my dear, sweet shiloh

(warning - severe tear alert for the writing ahead)

I began this post three years ago. That's how long I neglected this blog. During that time, I had many, many changes in my life - and not the very least was what I write below.

My dear, sweet Shiloh lost his battle at the respectable dog age of twelve years old last fall. I began this blog with the intention of writing primarily about my three faithful companions. Life got in the way, of course, as it always does. But writing about this painful loss - well, it took nearly nine months for me to put my fingers to the keyboard and write about something so very painful.

Shiloh was an amazing dog. Of course, all dogs are amazing - their love, their dedication, the way a dog is willing to die for the one (or ones) they love continue to amaze me. Most of all, they carve a deep spot in our hearts that just can't be filled by anyone else, and their lives are just too darn short.

But, as far as dogs go, Shiloh was truly amazing. He was smart - so smart that he understood human-talk. He just didn't learn what certain words meant (and I know those of you who haven't been blessed with a bond like this probably doubt the validity of my statement - but it's true). He was more independent than Sammy (and definitely Emma, who is so bonded and dependent on me that she won't let anyone else take her outside to go to the bathroom!) He had no fears - except the vet! His loves included the ocean - and trucks - we never had one, but except for his failing health during the last few yrs of his live, I would have expected him to jump up into a stranger's truck just for the fun of it! We took him by car when we moved to Arizona (turned out to be for 2 1/2 yrs) with Sammy, and returned again by car (this time with both Sammy & Emma) - they all loved it, but Shiloh would get excited for years if I ever brought out a suitcase or travel bag!

Although he battled poor health off & on for the last two or three yrs of his life, his worst suffering was, at least, only about 24 hrs. Our vet told us that he had gone completely blind - I knew he had also lost his hearing before that - and when he was no longer able to stand up (all happening in such a short time) - I knew that it was time.

I thank God that my now-full grown son, John, was (and still is, at least for now) sharing the apartment with me, as I could not have done what he did. He stayed up with us for nearly all of those 24 hours, and carried him to the car twice - once for the first visit to the vet, next for that oh-so-painful last trip. He sat on the floor (I'm disabled, was in really bad pain - and never could have done any of that) - since we didn't want to move our dear, suffering Shiloh anymore.

He held and patted Shiloh as he crossed over Rainbow Bridge, as I bent over as best I could to touch my 'big guy' as I used to call Shiloh - and said our final goodbyes to the guardian angel-dog, who I believe, is now with Joe, in heaven. (more about Joe later... I have some tears to wipe away..)

on death and dying

I've been thinking about my own finite nature lately.

I'm not trying to be morbid. But I'm seeing a lot of changes around me, changes that are normal and part of life. (I can't help but remember one of my mom's sayings, "Where there's life, there's death". She also told me that whenever I felt bad about my life, to look around at someone who's worse off - then that should make me feel better....what can I say? She was ... Sicilian.)

Recently, I was devastated with the news that a dear, dear friend of mine has been diagnosed with Alzheimer's. This is a friend who many turn to for her love and kindness, and probably the most powerful prayer I've ever encountered. I owe Mary for showing the way to find the faith within my heart, faith that has held me up during life's difficulties. Most of all, it was Mary who showed me that no matter what, a kind word, a cup of tea and a bit of food can wash away a mountain of problems - that's the sign, to me, of a faith-filled person. No words of preaching, no hell and damnation - just plenty of kindness that goes right along with the fingering of her rosary beads.

I've cried many times, thinking of what's ahead for Mary, and maybe more so, what's ahead for her children, who will be her caretakers. It ignites my own fears: what is that name? where did I put that? did I really say/do that?

This is the fear that accompanies all of us as we age.

Yet Alzheimers is not confined to the elderly, even though that's the usual viewpoint. A neighbor told me of their relative, who is in the beginning stages of the disease - and he's in his thirties. Once more, I was reading how scientists have discovered that a brain that looks perfectly normal one day (through scans), can have the signs of Alzheimer's the very next day.

Our lives here on earth are truly fragile.

I have an uncle - a favorite uncle, my deceased father's brother, and the only remaining sibling of either side of my parents' respective families, who is very, very ill. No matter how much I've tried to get there to visit, I haven't been able to make the (albeit short) trip to Connecticut to see him. The constant rain we have been having here in New England has caused some pretty intense pain with me, and.. sad to say, I don't have the means to get there.

Today he's ninety years old - and while, in the past few years, has survived three - yes, three - different cancers, including bone cancer (a most difficult cancer to successfully battle), his health is failing fast. My aunt is ninety-two years old, and has her grandchild and great-grandchild ("the apple of our eyes" she has told me, more than once) living with her. My Uncle Eddie is confided to a "rehab center" (a strange name, since they know there is no rehabilitation in his cards at this point).

His treatment at this facility is horrid, and my aunt is doing all she can to fight to get him home. She's hired a Personal Care Attendant who is actually now living with them, and connected with a local hospice, who will send a nurse there several times a week.

But his doctor is on the board of the rehab center there in Norwich (can we say, "conflict of interest"?), and not only are they insisting on keeping him them there, but since his insurance has run out, they demand $9000 a month - that's NINE THOUSAND dollars - each month, for payment.

They have also told her that she has to turn her house over to them - oh, they are so kind, though. They'll let her live there until the day she dies - then this home, this home that my aunt and uncle worked so hard to pay off so many years ago, she as an elementary school teacher, he, who worked at a jewelry store in Norwich his whole life - this home which is also the home for a young mother and baby - is supposed to be turned over to these vultures.

And what does my uncle get in return for this? Well, the care is so considerate that the patients end up sitting in their own urine. My uncle fell and required stitches recently, and, as I already mentioned, his doctor, who is recommending he stay in this facility that is trying to take their only possession away from them, their home - this doctor is on board of this very same center.

How much more abuse can a facility cause before the state closes them down?

All of this makes me feel so helpless.

I don't have much, and certainly don't mind living a simple life. But times like this makes me feel so very helpless.

Getting back to my friend, Mary - I guess the worst of this will be what is ahead for her children. She doesn't know about her diagnosis. (side note: My mom had some dementia a short time before she passed away. When I realized how sick she was - she kept telling me she hadn't eaten in about three days, but told me this for longer than three days - I went against her wishes and called her doctor. Despite my telling him not to tell her I called, he did - and I related that while she was really mad, on the plus side, she forgot it by the next day).

But what Mary has is a very close relationship with God. No matter what (for as long as she remembers - and I hope this is something she'll never forget), she has a loving relationship with Jesus, with the father and Holy Spirit, and with the Blessed Mother. It gives me comfort in hoping that, even if and when she gets to the point of not being able to communicate with others around her, she'll bathe in that love, be caressed in that faith.