you. Do you remember I would give you some canned senior Science Diet dog food since I know you would happily devour it? Later on, you would get several extra treats and a slice of American cheese for dessert. You probably bet you won the lottery with all the good food, not really knowing why you were being showered with the attention. I know, I know...maybe this showering of attention was more for me than for you because as a dog, you really didn't comprehend the idea of the birthday. But, oh how I loved any excuse to feed you just a little bit more and spend just another hour with you. Today, it is hard for me, knowing you are gone. I don't know whether to be sad that I couldn't make good on my promise to you last year or to be happy that you were once here...and that you were my dog. I guess I feel a little of both, but more sad that you aren't here...and that I can't spoil you today, on your birthday and that even a year later, your absence in my life is still deeply felt. Thank you for everything you've given me, you were the best thing in my life in the years we spent together. Happy Birthday Miss Cookie Miyuki...oh, how I loved you. Today would have been Cookie's 17th birthday. Last year, she was stuck getting tests at the VCA...and I remember visiting her bottom cage in the pet ICU, promising her that for her birthday next year, things would be better. She looked at me with those big brown eyes trying so hard to get me to carry her out and wisk her home. Her eyes looked so sad, so confused. I know she hated to be there with all the other annoying sick animals. Perhaps she was feeling slightly under the weather, but she couldn't have been that sick. Could she? When I visitor hours were over and I had to go home, I remember promising to Miss Cookie that next year would be better...next birthday I would give her yummy food and that she would be home with me and I'd get her the best present ever. As she looked at me, I could see the yearning in her eyes to have me take her with me. Maybe she felt punished or unloved because we rarely spent a night apart...and when we did, she was a big emotional wreck. I told her I would be back, I told her it was because she wasn't feeling herself...I hope she understood that. All of this kills me all the more because birthdays are always important to me. Whether it be with friends or family, a birthday, any birthday is special. Even though they aren't with me anymore, I still celebrate my grandparents' birthdays and make sure to set aside a few more extra moments to be thankful for their lives and what they meant to me. Thinking about having to "mentally celebrate" Cookie's birthday today isn't really something I thought last year would happen to me in the following year. posted by lisa | linkorama | | Friday, October 15, 2004 Everyone experiences loss…no one is immune. Why though is is so hard for me to let it go and accept that Cookie is gone? I am no more special than anyone else...yes, I lost a pet, but I didn't loose a spouse, a parent, a child... I guess loss is loss. For the first 8-9 months after Cookie passed, I felt a true real pain and emptiness in my soul without her. Everytime I thought about her, I would be sad and feel such an emptiness. Distraction always helped...I would go on through my life as normal, but deep down, I was just floating through life...only remembering the lonliness that Cookie's absence left. Everything I did somehow would reference back to her. I wanted so much to allow myself to really feel the pain...maybe so I wouldn't forget...because I was so petrified of forgetting. I was grateful for the opportunity to say good-bye, but hated that we weren't meant to be anymore... Cookie was my sanity, my strength and sometimes, fueled my happiness. When she went away, my heart shattered and my life changed forever. A person couldn't find a better dog, companion, friend and bigger heart in Cookie. I was so lucky to have been the person to be loved by her. posted by lisa | linkorama | | Wednesday, October 13, 2004 Every year, 365 days pass us by. Specific dates never matter much until something happens and it forever changes the meaning in our lives. As the one and eight-year “anniversaries” of Cookie & Mamo’s (respective) passings approach, it is hard for me to look upon the end of the month of October the same. I wonder, if when Mamo was alive, if October 20th ever meant anything to her…if she ever looked at the calendar and wondered if that day would be an ordinary day. Or if it ever occurred to her that THAT day, would one day be significant in her life. As the days pass in my life, I sometimes wonder if one day a random date that passes will become significant to me one day down the road. I don’t think too much about it, but I do wonder. When I look ahead at my calendar and see that this time last year, I had only one more week left with my dog, I wonder if I lived those last seven days to it’s fullest. I remember looking forward to a trip to the Central Coast to visit old friends…not knowing… I look at past blog enteries and remember my mind was elsewhere, on other people and other things that once seemed so important. How could I know that one year later, those “things” would be completely meaningless. Last year, as Cookie grew weaker and sicker, I secretly feared the approaching date of October 20th. That was the day Mamo passed away in 1996…and since her passing, the one thing that comforted me through such a traumatic loss, was my dog. My big fear was that I would loose her on the very date that I