Words of a Mother Whose Heart is Breaking...

"How do you explain to a 7 year old...you don't look 'funny' without hair? I wish I could do this for her. She has been soo sooo good about everything, but once in a while it really hits her. As she is brushing her teeth and looking in the mirror after a week of not looking in the mirror while she was in the hospital, she's crying because most of her hair is gone and I can't help her."

These are the words of my niece about her little 7 year old. How I wish I could take the disease from her and make it mine. It's just not fair, you know? We ask why? But there's no answer.

I Did It!

Taken From Mr. Nimble on the Move

I imported posts from another little blog that I had started when I had anticipated traveling, again. It turned into a mish-mosh of random thoughts, etc. Only I would confuse myself on purpose. I didn't want to pull all of it over, so I just chose individual posts. It was easy peasy to do! There's one post left--I need to ask permission to use a picture and name. I'm still hoping that Jack will take over the blogging duties when we travel, again.

Fingers Still Crossed

Jack had his staples out, yesterday. He had a little more fluid than last time, but not enough to drain. His Dr., here in Georgia, is cautious about declaring complete cure, yet. He has been wonderful as has the surgeon in Texas. I don't mention names because I don't know that they would want to be mentioned in a blog. The surgeon in Texas says her fingers are crossed right along with mine; it's reassuring to hear from her. She is an incredibly wonderful and kind person. Still hoping for the best, but preparing for the worst. I love this pup.

Sound Asleep

Sporting Yellow

Tongue Still Works

If Only I Could Go Out!

Enough With The Camera...I want to go to sleep.

A Long Week

Jack has been a trooper. Most of his pain is not so much from his large incisions, but from where they spread his ribs to access the lymphatic vessels.

The surgeon from Texas has been in touch twice, now, inquiring about his recovery. She is going above and beyond what I ever expected. Just couldn't ask for a nicer person.

I'm a little apprehensive about taking Jack back to GVS on Wednesday, though I don't think they will have to do much--just a quick ultrasound to check for fluid in his chest. They don't expect to know much because he is a slow leaker, thus the 2 week to a month wait. I just worry that he's going to be frightened. I'll give him pain meds before I take him in at 8 a.m. to calm him, and I'll wait for him.

I'm hoping that I'll be able to take him camping and traveling once again. I loved seeing him out of suburbia and urbia - free to run, swim, an explore as a free spirit. I thought I had a lot to write about, but my mind is cluttered with worry about Jack and other things happening at the moment. Not sure, even whether I will publish this.

Until We Meet Again, Jazz...

Gentle Leader

Last night, Nancy told me that you went to Rainbow Bridge to wait for your Mom and Molly. You were our "gentle leader", and I'll miss you, dear friend. Until it's time for all of us to see you, again, have fun with Rich and Lizzie. Stretch your legs and run as fast as you can run! You are young, again.

A Long Week

Jack has been a trooper. Most of his pain is not so much from his large incisions, but from where they spread his ribs to access the lymphatic vessels.

The surgeon from Texas has been in touch twice, now, inquiring about his recovery. She is going above and beyond what I ever expected. Just couldn't ask for a nicer person.

I'm a little apprehensive about taking Jack back to GVS on Wednesday, though I don't think they will have to do much--just a quick ultrasound to check for fluid in his chest. They don't expect to know much because he is a slow leaker, thus the 2 week to a month wait. I just worry that he's going to be frightened. I'll give him pain meds before I take him in at 8 a.m. to calm him, and I'll wait for him.

I'm hoping that I'll be able to take him camping and traveling once again. I loved seeing him out of suburbia and urbia - free to run, swim, an explore as a free spirit. I thought I had a lot to write about, but my mind is cluttered with worry about Jack and other things happening at the moment. Not sure, even whether I will publish this.

Back for recheck-Not Quite Ready to Yell "Victory"!

Just a quick update today. I took Jack back in for a check and he had accumulated fluid. It was a bummer (my heart just sank). Though the surgeon at the Atlanta hospital said he was worried, he is not ready to call the surgery a failure.

As promised, I emailed the surgeon in Texas with the update as she had requested and she returned my email within minutes. "No worries, yet." It's actually normal for a dog to drain a bit after surgery, and she said she left a bit in their to see if it would reabsorb over a month's time. She has a more optimistic view, and says we don't have to worry until a month or more as long as he doesn't start breathing heavily or show other changes.

