Posts Tagged: ‘puppies’

eight days later

November 19, 2012 Posted by the writer

It’s been eight days since I was forced to say goodbye to Henry. I don’t feel better. I actually feel worse. It’s amazing how much you can cut life down when life cuts what you care about most away.

This is post 1,001. I used to imagine what 1,000 posts would be. If anyone told me it would have been numb verses poured to dilute the anguish of losing Henry, I probably would have abandoned these parts months ago.

I’m not happy. I can’t make myself happy. I’ve gone through houses and husbands and jobs until the cows come home in these parts. I’ve never lost anything to this caliber and there will be very few times in life that I ever do. Very few do I hold so dear.

Sure, there is an unconditional requirement to bear a particular regard for life. But then there are those you love. Above and beyond any other. That’s what Henry is.

Eventually I’ll sell myself out to the whole “Time heals all wounds” thing. I don’t put any faith behind these words whatsoever, but I like to consider myself a mindless mammal – same as the rest.

I must also mention my poor Peanut in all of this mess. She’s only been in the country for two months. She doesn’t really know where she is. She doesn’t know where her brother is, although she can tell he won’t be back. And she isn’t thrilled staying home alone every day.

It’s not that I’m unaware sooner or later I’ll snap out it. It’s just the requirement to do so is such a startling slap of how shallow life really and truly can get.

box. bottle. back to work.

November 12, 2012 Posted by the writer

I’m going back to work today. I will wear a new dress, five inch stilettos and a fresh pair of nylons. When people ask me about Henry I’ll say things like, “It’s sad, sometimes these things happen,” and “Thank you for asking though…” I will sit at an enormous board table and talk in billions, pretend like my heart hasn’t finally permanently fractured.

Then I’ll probably duck into the bathroom to sob in increments I’m assuming will be in a rotating range of 30 to 45 minutes.

Over the past three days I walked Lily all over Queens. From Forest Hills to Astoria Park. We walked until my legs hurt. Yesterday we wandered for close to five hours.

A bottle of tequila and box of tissues later, needless to say, I don’t feel any better. At least I’ve gotten a lot of practice sucking back tears, because I’m trying not to break down in front of Peanut. It’s hard enough for her already.

Peanut has never been alone a single day of her life. Ever. Timothy will be at the house keeping her company today. It’s the best I can do to soften the blow.

My therapist pointed out that work is how I cope. Last year around this time, when I was reeling from divorce, I set my entire focus on landing a full-time Writer gig. In 2009, when my marriage was evidently dissolving, I put all my attention on getting to New York City.

I’m going to pick up some novels this week. I haven’t looked at them for some days. I need something to work on, somewhere to focus. Because when I look around, I still look for Henry.

Work, tissues, tequila. If anyone else knows any good coping mechanisms. I’m all (t)ears.

R.I.P Henry. Fuck you lymphoma.

November 10, 2012 Posted by the writer

Henry left Earth this morning. I picture him surrounded in gold light, somewhere far away with wings… in a place far superior to the lower vibrational land where you and I reside.

I know it’s cliche, but the ones that are left behind are always the ones that suffer indescribably. Like Peanut and I, for example.

While I have been attempting to drown my tears in tequila, it has yet to prove successful. Although, at the rate my tears are pouring, I’m hoping to drown in those soon. Naturally I would have to cry enough to drown Peanut as well so we could both go and catch up with Henry together. Timothy would also like to come along.

Unfortunately, I don’t foresee this happening. But considering the rate of my sobs, I haven’t completely out-ruled the idea yet.

All the days I spent thinking that Henry was having belly problems, I was completely undermining the issue. He had stage three lymphoma. That’s why he was vomiting every day, and looking sad… not eating, in the end. Stomach cancer was slowly taking over. The worst kind. The kind with no visible signs, no bumps saying “have me checked”… etc. (more…)

cancer

November 6, 2012 Posted by the writer

They think Henry has cancer. He won’t eat. It’s very possible I will not be in these parts for some time.

I guess we all have our breaking point.

Henry is sick

November 5, 2012 Posted by the writer

Namaste blog tribe.

For the past few days I’ve fallen off the scene desperately trying to nurse Henry back to health. As most of you are likely aware, Henry hasn’t been well for a few weeks now.

I believe the problem was brought on when he caught one of the disgusting, feral cats that roams Sunnyside after it made the unfortunate choice to jump in my yard. There was meowing, there was scratching, there was cat blood.

I’ve brought Henry to two vets now and tried to explain what I think is causing his illness. They essentially ignore what I say and send me home with antibiotics.

While I have aimed to take the vets’ word for it, Henry doesn’t want to eat anymore. He still has diarrhea, and he’s still throwing up.

I’ve blogged through a lot of disasters since 2009, funerals, divorces, elections, floods… I can’t really handle Henry being sick. It shuts me down uniquely.

To make matters worse, I’m flying to Bermuda on business in a few hours – I’ll be out of the country all week. I have arranged care for the babies and even another vet visit, but that doesn’t seem to dry the slimy trails running down my cheeks in utter panic.

I don’t usually ask for anything from our ship of readers, but a whispered “feel better Henry” will go a long way at this stage.

Thank you, and love to you and yours. With a bit of magic… a “Henry feels better” post will shortly follow.

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    FollowMeToNYC is a creative processing ground which expresses individual ideas that often change with the tides. Naturally, these ideas do not reflect those of any of my employers, or anyone else you might see me wandering down the street with one day.
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