Grieving

I have always believed that our soul and the cells in our heart carry painful memories that we would just as well avoid dealing with in our daily conscious.  That includes anniversary of the deaths of those we loved with all our heart.

I noticed that this past week I have felt more depressed, with a melancholy that I was not able to explain or  put into words, because I was not sure from where it was coming.    It was only during last night in my tormented efforts to sleep, that it dawned on me that today is the 18 of April.

This whole week has been shredded in sadness anyway over the evil and senseless loss of life and limbs in Boston and then yesterday more deaths in the explosion near Waco, Texas.   Life is fragile, with events such as these changing forever the lives of those afflicted.

Actually yesterday, before my acute realization of my own personal  reason of being down and blue, I was writing about a renowned scientist who I have longed admired and whose life was full of losses, that I though was so unjust and unfair.

So I have decided to postpone that post till next week in order to deal with my own grief.  I am not very good at camouflaging my feelings either, which can be problematic when you have patients to see who are suffering from their own life events.

I am writing today for me, and in doing so, sharing my deepest grief with you.  This post has no intent to be enlightening, or informative ,and especially not meant as a treatise on grief, which I am in no frame of mind to do anyway.

Practically a day does not go by without being painfully aware that my beloved Potiron is no longer at my sides physically.  He died on April the 18 th, 2010, from Cushings disease.   I do not often write about my own losses, because I know my losses are not anymore painful, nor significant than anybody elses in this life.

Furthermore, I have been blessed to have never have suffered losing a child or grandchild, which is the worst pain imaginable.  My loving aunt, who is 90 years old and my dear friend Ann both know this immense suffering and are living through the unfathomable torture of losing two children.

My heart is heavy for them too, as the death anniversary of my sweet friend’s only remaining child, who I adored, is in 4 days.  There are no answers, nor comprehension for these losses.

Additionally, my brother, who was the only remaining member of my immediate family, died on the 19 or 20 th of April; alone after suffering a chronic illness that shortened his difficult life.   I had to say goodbye to him a few days before needing to returned to France.

For those of you who have deeply loved doggies and kitties, you already know what I am about to say.   They are like a child and take a very significant place in our families and in our hearts.

Unlike humans, they never let you down, never betray or hurt you, and are always extremely loyal and protective of you.  They are always the first to greet you with the utmost of glee and genuine happiness, even if you were only gone a few minutes.

Their love is totally unconditional without any boundaries.  Their only desire is to be with you preferably on your lap as my dear Potiron insisted.

As you can see in the photo of him, he was a beautiful little dachshund.  His heart, full of love was much larger than he and so was his presence in my own heart .

He was born in Louisiana in 1995 and I helped delivered him from his mom, Noisette, who was my daughters dachshund and his father, Pistache, who was mine.   We named him Potiron Jolie, (beautiful pumpkin) D’Orleans, as Orleans was the registered name of my other dachshunds.

He was rather rotund like a little pumpkin as a puppy and grew up to be the perfect of all doggies.  Potiron and his father, Pistache came with me, when I moved to Paris with both of them in tow and 3 suitcases.

In order to have found an apartment, I did have to hide the fact that there were two dachshunds, pretending there was only one.  Life was difficult for them in the city, where they were deprived of their lovely garden in Louisiana.

My daughter and Noisette joined us a year later, making us a three dachshund household. Tragically Noisette and Pistache died a year later within 2 weeks of each other from cushings also.

Potiron never really acclimated to the ever-present noise of Parisian traffic, therefore he wasn’t keen on very long walks, usually trying to get me to return as soon as possible.  It did not matter how far we had gone from our apartment, he always knew without fail the way back home.

He also knew the way to my friend Liz’s place, so any time we were remotely close, he would make a b line to her door and whine until we got in because she was always so loving of him too.

He loved greeting my patients with a few barks of excitement and would head towards the therapy room as if to show them their way.   He promptly would take his place in my chair, perched on the arm, where he generally would snooze off.

He was a great therapy dog in that if he would jump down to be next to patients who were upset or crying as if to comfort them and for those he sensed it was ok, would jump up and cuddle with them.

I found his presence with patients to be calming and homey and he became an additional extension of my own warmth and empathy towards them.  His favorites were those of  course who loved seeing him too, or would bring him treats.

Potiron seemed to indistinctly know they were scheduled that day, hanging around the door and whine as soon he heard them walk up the staircase. He also uncannily knew when my daughter would return home from work, even if she returned earlier than expected.

Potiron went everywhere with us, including on all vacations, as doggies are allowed in trains, restaurants, hotels and stores in France and Europe.    I eventually got him a little blue carriage for some excursions incognito such as to some museums and Versailles.

The buggy was a Godsend for me to take him around the city on a rainy and drizzly day as dachshunds, being so low to the ground, end up totally wet and covered with mud.   He never really liked riding in it though, regardless of the rain swept streets.

We loved having birthday parties for him, with special cakes, eclairs, hats and all.   He loved surprises of stuffed animals wrapped in bags or paper that he would tear into with happy squeals of anticipation.

I cooked for him every night with much pleasure to offer him fresh vegetables and meats. It was so easy to toss some freshly cut veggies with rice and sautéed chicken or beef.  He loved chicken livers and salmon too.

Fresh bones were his dessert on Sunday nights or any night that there might be one available for him.  I have a hard time today looking at one, wanting to still save it for him.

I miss seeing him run on the beach, which he loved, and basking in the sunshine.  I loved looking into his beautiful eyes, so full of love.

I miss hearing his lapping at his water bowl and the sound of his little paws on the floor. I especially miss the warmth of him in my lap and sleeping next to me at night.  Hearing him breathing softly was so soothing to my ears.

I wish I could feel again all his doggie kisses that he so generously gave.  Sometimes I still talk to him and feel like he has crawled back into my lap.  I want to believe he is always near by, and so perhaps he is because of my faith.

Tears are good for the soul, as they are streaming down my cheeks as I write.   They are only a visible  testimony of my sadness and longing to bring him back.

Potiron would always lick my tears away and I know he would do the same now.  I hope he knows in heaven how much we miss him and still love him so much.  At least I know our hearts are connected forever and someday will be reunited.