Eighth Day with Twentieth Day Commentary
I'm not crying anymore.
I'm not tearing up at the thought of Jennifer anymore.
Does that mean that I don't care anymore? That can't be possible. I do care. Why am I not upset anymore? Not showing it?
I feel so empty. So hollow. I feel like I just don't care anymore about everything around me. I see Jennifer though and I look for her. I see her lying down and I see her in the backyard. I remember how she was before she became sick and while she was. I know she's gone now. And I'm just waiting for her ashes so I can put her body to rest.
I feel like if I'm not crying, it means that I don't care about her anymore. Is that true? That can't be right. I just feel exhausted. I'm so tired.
Yesterday I when I went to the shelter, I wasn't sure if I could manage. I did. And I had an eventful day and productive day helping others. I feel a little more at peace since I've been reading more about Poodles. No, not at peace. Or reassured. But I feel less like I failed her or that her death was unnatural. According to a study in the UK/Canada/US/Denmark, Standard Poodles lived an average life span of 11.5 to 12 years.
Maybe we lost a year that Jennifer could have lived in good health, because Mom believes (and this is probably true) we used ground beef and not decent ground beef that was pumped full of hormones and additives, that are included in regular dog food. By doing that and not switching to ground turkey we most likely stimulated the growth of cancer instead of slowing it, if Jennifer was cursed to have cancer.
According to the study, 30% died from cancer, 18% old age, bloat 6% and cardiac disease 5%.
Why couldn't Jennifer have died of old age? I wish she could have just died peacefully in her sleep, nestled in my arms. Why did she have to die, stiff and covered in burrs in someone else's home?
After this, and Mom's revelation, no more ground beef. Ground turkey from now on or beef that is of better quality, but these days who knows if meat is safe at all. Let alone any food we consume?
---
Mom says that I've been mourning for so long that it's only natural that I'm beginning to accept it. Since December. That is true. I have been saying that myself. I just didn't know what it was going to feel like.
(Monday, August 30th)
FUCK FUCK FUCK!
FUCKING MOZILLA FIREFOX CRASHED WHEN I WAS ADDING ON.
Fucking anyway, I was saying:
BULLSHIT.
I started crying again, as of Saturday night at 10:30 after Game Night after our excurcison to the Oakland Chinatown street fair and after all that, getting ready for bed. I started crying thinking about how I feel like I've been taking Jennifer in vain or sodding her good name. Something like that. I feel like I'm tarnishing her memory or doing her no good, by talking about her. I mean some people, like this particular story I remember reading as a child about a girl whose father was the leader of a desert people lost his favorite son and forbid anybody from speaking his name on the pain of death. But then the late son's sister, the leader's daughter starts telling stories and uttering her brother's name to let his memory live and to help her grieve. The leader of course is horrified and angered, but realizes that by not speaking his name he is doing more harm than good.
I don't know if that's better or worse or wrong or right. I just feel like by telling everybody and not crying when I speak of Jennifer, I simply don't care. I feel like I'm being callous or being disrespectful. Of course that is not the case. Maybe I'm growing, not without Jennifer or over Jennifer, but I am finding peace. No, that's not it either.
I wish the damn computer/internet hadn't failed me, because I don't know where I was headed with the previous thoughts. I guess I should press the SAVE NOW button obsessively from now on. Fucking piece of cyber shit.
I remember...I will have dogs after Jennifer, that is a fact I have known during Jennifer and before Jennifer and after Jennifer's time. No dog will be Jennifer and Jennifer will "no dog." She wasn't really a dog, I mean she was, but she wasn't. For those who met her, she really wasn't. She didn't have the smell, the bad habits, the embarrassing habits or the bad manners of a typical dog. She didn't bark, she didn't bite or sniff or scratch. She didn't lick her genitalia or her ass after defecating or eat her bowels. She didn't dig, she didn't bury bones. She marked her territory and she guarded us like a guardian.
