The end of a era

Man oh man, I truly forgot how exhausting life after birth really was...the sleepless nights coupled with a toddler that rises at 6am is not an ideal way to exist. Thankfully, I'm well aware that this is all temporary, even though it already feels like an eternity.

Silas has been adjusting well to the big change, although many days have been a challenge on that front. For the most part, he's pretty indifferent to his younger brother. Other times, he's a mix of wanting to help and wanting to impress. Obviously, a two-year-old doesn't have the best grip on how to handle himself around a newborn, so we've been walking the line of teaching him how to be easy and gentle while still allowing him to "help" us with the baby.

Personally, I've been on a bit of a struggle bus. When I had Silas, I was able to just be at home with him alone. I didn't have a toddler to care for, feed, and entertain. I didn't mind being confined to the couch nursing him all day, especially since it was creeping into the colder months at the time. This time around, things are much different. I find envy in the time Pete gets to play outside with Silas. I miss being hands-free while making a meal, much less being able to fully share a meal with both Pete and Silas without nursing or feeding a crying baby.

Within days of being home, I found myself missing the one-on-one time with Silas I once felt to be so exhausting...and what I would give to just have a day with him and no one else right now. While Silas has clung more closely to Pete and even his teacher at school recently, I can't help but be thankful that at least he has these other people who not only love him but are physically here for him. That being said, my heart longs for him to need me, ask for me, or simply even hug me at the end of the day, even if it is while I'm also holding a fussy baby.

Silas is back in school now during the week which has freed up some time for both Pete and I to get some things done. Pete's been tending to pretty much everything outside related. With the warmer weather now here, the to-do list is ever-growing. While I naturally take part in half the responsibilities, it isn't really practical anymore when I'm constantly needed for nursing purposes.

Both Pete and I can agree that tending to Khai is much easier, although we had to remember how to do half the things in the first couple weeks. So far, the biggest problem has been gas with Khai. On a day to day basis, he's extremely chill, but he gets into these crying fits that are off and on for hours due to him just being gassy. It's frustrating, because I'm trying to maintain my commitment to breastfeeding, but I'm constantly questioning whether it's really worth it or not. The responsibility, not to mention the physical and emotional task, of breastfeeding is simply DRAINING.

While all the time spend on the couch and in bed feeding Khai, I've been able to slowly process all of events of the weeks prior to Khai's arrival...and what a time it all was. I'd mentally put off really breaking down everything until after I gave birth, because I was trying to stay positive and focused, which proved to be pretty difficult.

As many of my close friends know, we lost my grandmother just two weeks before I gave birth. She'd been battling a combination of both lung cancer and heart failure for over a year. While her passing was not sudden or unexpected, it was still tragic and devastating for the family. My grandmother, whom we referred to as Mimi, was like a second parent to my sister and me. After moving back to TN when I was in first grade and my parents separating, my mother decided to keep us residing in my grandparents' house. Memories growing up there revolve around Sunday dinners upstairs with them, learning how to cook, playing gin rummy, going on mini-shopping adventures, and fishing off the dock. My sister and I were fortunate to have my grandparents step in during a hard transitional time for us.

As we got older, the downstairs of that house became a real home for us, so we never left. My sister and I eventually got our own rooms, and we spent more time with Mimi as my mother was finding her career path as an auctioneer. By the time I was a senior in high school, my mother suffered a critical car accident leaving her temporarily handicapped. With my sister already being out of the house and in college, I gravitated even more towards my grandmother for emotional support. Helping take care of a parent when you're young and immature is taxing, and she helped provide support for me in a way not a lot of people were able to at that time.

By the time I'd moved out and into college myself, I found my grandmother to consistently be the most supportive person in my family in terms of any and all of my endeavors.

I wanted to go stay in Africa for a month and a half? She thought that was great and adventurous. I wanted to join the Peace Corps a move away from the family? She thought it was admirable and was one of the only people who didn't make me feel remotely bad about it. I wanted to buy a dog? She thought, why not? I wanted to become a teacher? She thought it was the perfect profession for me. I wanted to buy a home in the country? She was the only family member who didn't just think it was a phase or a silly decision I'd regret.

Truly...her consistent support in ALL of my decisions was fulfilling in a way I know many people don't ever get to experience with their own families.

As I grew older, my life decisions held more importance and made more of an impact. Mimi was always involved and aware of everything going on in my life. Occasionally, she'd slip me surprises like cards in the mail, surprised desserts dropped off at the house, or cooking something she knew I loved the eat. Mimi wasn't a very loud or outgoing character in person, but her actions were loud as ever. With each positive gesture she made, it always solidified that I felt like I was on the right path in life.