Fortunately, it was a short visit, and he was one dog in a hurry to get out of the hospital! I only had one pain pill left, and I don't think I'll need more, but the vet said he'd be happy to call in a prescription to my pharmacy for my peace of mind. I would hate to wake up in the middle of the night to a pup in pain and not be able to do anything. So far he hasn't had anything since 6 a.m., and appears to be comfortable I think he feels naked without his Georgia State University t-shirt!

I was going to take a picture of his staples, but I figured I'd give the poor guy some privacy.

We go back next Wednesday to the internist to have the stitches out.

Been hot and muggy in Atlanta-hate it, but I hear thunder in the distance. Let's hope the rain comes. Everything is bone dry.

Good news for little Mary. The chemo is working and they will take a middle of the road approach toward a cure. She's not the best, but more importantly, isn't the worst. Sweet little thing. Time is moving slowly for her though they feel at this point she may be able to stop chemo 2 months short of the full 3 years.

Maybe This Blog Wasn't Meant to Be...(Mr. Nimble on the Move)

I confused myself. I actually started this blog thinking it would be a journal of our next trip west. Of course, Jack was going to write it. Everything has gone haywire, though. I'm in limbo as far as whether we'll be able to travel, again, we got the terrible news about Mary which leaves us with helpless and very sad feelings. I feel guilt for being alive while a little  seven year old suffers, and it's so frustrating that we can't turn back the clock and change it. It is so sad to me that I can't write about it because there are no words to describe what I'm feeling and how terrible I feel not only for her, but for her parents and grandparents. I've always given to St. Judes; come on, let's find an easier cure for this thing.

My back is in bad shape, I can't stand or walk after 5 minutes. I'm fine sitting or lying down, so that means I can still hitch up and go at the first opportunity. The problem will be walking Jack, but I'll figure something out--find fields, etc., though he'll wonder why I'm not walking him on the leash.

We lost another beautiful soul, yesterday. Nigel, Matt and Stephanie's pup had to be put to sleep. He lived a good long life, but no matter it's hard to hear that he's gone. Judy was crazy about him--such a nice dog. While I never had the pleasure of meeting him, I liked him because of what she told me, and all dogs have good souls.

Now, what to do about blogs. I think I'll just keep writing my thoughts down. Something's going on as I can't edit the older posts and I already spotted a grammatical error. Anyway, this is the blog written as a person with TBI plunders through.

Maybe There's a Miracle

Jack had a restless night last night, but he ate some yogurt this morning, some of his food, and of course some sweet potato chips. Susan game him some pain medicine before she left for work at 5 a.m. She's been wonderful staying with me for a month now in case of an emergency. There's no way I could lift him up into my truck. With her medical background, she is a great comfort to be around and she surprised me with dinner last night! It's also good for Jack that she's here as he loves her as much as he loves me; and she loves him right back. We share him.;-)

I'm encouraged by his progress. The doctor was going to keep him for another day because he wouldn't eat for them and he usually likes his patients to eat before they leave. He called, yesterday, and asked me to come over to see if he would eat for me. He would only drink a little water and eat some sweet potato chips. If he got any closer to me he would have been inside me. The doctor felt that he might be better off at home--more comfortable, and I think he is. He was anxious to get to the car as we headed out the door.

I got an email from the surgeon in Texas, today, and she had been checking on Jack since arriving back in Austin. She's encouraged so far, but we still know that we won't know the success of the surgery for 2-4 weeks.

I didn't write much about the surgery-things were just so turned upside down. The Dr. from TAMU, a very pretty woman, came out of surgery looking stressed. It was the look I didn't want to see. It seems that Jack doesn't have the main lymphatic vessel that goes up to the duct so she could not do the dye test to see where the leak was coming from. Instead, he has many small vessels some of which were leaking. She did her best to find them all so she could tie them off. It's very difficult to know if she got them all. She also found a mass in his belly that looked to be lymphatic vessels that had sealed themselves. She didn't touch it as she felt it  might cause more harm than good. I'm not sure if I've described the surgery correctly, but you get the idea. Jack's anatomy is different than what they expected. Dr. F. was disappointed that it wasn't as straight forward as she had hoped. By all his records, there was nothing to indicate that it wouldn't be. So...we hope.

He ate some yogurt and some of his food this morning. I can get him to drink if I offer it in different size little cups. You know, I'm thinking Jack might just pull off a miracle, thanks to the help of his medical team-I couldn't have asked for more.