No dog will be better than Jennifer and no dog will be Jennifer. I am not foolish or obsessed enough or stupid enough or horrid enough to find another dog that resembles Jennifer or call another dog "Jennifer." Jennifer is retired. Her name is her own and no one esle's.
I think I mentioned before how I never really liked more than 3 Jennifers in my life. And only one had a real deep place in my heart. No offense, but Jennifer is irreplaceable among the friends who have walked with and walked on in my life.
I find that no dog is good enough. Every dog I think is good in a moment is bad in the other. Not bad, but I immediately second guess the dog.
Dogs like Smiles and Athena and Major and Julie have all touched my heart, because they gave me "The Look." "The Look" I think is the critical point when you pick a dog, especially when picking a dog that is older. Puppies have given me the look before, but all young dogs have a genuine and mass look of complete adoration and love. Like a baby. A baby always has that look. With a grown animal, The Look can be diminished for many reasons. Personality. Bad experience. Etc. All those dogs had given me The Look.
Jennifer had it built into her. She never gave anybody The Look, only me. Never Lianne. My dad could sense it and at times see it. My mom knew it whether she was looking, or present or hearing it.
When the next dog, in my search gives me The Look and fits the other qualities I seek, I will know. Or maybe somehow Jennifer will let me know.
You never let go of loved ones. Letting go and all that writing names on a balloon and destroying the atmosphere when you let go as some sort of stupid ceremony, is nothing more than another piece of popped rubber floating in the ocean for some sea creature to devour and die and helium lost. You don't let go of lost love you don't forget. Those who do, maybe didn't love them enough or are suppressing it. You let it fall back into the pages of your record in life, but there are times when you page back or are stuck on rereading those lines over and over again.
Or you tear it out and keep it somewhere on your person, close to your heart so it's touching that organ and not your thought-organ. You don't say anything and maybe you don't think about him or her as much, but they are always on your heart. Just not on your mind. Jennifer just hasn't gotten to only my heart, she's on my mind. She's of course, always in my heart.
I'm not tearing up at the thought of Jennifer anymore.
Does that mean that I don't care anymore? That can't be possible. I do care. Why am I not upset anymore? Not showing it?
I feel so empty. So hollow. I feel like I just don't care anymore about everything around me. I see Jennifer though and I look for her. I see her lying down and I see her in the backyard. I remember how she was before she became sick and while she was. I know she's gone now. And I'm just waiting for her ashes so I can put her body to rest.
I feel like if I'm not crying, it means that I don't care about her anymore. Is that true? That can't be right. I just feel exhausted. I'm so tired.
Yesterday I when I went to the shelter, I wasn't sure if I could manage. I did. And I had an eventful day and productive day helping others. I feel a little more at peace since I've been reading more about Poodles. No, not at peace. Or reassured. But I feel less like I failed her or that her death was unnatural. According to a study in the UK/Canada/US/Denmark, Standard Poodles lived an average life span of 11.5 to 12 years.
Maybe we lost a year that Jennifer could have lived in good health, because Mom believes (and this is probably true) we used ground beef and not decent ground beef that was pumped full of hormones and additives, that are included in regular dog food. By doing that and not switching to ground turkey we most likely stimulated the growth of cancer instead of slowing it, if Jennifer was cursed to have cancer.
According to the study, 30% died from cancer, 18% old age, bloat 6% and cardiac disease 5%.
Why couldn't Jennifer have died of old age? I wish she could have just died peacefully in her sleep, nestled in my arms. Why did she have to die, stiff and covered in burrs in someone else's home?
After this, and Mom's revelation, no more ground beef. Ground turkey from now on or beef that is of better quality, but these days who knows if meat is safe at all. Let alone any food we consume?
---
Mom says that I've been mourning for so long that it's only natural that I'm beginning to accept it. Since December. That is true. I have been saying that myself. I just didn't know what it was going to feel like.
(Monday, August 30th)
FUCK FUCK FUCK!