She adored Pete and loved Silas (as well as all her other great-grandkids). She was a huge animal lover and even joked that she should have become a storm-chaser when she was younger. She worked longer hours than most adults running her own company that she started from the ground up. By the time she retired, we all wondered what on earth she'd do next, since we rarely saw her slow down enough to just rest.

In the first couple years of retirement, we tried to spend more time visiting with Mimi. I loved going to visit her and have her watch Silas running around being a total psycho. She'd laugh and ask me for updates about everything in my life. But as the year 2020 came into sight and the pandemic hit, our time spent with her stretched thinner each month. I'd still bring Silas out each week for a visit. We'd bring food, or we'd just sit upstairs and fill her in on all the things happening around us. I was happy to have the gift of time to be able to share with her.

Around December, things started to increasingly go down hill, and while it wasn't really talked about a whole lot, I knew deep down her days with us were limited. In fact, my last one-on-one interaction with Mimi involved us eating ice cream and sandwiches while I recorded a verbal interview with her detailing her early life. Looking back on it now, I'm so grateful to have that audio recording, because just being able to hear her voice when I miss her is a gift.

Mimi's health went from questionable to bad to worse pretty quickly. Within a couple weeks of transitioning onto hospice, she passed away with two of her three daughters there with her. To be honest, I'm not 100% sure I've been able to fully digest her passing in the full extent. I still find myself wanting to share new and exciting news with her or wanting to have Silas run upstairs to give her a hug and kiss and to hear her laugh as he jumps off her furniture.

I wasn't able to attend her funeral, and my family hasn't even gotten together to celebrate the life she had or the meaning it provided. The closure just isn't the same in the current world, and I hate that.

Literally one week later, I lost my best friend. I know it sounds cheesy and cliche, but Turtle was my WORLD since I bought her back in 2004 for $75. (Pic above is the day I brought her home). Turtle is a frikin' legend, and most people these days would see her and say, "She's still alive?!?!"

I used to joke that Turtle was a lemon of a dog. Everything that could go wrong with her and cost me money pretty much happened over the course of her life. She moved countless times with me, dealt with me traveling for work, waited for me while I joined the Peace Corps, stayed glue to my side during every surgery/health problem, walked me down the aisle at my wedding (without being prompted to), and even stood on top of me while I labored at home with Silas.

Her ever-growing vet bills and monthly expense of medicine made Turtle our second child in terms of finance. But she was always worth it to me, and I never saw my life without her.

Back when I bought my first property in the country, I remember thinking, "This is the life I always wanted to give her." She seemed to thrive in the country, even with the addition of each pig and chicken. With every change I invested in, Turtle seemed more content than ever in the life we were sharing together.

Shortly after I started teaching in Cheatham County, my vet informed me that Turtle was battling both renal and heart failure. I remember having a total come-apart shortly after I started dating Pete. I cried for days not knowing how long I'd truly have left with her. In fact, a lot of what I worked on in therapy at this time was how co-dependent I was on my dog and how I've ever cope with not having her with me.

Within a year, I'd married Pete. We moved AGAIN....I got MORE animals...and each month that passed made me so happy she was still with us. To be honest, I felt like the new home and life was doing wonders for her health, so I just cherished the time I still got to have with her.

Eventually, we got pregnant with Silas, and I remember having a million pep-talks with Turtle just begging her to stay alive long enough until I had him. She'd go through months and even weeks where she wasn't the healthiest, and a couple times, we even had to restrict her to a firm "leash law." Each year that went by cost us more and more, whether she was sick, injured, or both. Each time something new would happen, we'd wonder if this was it or not. Sure enough, she kept outliving everything around her!

I guess it was around the time Silas was born that everything shifted for us. Turtle was no longer the center of my universe, which was understandable with a new baby in the house. Nevertheless, I still felt sorry and guilty for the lack of time I was able to give all the animals, especially Turtle. As with any of the additions we made to our home, Turtle accepted the new baby with a mixture of curiosity and maybe slight jealousy. I personally felt like Silas' arrival relieved some of the co-dependency I'd felt for Turtle over the years, and I felt a little more capable of accepting the fact she wouldn't be with us forever.