So, here he is in "one" of his beds-he actually wanted to climb on the sofa with me last night, but of course that wasn't possible, so his other bed is right next to me where I could reach down and touch him during the night. That seems to calm him. Here he is in a T-Shirt to keep his incisions clean and away from his reach.

Who knows, maybe if all goes well, we can hit the road, again, together. I sure hope so, but if that isn't in the cards I'm hoping to give him good quality of life - I'm sure he's not quite convinced at the moment, but I see improvement each day. I'm betting that in a week, I won't be able to keep him still!

The Final Chapter?

Pay attention, Nancy. I can't stop your tears but when the time comes for us to say good bye, take comfort that maybe...just maybe I will be with our beloved Rich and Lizzie, waiting for you. I will never leave your heart, just as they have never left mine~I promise.

When the pain of parting seems too much to bear, think of Rich singing this to you, Lizzie, and me. Weren't we surprised, to say the least, riding along a country road out west when he burst into song, knowing all the words (so, not like him). Who knew?  How we laughed, do you remember?

Big Rock Candy Mountain (1st right after Rainbow Bridge)

Treat me kindly, my beloved master, for no heart in all the world is more grateful for kindness than the loving heart of me. Do not break my spirit with a stick, for though I should lick your hand between the blows, your patience and understanding will more quickly teach me the things you would have me know. Speak to me often, for your voice is the world's sweetest music, as you must know by the fierce wagging of my tail when your footsteps fall upon my waiting ear. When it is cold and wet, please take me inside, for I am now a domesticated animal, no longer used to the bitter elements. And I ask no greater glory than the privilege of sitting at your feet beside the hearth. Though had you no home, I would rather follow you through ice and snow than rest upon the softest pillow in the warmest home in all the land, for you are my god and I am your devoted worshiper. Keep my pan filled with fresh water, for although I should not reproach you were it dry, I cannot tell you when I suffer thirst. Feed me clean food, that I may stay well, to romp and play and do your bidding, to walk by your side and stand ready, willing and able to protect you with my life should your life be in danger. And, beloved master, should the great master see fit to deprive me of my health or sight, do not turn me away from you, rather hold me gently in your arms as skilled hands provide me the merciful boon of eternal rest, and I will leave you knowing with the last breath, I drew, my fate was ever safest in your hands.

~ Beth Norman Harris

The night before going into the hospital. See, aren't pups lucky? No worrying for me!

So glad I got to camp with my friends Molly and Jazz. See, I still look like a young pup--just last November.

We will spend our last days, weeks, or months enjoying the time we have together ~ you, me, and Susie.

Awakenings at 3 a.m.

NEW BEGINNINGS

A time finally comes when you "get it"... when in the midst of all your tears and insanity, you stop in your tracks and somewhere the voice inside your head cries out, "ENOUGH!!". Enough fighting, crying, guilt, and struggling just to hold on.

Then, like a child quieting down after a tantrum, you blink back your tears and begin to look at the world through new eyes.

You realize it's time to stop hoping and waiting for something to change, or for happiness, safety and security to magically appear over the next horizon.

You realize that in the real world there aren't always fairy tale endings and that any guarantees of "happily ever after" must begin with you...and in the process a sense of serenity is born of acceptance.

You awaken to the fact that your lost spouse wasn't perfect, nor are you; and that not everyone will always love, appreciate or approve of who and what you are...and that's OK. They are entitled to their own views and opinions.

You learn the importance of loving and championing yourself and in the process, a sense of new found confidence is born of self-approval.

You stop complaining and blaming other people for the things they did or said to you (or didn't do or say) and you learn that the only think you can really count on is the unexpected.

You learn that people don't always say what they mean or mean what they say and that everyone will not always be there for you and that everything isn't always about you.

So, you learn to stand on your own and to take care of yourself...and in the process a sense of safety and security is born of self-reliance.

You stop judging and pointing fingers and you begin to accept people as they are and to overlook their shortcomings and human frailties...and in the process a sense of peace and contentment is born of forgiveness.

You learn to open up to new ideas and different points of view and you begin reassessing and redefining who you are and what you really want out of the rest of your life.

You learn the difference between WANTS and NEEDS and you begin to discard the doctrines and values you've outgrown through the grief process...or should have never bought into in the first place.

You learn that principles such as honesty and compassion are not outdated ideals, but the mortar that holds together the foundation upon which you must build your new life.

You learn that you don't know everything, it's not your job to save the world and that you can't teach a pig to sing. You learn that the only cross to bear is the one you choose to carry and that martyrs get burned at the stake.

