Jake

They handed me a blue collar before they brought him out and turned him over to me. He was abandoned by a family who moved and "couldn't" take him with them. He was huge and gentle and energetic. Blue became Jake, but we always kept that dog collar from the very first day.

The furry four legged love of my life is dying. As I write this to you I can't stop sobbing, reminiscing, aching. It's an ache that there's little comfort for. The agony of knowing when the right "time" is, is really being selfless enough to let him go...

The justification process for keeping him alive is really non existent now. He isn't really eating well. He falls quite frequently now. His eyes... his eyes beg me for mercy. I yelled at him for giving me that look. I yelled at him for dying. I yelled at him because I don't want this.

We've set "goodbye" dates and passed them. We've made plans and ignored them. We've argued against ourselves about whether or not we should give him "one more day to perk up". We've looked at the events of the day and tried to decide whether or not we should push it because we have something going on. We've ignored, ignored, ignored the inevitable.

How do you know when it's time? I can't tell you how many people have said "you just know". Well, no I don't. Because what I "know" and what I'm allowing myself to "know" are not in sync. A grieving mind is a powerful tool at seeing only what it wants to see. A selfish heart is completely able to ignore how rapidly he breathes, how little he eats, how often his legs fall out from under him, how much he shakes. A selfish heart can ignore all of that or can mentally look for the one. thing that he still "enjoys" and say that's reason enough to make him endure all of this agony. And I have one hell of a selfish heart. Because I don't want to say goodbye. I don't want to take him to a clinic where they'll give him a shot and I'll walk out with his blue collar and no him. I don't want to walk into my house and not see his brown furry face. I don't want to sleep and not hear him snoring away. I don't want to sit on my couch and not have him irritating me by laying on my feet, or half on my lap.

You know the end is here when the conversations about him are all past tense.
Remember how he used to pull weeds in the yard? And he would carry them over to the rocks because he didn't want them in the grass? Remember?
Remember how he used to pick up all of the tiny pieces of trash on the floor so that the triplets wouldn't put it in their mouth?
Remember how he saved my sanity and figured out what Bruni needed when she was a baby? Remember how he rescued me from near hysteria over the endless crying? Remember?
Remember that time when he decided he wanted to be held and jumped into my lap and then had this sort of consciousness that he was massive and probably shouldn't be sitting there? But he just resigned himself to what he'd already done and decided to "roll with it" and how funny that was? Remember?
Remember how he NEVER let anyone touch the babies or Lolli, but he did it in the most gentle, unobtrusive way, so that people never realized what he was actually doing? He ALWAYS put himself between a "stranger" and our children. People thought he was just friendly, or annoying, but we knew it was really about safety?
Remember how he would kick out my giant teddy bear when Chief was deployed and slip himself in its place? He HATES that teddy bear!
Remember his last hurrah of destruction where he ate the Tucks pads? Still wonder if that was the first or final act in that day of household terror.
Remember when he fell in love with that stuffed animal bird? How he would carry it around like his puppy and love on it endlessly? Remember how he dug out the brand new one he didn't even know existed (we didn't show it to him), directly out of a pile of bags without touching ANYTHING ELSE?
Remember how he would always either spoon me, or force me to spoon him, and how the process was so slow and gradual that you'd never even know it was happening until you woke up in that scenario with him happy as can be.
Remember how he was every time it rained and he wouldn't leave the porch to go to the bathroom because of his passionate hatred of water, but if there was snow... if there was snow he was the happiest dog on the planet. He would bolt out and run around like a crazy dog, rolling, diving, jumping in the frozen water.
Remember the first time he experienced a vacuum? That thing was the devil and he was certain it had to be immediately destroyed.
Remember how he was during and after his first bath? Yikes!
Remember how he hates all small dogs with a passion, but you get him around a puppy and he becomes father of the year. He would take on this goal of protection, instruction, and leadership that was absolutely beautiful to watch.
Remember how mad he was at me when I dropped him off at the Kennel overnight because we were moving and I didn't want him getting out? How he wouldn't even acknowledge my existence for two days? 
Remember when he picked Foofi up off of the ground and launched her with his nose?
Remember when Foofi would jump up on his back like he was a step stool to reach something she couldn't reach under normal circumstances?
Remember the time he dragged a Husky and a Doberman across the yard while they struggled fiercely against him?
Remember how panicked he would get every time suitcases came out, or boxes were being packed, or anything "going away" was involved? Until he realized that when we left, we brought him too and then he started to enjoy it.
Remember how when Chief left for his gazillionth deployment he would sit and lick away my tears, and hold my hand with his paw until I felt comforted. Remember how he would wrap his big furry arms around me while I slept, as if he took on this charge of physical and mental protection of me, in Chief's absence. 
Remember all of the personal, and beautiful things that he has shared with each of us, igniting this magical bond between himself and humanity, that can't be shared?

He has etched his very essence into my soul. He was our first family pet. I told Chief that I believed him to be a guardian angel sent to help us. He really was the only being that could soothe our daughter when she was little. He was the one who understood what she needed when we could not. He is the one who brought me, and the rest of my family, endless hours of comfort, laughter, and love. So please bare with me as I will myself to let him go. Please pour out grace, kindness, and mercy on my devastated heart. Please pray for my children, and my heart, as we say goodbye. Our children have asked to be present as he goes off to heaven.

He came into my life with a blue collar. And short of my memories, it's about to be all that I'll have left to hold. My God, this hurts.

Edited: Jake went to heaven today. He laid in my lap as I kissed him over and over again while he left this earth. The sobs are heavy and the pain is great, but he is worth every bit of it. He went to sleep hearing over and over again "I love you so much!" By the grace of God, I was able to love him enough to finally let him go...