As with all other things, everything seemed to changed once the pandemic hit. With us now working from home, I was able to be around for Turtle much more. While this was good for her incontinence issues, it also made me more aware of how old she was becoming. Our patience with her unfairly grew shorter each month. She was more under-foot than ever, she often placed herself in the middle of whatever obstacle course Silas had created, and she inconsistently had highs and lows that made it hard to gauge what was even going on. Pete and I often just threw our hands up and stopped focusing on any ailment that popped up, because she was just at an age where it was going to be whatever it was.

Near the end of my pregnancy with Khai, I'm not sure what it was that made me suddenly stop and pay attention. Several people who'd seen Turtle recently made comments about how bad she was looking or behaving. When I took inventory, I realized that I'd left a lot of her behaviors fall to the side. She was rarely eating (like days between eating), she was no longer sleeping where she liked to sleep at night, she could no longer get on furniture, she constantly went to the bathroom in the house (even though we were there), she could hardly see in front of her, and we were pretty certain she was mostly deaf. I couldn't even give her any attention or affection without her flinching away from me or shaking...something I'd just come to accept was part of her age and pain from her ailments.

I felt horrible. How on earth could I let the most important creature deteriorate in front of me without truly noticing how bad it had gotten? One afternoon, my mother insisted I call my vet immediately. I needed the push, but I was still shocked when my vet eventually asked me if I thought it was "time."

I cried a lot the next couple of days. A lot of what I was feeling was guilt. I felt like her "time" would be more obvious...not being able to walk or breath or something. But once my mind got to thinking about it, I couldn't ignore all the signs that had been present for months. We set up a consultation for the following Monday, and I mentally prepared for the possibility that we wouldn't be coming back home with her that day.

Sure enough, my vet said it WASN'T her time after all! Pete and I literally laughed and joked the whole way home with her that afternoon. Instead, she was on 3 new medications to go with the 5 or 6 she was already on. My vet seemed so optimistic that she'd be right as rain by the weekend, so we texted our relief to friends and family and went home to play for Khai's imminent birth, which we knew would literally be any day at this point. In less than 24 hours though, Turtle went from bad to worse. It was now painfully and visibly clear that she was not going to bounce back as we'd all thought.

I'd lost my grandmother a week prior, and I was in the midst of my prodromal labor which had been plaguing me off and on for days. I mentally felt incapable of processing what kind of decision was in front of me. In her last days, Turtle was unable to stand. When we let her outside, she'd seem lost to a point where Pete would have to go help her get back inside. At one point, we said we'd know it was time if she wouldn't eat the nightly fish sticks she was always given. Sure enough, she paced around the house with them sticking out of her mouth, shaking, and even peeing on the floor right in front of us. It was devastating to watch.

It was a Thursday when I took Turtle back to the vet. We rode in my car together, just the two of us. She laid in the car seat beside me, and I stroked her nose and scratched the soft spots of fur behind her big beagle ears. I knew deep down it was time, and I was finding peace in the last moments we had together.

My vet set up the first room she was ever seen in there (the one where they originally diagnosed her spinal problem) for her euthanasia. Turtle had to be carried inside, and she laid on the table in front of me with the widest eyes. I felt like she was scared and confused, but I do think she understood what was happening. Turtle spent her ENTIRE life being there for me through everything. I knew she was trying to be there for me for the last leg of my pregnancy. I pulled up a seat in front of her and told her it was ok....I just kept telling her that. I told her how much I loved her. I told her to come back and see me. I told her again and again how she was such a good girl.

I feel emotional even thinking about the scene in which things came to a closure for us. There was a moment where I had my head up against hers, and I felt like she was at peace with what was happening. The whole tone of the room shifted, and I felt an immediate sense of relief in what was happening. I knew what was happening was ok. I knew I'd be ok. I knew she wouldn't be struggling anymore, and I was just happy we could be there together for those last moments.

Losing Turtle is one of the saddest things that's happened to me. That being said, I did find peace in the way things played out. Much like my grandmother's passing, I was thankful to at least be aware of what was happening instead of either of their deaths being tragic and sudden without warning. I made sure to seek some personal counseling that week, and I cut communication with most everyone up until after I birthed Khai. I needed the time, and on some days, I still do. Yes, having a newborn is a great healthy distraction from the unfortunate events that preceded in the weeks prior, but self-care is still something I'm trying to focus on right now.

I want to end this by thanking all of you who reached out during these events. It's insane to think about how many huge life events all took place in less than four weeks time. I think Pete spoke it best by saying it was truly the end of an era for us...and what better way to end an era than to begin a new one....with a new life. ❤️