The Passing of Pet and People (Part 2)
Feel like a bird, flapping in and out of scenes, epic days surprise-filled and gratefully received. Loss of loved ones gives us all a shot in the arm, reminder of the inevitable End
To improve the remainder of my days I vow to live with fewer excuses. Not sure I can (what with all the other personal improvements on my plate), yet it’s a goal. Jean’s pup is yet another bright light in new “leash” on life. Although no dog could replace Jean’s deceased Cattledog Casey, Annabel does provide ample distraction. Photos of the wee Boston Terrier arrive at regular intervals—sporting pink tutu, strapped in her car seat, mugging for cutesy close-ups. Daisy is thrilled to have something furry to chase and howl at. And since it is all about the dog, I’m happy she’s happy.
Yet despite my elevated moods, I do miss my mum. Not a day goes by that I don’t have the impulse to call her. But then I remember…
I was onboard the Flyaway bus from LAX to downtown when the text from my sister Pat pinged: “Nurses say she has a few hours.” I’d just said my forever goodbye that morning. Unable to change my flight, I tearfully left Vancouver and headed back home. At the airport, I learned Pearl had finally been moved to a private room that had freed up. Some other guy nearly got it, but mum’s Irish luck hung on an he died first.
When we arrived at Union Station, I called Pat for an update. “Shit, this is it!” she shouted, then put the phone down by mum’s ear and ran for a nurse. Weaving my suitcase through the crowd, I offered up encouraging words, told her she was well loved, not to be afraid. Suddenly, distinct from the din, the inexplicable sucking sound of “last call” was heard. Swooning, I pressed my body against the wall’s warm face. In the next beat, Z pulled up and honked, signaled for me to hop in. Quite a day. With me back in L.A., my sister was left to make the service arrangements. The latter which became Pat’s sole obsession. I burned through a month’s supply of cell minutes listening to her exhaustive finger-sandwich research, all the while thinking it unlikely that the handful of family in attendance would bother rating our performance. Funeral.advisor.com – "Eulogy was fabulous, BUT sandwiches sucked and the tea tasted like dog piss. Do not recommend! "
Thankfully, we got rave reviews. All had a heartfelt, good time and our celebration of Pearl was a great success. Refreshments were yummy, flowers were lovely, and my sis and I never came to blows. Now as summer drifts into fall, and Daisy and I resume our routine of strolling the streets of Long Beach, Pearl joins us on our walks in everlasting memory.
To improve the remainder of my days I vow to live with fewer excuses. Not sure I can (what with all the other personal improvements on my plate), yet it’s a goal. Jean’s pup is yet another bright light in new “leash” on life. Although no dog could replace Jean’s deceased Cattledog Casey, Annabel does provide ample distraction. Photos of the wee Boston Terrier arrive at regular intervals—sporting pink tutu, strapped in her car seat, mugging for cutesy close-ups. Daisy is thrilled to have something furry to chase and howl at. And since it is all about the dog, I’m happy she’s happy.
Yet despite my elevated moods, I do miss my mum. Not a day goes by that I don’t have the impulse to call her. But then I remember…
I was onboard the Flyaway bus from LAX to downtown when the text from my sister Pat pinged: “Nurses say she has a few hours.” I’d just said my forever goodbye that morning. Unable to change my flight, I tearfully left Vancouver and headed back home. At the airport, I learned Pearl had finally been moved to a private room that had freed up. Some other guy nearly got it, but mum’s Irish luck hung on an he died first.
When we arrived at Union Station, I called Pat for an update. “Shit, this is it!” she shouted, then put the phone down by mum’s ear and ran for a nurse. Weaving my suitcase through the crowd, I offered up encouraging words, told her she was well loved, not to be afraid. Suddenly, distinct from the din, the inexplicable sucking sound of “last call” was heard. Swooning, I pressed my body against the wall’s warm face. In the next beat, Z pulled up and honked, signaled for me to hop in. Quite a day. With me back in L.A., my sister was left to make the service arrangements. The latter which became Pat’s sole obsession. I burned through a month’s supply of cell minutes listening to her exhaustive finger-sandwich research, all the while thinking it unlikely that the handful of family in attendance would bother rating our performance. Funeral.advisor.com – "Eulogy was fabulous, BUT sandwiches sucked and the tea tasted like dog piss. Do not recommend! "
Thankfully, we got rave reviews. All had a heartfelt, good time and our celebration of Pearl was a great success. Refreshments were yummy, flowers were lovely, and my sis and I never came to blows. Now as summer drifts into fall, and Daisy and I resume our routine of strolling the streets of Long Beach, Pearl joins us on our walks in everlasting memory.
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