FUCKING MOZILLA FIREFOX CRASHED WHEN I WAS ADDING ON.
Fucking anyway, I was saying:
BULLSHIT.
I started crying again, as of Saturday night at 10:30 after Game Night after our excurcison to the Oakland Chinatown street fair and after all that, getting ready for bed. I started crying thinking about how I feel like I've been taking Jennifer in vain or sodding her good name. Something like that. I feel like I'm tarnishing her memory or doing her no good, by talking about her. I mean some people, like this particular story I remember reading as a child about a girl whose father was the leader of a desert people lost his favorite son and forbid anybody from speaking his name on the pain of death. But then the late son's sister, the leader's daughter starts telling stories and uttering her brother's name to let his memory live and to help her grieve. The leader of course is horrified and angered, but realizes that by not speaking his name he is doing more harm than good.
I don't know if that's better or worse or wrong or right. I just feel like by telling everybody and not crying when I speak of Jennifer, I simply don't care. I feel like I'm being callous or being disrespectful. Of course that is not the case. Maybe I'm growing, not without Jennifer or over Jennifer, but I am finding peace. No, that's not it either.
I wish the damn computer/internet hadn't failed me, because I don't know where I was headed with the previous thoughts. I guess I should press the SAVE NOW button obsessively from now on. Fucking piece of cyber shit.
I remember...I will have dogs after Jennifer, that is a fact I have known during Jennifer and before Jennifer and after Jennifer's time. No dog will be Jennifer and Jennifer will "no dog." She wasn't really a dog, I mean she was, but she wasn't. For those who met her, she really wasn't. She didn't have the smell, the bad habits, the embarrassing habits or the bad manners of a typical dog. She didn't bark, she didn't bite or sniff or scratch. She didn't lick her genitalia or her ass after defecating or eat her bowels. She didn't dig, she didn't bury bones. She marked her territory and she guarded us like a guardian.
No dog will be better than Jennifer and no dog will be Jennifer. I am not foolish or obsessed enough or stupid enough or horrid enough to find another dog that resembles Jennifer or call another dog "Jennifer." Jennifer is retired. Her name is her own and no one esle's.
I think I mentioned before how I never really liked more than 3 Jennifers in my life. And only one had a real deep place in my heart. No offense, but Jennifer is irreplaceable among the friends who have walked with and walked on in my life.
I find that no dog is good enough. Every dog I think is good in a moment is bad in the other. Not bad, but I immediately second guess the dog.
Dogs like Smiles and Athena and Major and Julie have all touched my heart, because they gave me "The Look." "The Look" I think is the critical point when you pick a dog, especially when picking a dog that is older. Puppies have given me the look before, but all young dogs have a genuine and mass look of complete adoration and love. Like a baby. A baby always has that look. With a grown animal, The Look can be diminished for many reasons. Personality. Bad experience. Etc. All those dogs had given me The Look.
Jennifer had it built into her. She never gave anybody The Look, only me. Never Lianne. My dad could sense it and at times see it. My mom knew it whether she was looking, or present or hearing it.
When the next dog, in my search gives me The Look and fits the other qualities I seek, I will know. Or maybe somehow Jennifer will let me know.
You never let go of loved ones. Letting go and all that writing names on a balloon and destroying the atmosphere when you let go as some sort of stupid ceremony, is nothing more than another piece of popped rubber floating in the ocean for some sea creature to devour and die and helium lost. You don't let go of lost love you don't forget. Those who do, maybe didn't love them enough or are suppressing it. You let it fall back into the pages of your record in life, but there are times when you page back or are stuck on rereading those lines over and over again.
Or you tear it out and keep it somewhere on your person, close to your heart so it's touching that organ and not your thought-organ. You don't say anything and maybe you don't think about him or her as much, but they are always on your heart. Just not on your mind. Jennifer just hasn't gotten to only my heart, she's on my mind. She's of course, always in my heart.
posted by Chinny at
11:40 AM
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