lost my grandmother. Even now, I cannot really allow my mind to “go there” for fear I cannot handle the emotions. What am I really trying to say? Well, as usual, I learned something form my secret new favorite TV show, Starting Over. On an upcoming episode, Rhonda helps Josie cope with the death of her grandmother. Josie realizes that she idolizes her grandmother’s love for her, which is preventing her from actually embracing new love in her life. Immediately, that idea strikes a chord with me…because I too do that. I too have done that. posted by lisa | linkorama | | Tuesday, October 12, 2004 I just heard what I thought was thunder...and immediately wanted to rush and hug my dog. Cookie was petrified of thunder. In her youth, we had to give her a sedative otherwise she would make a bee-line for the toilet. Yes, she was a peculiar little dog. Her previous owner recounted tales of a time when they just couldn't find Cookie. There was a thunderstorm, so they searched everywhere for her. Then they noticed sopping wet marks in the carpet that lead right to the toilet...the conclusion...Cookie felt safe there during a storm. Pretty funny, but sad. The first time we experienced a thunderstorm, I held Cookie and my mom and I reassured her everything would be ok. She was shaking. After the storm passed, I gave her a treat and all was well with the world. In subsequent storms, we snuck a sedative into a piece of cheese and Cookie was the calmest dog ever. God, I loved that dog. posted by lisa | linkorama | | Monday, October 11, 2004 Something I was most proud of was my dog. I guess that is an understatement. After all, I created a blog for my dog...and thought it was cute. Cookie was smart, well behaved, cute...and loveable. She was the ideal dog. I doted on her...and in turn, she loved me unconditionally. My most special memories with her, was lounging at home on weekends, napping as the sun started to go down with the fresh air coming through the windows...I guess I've mentioned this before, but truly...there was nothing like it. Cookie was the best dog, the best friend, the best period. I really never thought I would ever become so attached to an animal, but I am glad I did and am forever grateful. posted by lisa | linkorama | | Sunday, October 10, 2004 Everyone tells me I should get a new dog soon. That "it would be a good idea" or that I "need one." But honestly, I'm not ready. I know a few things: As the "anniversary" of Cookie's death approaches, I'm afraid to remember the events leading up to the day where my dog was taken from me. I know I shouldn't look at it like that, but everytime I begin to think about it, my heart literally hurts. posted by lisa | linkorama | | Thursday, October 07, 2004 Lyrics...there is always a song out there that describes how I feel...I only wish I were creative enough to write them. I was listening to Susan Egan's newest album, Coffee Talk and on it, there is a song by the brilliant Marcy Heisler and Zina Goldrich called, "Oh, How I Loved You." Though it is song about the ending of a romantic relationship, the end of any relationship where the emotion of love is involved is always hard to let go of... ...Reasonless and seasonless and infinite and strong Brightening and lightening and pure Cautionless and logic-less and limitless and long Wonderous all consuming and impossible I could think of your rejection how it shook me to the core How your unexpected exit broke my heart How you learn that love you lose feels like a gently slamming door A door you keep unlocked if you’re smart... * * * But if I story write the story And I will write the story I know just how the story will begin Oh, how I loved you Oh, how I loved you Sweet and unbelievable And if you only knew Oh, how I loved you. Tuesday, October 05, 2004 Tonite, Dr. V sent me the photos I've been waiting for. Last year, right before we put Cookie down, she took pictures of Cookie -- for me, for herself. She's a busy lady and I've been anxiously awaiting them. Yet tonite, when I got those photos, it was as if they arrived when they were supposed to -- it wasn't too soon but it wasn't too late. Looking at the images of my dog...she looked so tired, so ready to go...and everything just came back to me. I remember visiting Cookie at her normal vet office after the first "death scare" and seeing life in her eyes again and she was active and reminded me of the way she used to be...when she was younger. I told the vet that and I remember she placed a hand on my shoulder and told me, "they are always the brightest right before they go." I was so angry at this comment. I was enraged. I wanted to tell her off and take Cookie into my arms and tell this hack of a vet that she didn't know what she was talking about. But deep down, deep, deep, deep down...I feared her words held truth. That day when I visited Cookie, I wasn't sure if I would ever see her again. I held her and stroked her gentle head and told her how much she was loved. I prayed not that she would live forever, but that this wouldn't be the end. Every person who has ever meant anything to me, has died before I had a chance to say good-bye -- I couldn't loose Cookie the same way. So I told her that if she had to go, that it would be ok with me...but only because I loved her so much. I wanted nothing more than for her to live forever...with me. But I knew I couldn't have the impossible. I said good-bye to her out of fear that I wouldn't get the chance again. At the same time though, I prayed that maybe I was wrong and that Cookie would