Then you begin to relearn about love. You learn to look at relationships as they really are, not as you would have them be. You learn that alone does not necessarily mean lonely.

You stop trying to control people, situations, and outcomes. You learn to distinguish between guilt and responsibility and the importance of setting boundaries and learning to say NO.

You learn that your body really is your temple. You begin to care for it and treat it with respect.

You learn that being tired fuels doubt, fear, and depression so you take more time to rest. And, just as food fuels our bodies, laughter fuels the our souls. So you take more time to laugh and play.

You learn that, for the most part, you get in life what you believe you deserve, and that much of life is a self-fulfilling prophecy.

You learn that anything worth achieving is worth working for and that wishing for something to happen is different than working toward making it happen.

Most importantly, you learn that in order to really "move on" you need direction, discipline, and perseverance. You also learn that no one can do it all alone, and that it's OK to risk asking for help, whether it is from a friend or a professional.

You learn to fight for your life and not to squander it under a cloud of impending doom, gloom, and sadness.

You finally actually learn that life isn't always fair...you don't always get what you think you deserve and that sometimes bad things happen to good people. You learn not to always take it personally.

You learn that nobody punished you and everything isn't always "somebody's" fault. It's just life happening.

You learn that negative feelings such as anger, envy, and resentment must be understood and redirected or they will suffocate the life out of you and poison your whole world.

You learn to be thankful and take comfort in many of the simple things we take for granted...things that millions of people upon the earth can only dream about...a full refrigerator, clean running water, a soft warm bed, a long hot shower.

Then, you begin to take some responsibility for yourself and by yourself and you make yourself a promise to never betray yourself again and to never, ever settle for less than your heart's desire.

You make it a point to keep smiling, to trust, and to stay open to every wonderful possibility. Finally with courage in your heart, you take a stand, you take a deep breath, and you begin to design the life you want to live as best you can.

~Sonny Carroll (The Awakening)

There's So Much Wrong...

...and Rich isn't here. I dropped Jack off for what I think will be his last tap before his surgery. He cried like a baby when they took him back which only added to the sadness I've been feeling; only some of which I can write about. He doesn't mind our regular vet, but he knows something is up when I bring him to GVS. So, here I sit, waiting for the call that tells me I can come get him. The house seems even emptier without him. I hope that the surgery fixes him 100% so that we can go camping, again. I feel that I'm giving him the very best chance I can. First, he'll be at a specialty center. He's in the care of an excellent internist and has had all the tests to confirm that he is good health other than this condition. Unlike regular vets, he will have a dedicated anesthesiologist for the surgery, and THE most competent surgeon to do his surgery. Now, he will be in their hands, and I can only hope that he comes through the surgery with good results.  

Best Friends

 Jack and Lizzie

So Sleepy

Quit Waking me, Suz...

So "Jack"

We all feel so bad about little Mary. She's suffered more than any of us in her seven short years. Doesn't seem fair. My thoughts are with her all the time, and with Jenny, John, and Judy. It's a helpless feeling not to be able to do anything-I'd trade places with her in a flash if I could. Poor baby.

I find myself wishing and wishing that Rich could be here--I realize how much I relied on him and his strength during difficult or sad times, and how I miss sharing the happy times. I still feel so empty and hollow without him. Perhaps he's fortunate not to know the sadness--I hated him to be sad. Hard time writing, today.

A Sad Time...

Two days ago I learned that my sister's granddaughter has Leukemia. Life changed for their family in a split second. Shock and disbelief, deep sadness, and frustration that they can't rewind and change what they heard, hoping with their very being that the doctors were mistaken when they knew they weren't. I feel so terribly sorry for her Mom (my niece) and her Dad who are suffering every parent's worst nightmare. And, I feel sorry for my sister and brother-in-law who are also devastated.

Fortunately, my sister has always been a very involved grandmother and is able to take care of their other child so they can stay at the hospital while they take the necessary steps to prepare their little one physically and emotionally for chemo therapy and the long and difficult road ahead.

It's such a helpless feeling to be so far away. I can't do the meaningful, hands on type of things, but I'm hoping our family can lend support in other ways from afar. As you read, please keep this precious little 7 year old in your thoughts.