4

They told me it would get easier, having multiples. They say time heals all wounds and that life goes on and you get over things and you accept them and they get easier. In some ways that's true. In some aspects it is easier. I get to sleep at night. I'm not constantly changing diapers or feeding an infant who never. stops. crying. But that's not unique to a set of triplets. All mothers endure the same agonies: exhaustion, sleep deprivation, physical and emotional fatigue...

They are so much older now. Their conditions have become "normal". So normal, in fact, that when a physician diagnoses your son with one of the world's rarest gastrointestinal condition it doesn't even phase you. How completely screwed up is that? You don't even blink an eye...

My children are about to be baptized next Sunday. In the process of this experience, there was a discussion about their Catholic names and who their patron Saints would be. It was discovered that all of my children are named after saints. All of their names accurately define their personalities. And I couldn't help but wonder about our dead baby. What was that baby's name? What was their personality? Who would they have been?

It was a silent agony. It was something that I didn't share because at the time I was immersed in the circumstance of keeping the other three alive. The fourth child is something the triplets talk about constantly. I hate that. I wish they wouldn't. It hurts like hell. But then there's this part of me that knows it's incredibly selfish to prevent them from talking about and remembering the fourth member of their group. The four of them, collectively, attached to my body. The four of them heard my heartbeat and knew each other from the very beginning. The four of them experienced this endeavor from the beginning...

But three were born alive, for a reason that I will probably never know. One went to heaven, before ever seeing the light of day, or feeling the sun on their face. One went to heaven before feeling my kisses, or knowing my touch. One went to heaven, possibly so that others could live. Could that one child have been so self sacrificing so as to give their very life up, for the other three?

The triplets function as one. They talk constantly about feeling each other, knowing what they're thinking, and the agony they feel when they are apart. They function with one brain, or soul, or being that I can't relate to and I don't understand. But maybe they function as quads. Maybe there's one aspect of themselves that's in heaven, calling them to Christ and waiting for the four of them to be together. Maybe there's one who prays for them in a realm that I can't see.

I ache for that child. I ache for the remains that I gave birth to when the three were born. I ache that I wasn't strong enough to handle the situation before me, at the time. I ache that I didn't honor that child, or grieve for them adequately. I ache that we didn't give that baby a name...

They say that time heals all wounds. They said this would get easier as the years passed. But I tell you, that in the five years since I gave birth to my four children at once, only three of which had beating hearts, the ache has not disappeared. The guilt I carry is everlasting.

I wish I could have known you, known your quirks, known your face. I wish that our relationship would be deeper than the-four-that-never-were. I wish I would have talked about you and shared about your existence. I wish they wouldn't talk about you and miss you as much as they do. But most of all, I wish that it wasn't necessary for you to go to heaven before the rest of us... I wish we weren't here without you.

Shining like the dawn

Do you have kids afraid of the dark? I have one who has apparently inherited that awful experience. She is terrified of the dark, and in true-to-how-her-mother-was fashion, she is almost always sleeping in bed with her sister (remember Jo!?).

Last night the hallway light, bathroom light, basically every light the kid had the bravery to get up and turn on, was on when my husband got up to go to work (his exact words: our room was lit up like the sun was shining this morning when I got up). They weren't on when we went to bed, so we know someone got up and turned them on. This prompted a conversation with my kids this morning:

Me: Did someone get up and turn on the bathroom and hallway lights last night?
Charchee: (hand up) I did.
Me: Why did you do that?
Charchee: Because I was scared.
Me: Thank you for admitting that you did it. But do you know why we need to not do that? It is very important that we think very carefully about everything we're using on our planet. When we leave lights on while we sleep, we waste resources that could have been used to do something else.
Charchee: Well I was scared.
Me: What are you scared of?
Charchee: The dark.
Me: What about the dark?
Charchee: The monsters in the dark. Well, at least I think there are monsters in the dark, but they're not real.
Me: How do you know they're not real? Did you ask them?
Charchee: WHAT!? Ask them? 
Me: Yeah! Why don't you ask them if they're real!
Charchee: (laughs)
Me: Listen, the world is filled with all sorts of beautiful things that come JUST when you're scared. They're called angels. Angels come in the darkness and they keep watch over you. Maybe those monsters you've been seeing are really angels hanging out in your room! But if you turn the lights on, then the angels hide.
Charchee: Why would an angel come in my room?
Me: Maybe they want to check out your really neat angel halloween costume!
Charchee: WWWWHHHHHAAAATTTT! (laughing) I bet they really like it and they want it!
Me: Maybe you'll be able to catch them tonight and then you'll know it's really angels and not monsters in your room. But you have to keep it really, really dark or you won't be able to see them!
Charchee: Okay Mommy. I'm going to look for them.

I think as parents our instinct is to tell children things are not there or real. But that's simply not accurate. Whether you believe in God or not, there are presences that come and surround us all the time. For some people it's ghosts, for others angels/demons, deceased family members, or it's the dreams and ambitions of a creative mind. Whatever you believe, I think that telling a child there is no such thing as monsters is ludicrous. Maybe my creative child, actually sees monsters in the darkness. Maybe the best thing is to teach our frightened children that scary things really do exists, but there are tools to handle them.

In our home I want to teach my children to understand the things they can not see. There is so much to believe in that is not something we can physically touch or feel. While I absolutely wish my child was not afraid of the dark, I am thankful for the opportunity to dive into this scary experience and show her how awesome the unseen things can actually be. So awesome, in fact, that they're scary ;)