come through and live for 20+ years. I was told that small dogs could live that long and my baby was only 16 -- she had at least 4 more years, right? And God knew that I couldn't live without her. He had taken everyone else that I loved too soon -- but I didn't need anyone in my life as desperately as I needed my dog. My biggest fear in life was losing my parents or my dog. I wasn't ready to experience such a traumatic loss, not yet...not ever. I was afraid to love Cookie when I first had her because I was afriad to loose her. And now that I was able to love her, I didn't know how not to love her. posted by lisa | linkorama | | Monday, October 04, 2004 Today, I helped Mark move some of his things to his new apartment. When cleaning up some of his tapes & dvds, we came across a review copy of "Queer Eye for the Straight Guy" that Cookie had gnawed on (BIG TIME) back in the day. As I held it in my hand, and looked at the teeth marks, tears started to well up in my eyes and I started to chuckle. I remember when it happened because it was so out of character for her to gnaw on anything! Seeing the DVD case, reminded me of the good 'ole days and how badly I need for her to be around still physically. I looked at Mark when he handed me the case and started crying because I missed her so much and laughing because of the incident... I am keeping it in the trunk that holds all of her belongings. posted by lisa | linkorama | | Saturday, October 02, 2004 In one way, it's horrible that I keep trying to suppress my feelings and emotions about Cookie as the 1 year mark approaches. On the other hand...I feel like if I do acknowledge these budding emotions, that I will relapse into such sadness again. I miss Cookie more now than I did when she passed because now it is harder to remember what she felt and smelled like or how just being around her cheered me up when I was low. Cookie was just a pet, not a person (per se) but to me, she was like my child. I loved her more than just about anything I have ever loved. Cookie was about 12 years old when it was decided that my parents would let her live with me full time. I was never with her for more than 3 months at a time (because I was in college and only came home during the summmers) so I was never really that attched to her. But when she first came to live with me, I remember consciously trying not to become so attached out of fear that I would loose her one day. I knew that I would fiercely love her, but I was afraid of that. Afraid because it is always so hard for me when someone I love passes away -- it absolutely ruins and devestates me. For a bit, I tried to keep a little bit of distance from her, but then I asked myself why. Why would I deny myself the experience? Why push her away? Why miss out on something that could enhance my life? More importantly why was I so afraid and why should I live in fear. So, I made the decision to live and love Cookie and feel honored to have her in my life. But everyday from that point on, I feared losing her...I feared that I wouldn't be home and she would die without me...and that I wouldn't know what to do with myself. I feared that EVERY SINGLE DAY OF MY LIFE. Cookie became to me my lifesaver from the world, my life...everything. I depended on her more than I think a person should depend on a pet. She was so ideal because though she loved my companionship, she didn't need that much attention. She'd come to you when she wanted to and leave when she'd had enough. It was hilarious, but perfect because I had such a busy life (working mostly). It's funny...that the death of a pet can devestate you more than you could ever imagine. I wonder if I should deal with these feelings, but somehow, I'm afraid to. I just think about Cookie everyday and am ever so thankful she graced my life because honestly, I think without her...I wouldn't be who I am today. posted by lisa | linkorama | | Wednesday, September 22, 2004 Nearly one year ago today, Cookie and I moved into what would be the final homespace we would share together. Everytime I think about it, I get a well of emotions. We spent only one month in that place together and yet it seems much longer. In 30 days, I built up many incredible memories of the one being that brought such love and happiness to my life. I fear each day that grows closer to that fateful day when my beloved dog passed away because it is hard for me to believe that she will have been gone for a whole year. I've been watching a lot/too much of 'Starting Over' and in-so-doing, trying to come up with what has caused me to become so emotionally devoid. Cookie and Mamo are the two most devistating losses in my life that I haven't been able to let go of. Holding onto these people and losses I believe, is keeping me from moving on in almost all apsects of my life. However, letting go isn't something I am capable of doing at this point. I believe, my dog and my grandmother represent such selfless and unconditional love that have since left my life. I'm not sure how to move past it and I don't even know if I want to. I'm not sure what I'm getting at right now, but I do know that as October 22, 2004 approaches, I will have to gather myself and hope that I will be ok. I still miss you Miss Cookie...and I honestly don't know if I will ever really get over your loss. But you know what? To me, there is no shame in feeling this way...and I am forever blessed/grateful that I had you in my life for as long as I did. posted by lisa | linkorama | | |
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