Carrying Crosses Part Three

The next months covered me like a damp, cold blanket, soaking cold into my bones and into my very spirit. I went to bed crying and awakened crying; there was no respite from tears. More correctly: I went to couch – I can no longer sleep in my bed.

“Little Dave” and Lorie, back in Ohio, called every day, as did my precious sister. My Jennifer, seventy-five miles away in Safford, Arizona, came down every weekend and washed up any dishes and cleaned the house. She tried to encourage me in every way possible; but, knowing me like she does, she knew that I was not coming out of this depression and sadness any time soon.

My dogs, little Piggy and Bubba, were as sad as I. They had no more desert romps, just quiet trips alone into our backyard without me. I stayed mostly on the couch, the dogs on the floor beside me and the cats perched on the couch back. The TV droned on meaninglessly for “company.”

I knew that the Lord was with me. I knew that He had prepared me for all this, but my very human mind, heart and spirit were broken.

I had developed some sort of social anxiety, and found it almost impossible to leave the house. I would telephone the MinitMart in our little town, and would go there at closing to pick up needed things (in my pajamas – I didn’t get dressed much – or shower much - in those awful days). The clerks would bring my order out to the car for me.

Jenn forced me to the doctor (kicking and screaming all the way!). Dr. Ricky told me, “Mary, you have PTSD. I’m surprised that you have not figured it out, unless it is so severe that it’s stopping logical thought.”

“Bubba and Piggy are sick,” I told her.

It was true. I reasoned that I probably did have Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, but my health insurance had expired long ago, and I did not have funds to seek treatment. I asked the Lord to heal me, instead.

I was also true that my dogs were sick. Piggy had developed a cough right after David’s death, and though it wasn’t bad yet, it wasn’t abating.

Bubba was producing too much urine. Although he wasn’t old – only six – he produced so much urine that he could not hold it – massive quantities of urine that ran out whenever he moved. I started putting Depends on him, and my noble friend bore it well. I took him to different vets, who tried different approaches, all involving very expensive medicine. I sold my prized green-turquoise squash blossom to pay the vet bills, and pawned something regularly to buy medicine.

Then, Bubba could not have bowel movements. I gave him enemas in the side yard where the neighbors could not see, begging him to live.

When he started vomiting undigested food, I cooked him Cream of Wheat with milk and butter and gave him ice cream.

Bubba, who had always slept on a floor-pillow right next to me, for some reason, suddenly did not want to be in the house at night. I dragged an old mattress outside and slept out there with him. Piggy came, too.

One day Jennifer came down from Safford. “Mommy,” she said in stern tone. “Bubba’s been sick for awhile, and he’s in pain. You can’t let him go on suffering.”

I argued with her. “He’s not in pain. Look at his ears perked up; and his eyes are clear and smiley!”

“That’s because he loves you.” She was starting to cry. “He doesn’t want you to know.”

We went around the corner, and, sure enough, as soon as I left the room, his whole countenance fell, and he looked like a very sick dog that was in pain.

Jennifer called my friends Liz and Randy; while they were on their way over, I lay down beside my beautiful, smart Australian Shepherd. I hugged him and kissed him and told him how much I loved him. “Bubby, do you want to go to be with Daddy? Is that what you want? It’s okay if you do.” I understood because I wanted to go, too.

My beloved Bubba left that day without me. I was not strong enough to be with my best friend when he crossed over. Dr. Mary came out to the car with an injection, and Randy and Liz, who loved him well, spoke our final goodbyes. When he left the house, I told him to “go find Daddy.” I will forever regret not being with him, and can only pray that David was there, waiting in a grassy Heavenly meadow, for my noble friend.

This is harder than I thought it would be, and I thought it would be plenty hard. I am sitting at the computer, determined to write this out, but the Good Lord will have to help me if am to go on with it. I am signing off today, February 9, 2008 4:45 p.m.