We had good news about Jack. The Dr. from Texas will do the surgery, here, on June 7. I fully expected that he'd have to be tapped, again, today, but he wasn't. Even though he had leaked some more fluid, it wasn't enough to warrant another tap. Our vet wants to see him again next Friday unless some sort of emergency occurs before then. I'm very relieved. Jack has a good quality of life--doesn't even know why he's going to this place where I leave him amongst all the strangers.:( I hate that he looks back all the time they are walking him down the hall away from me. Our vet thinks he has a very good chance for full recovery, and I hope that I can take him out west once more and he can take over the blog, again.

Phew...

Good news. Jack had no fluid on the left side of his chest and not enough to tap on the right side. Our Vet called me with the good news and then said he had heard from the vet in Texas and he wanted to meet with me to discuss the communication from her. My heart sank because I thought maybe she was not going to do the surgery. Well, she's quite a lady.

1. The surgeon on this rotation at AMTU wouldn't let her do the surgery. The option would be to wait until the next rotation (sometime in June) and risk that,  that surgeon would also decline although she knows the next surgeon and thinks she has a better chance. She listed three other possible options.

2. She trained a surgeon who is at UGA (not as a specialist in this particular surgery), but whether UGA would permit her to oversee the surgery is questionable. If she could attend the surgery whether in person or by video conference I would consider it. Again, I would pay expenses, but our vet said the school might not go for it.

3. The vet from Texas does a clinic once a month in Houston at a facility similar to the one I'm going to and she would be willing to do the surgery there.

4. She is willing to fly here to Atlanta and do the surgery at our vet's facility if the surgeons agree. Of course, I would pay her expenses for being here and the costs associated with surgery and recovery. This is my 1st choice if it can happen. If it can, aside from making Jack well, I hope it can help other dogs and cats in the area with the same condition/disease in the future.

-------

So, Option 4 and Option 3 are the ones our vet and I felt would be the best, with number 2 as an ace in the hole and possibly number 1 as a last resort. 

So, today is a good day. Our doctor says Jack is in optimum health. I'm so thankful I found him. He's not only good to me, but he really likes Jack. The best news of all is that Jack is not filling up as fast as was expected and remains remarkably asymptomatic. He has a dog there, now, who isn't as lucky. He had 2 litres tapped, yesterday, and was back again, today, and had filled up with another 2 litres. He isn't breathing well and his heart is suffering so his prognosis is not good. Poor pup-makes me sad and I don't even know him. 

Susan and I have to feel we've done everything we could possibly do for Jack. We felt the same about our sweet Lizzie, but in the end we couldn't let her suffer and had to let her go.

I was so excited (and hungry) that I forgot about PetSmart. Oh, well, maybe when Susan gets home. I pulled into the driveway and took some pictures. What I thought were going to be great shots weren't; evidently I had pushed the manual focus button by mistake. Once I realized it, Jack was antsy to get in to eat so was avoiding the camera as you can see.

So Hard...

I got up early and took Jack for a walk before I took him in at 7:45 a.m. He's such a lazy bones. He didn't want to get out of bed.

Once he heard the leash, he was up and at it! He always runs to his food dish as if to grab an energy bar or to make sure that he won't get hungry on a trip. He started that way back when Rich used to walk him and since he is a "man of habit", he never changed. Susan and I laugh every time. He was surprised this morning because he didn't know it but he was fasting. When we got back we got into John's truck, which completely confused him, but somehow we managed to get where we were going. A more discombobulated pair you'll never find.

He couldn't get closer to me if he tried while we were in the waiting room--really wanted to sit on my lap, and managed to get half of himself up. A doctor walked by with a black lab, and of course he was reminded of Lizzie, as was I. He howled as she turned the corner out of his sight, and tears slipped out of me. The ladies at the desk came out to shower him with attention. Lots of pats and rubs.

When they come to take him in the back, he's very cooperative, but he always looks back at me several times as if to say, "Aren't you coming?" I just about lose it every time...I managed to get out the door and then lost it.

In the short amount of time between leaving the house and getting back, I lost my phone, his collar, keys, and my glasses. I recovered the phone and the remembered the glasses and phone were at home, but the collar is still missing--I think I left it there. It's the choke chain that he likes--it's like his jewelry. He's probably the only dog that really, really likes his choke chain. I take it off him while he's there because I don't know if he could catch it on whatever kind of area they hold him in until they're ready to see him.

It will be a while before I hear whether he has to be tapped. They do rounds until nine o'clock while the aids prep him for an ultrasound.

The house seems so empty and sad without him. I know if Rich were here he would be taking him to Texas, too. There used to be a program on the Animal Planet channel with a vet, Dr. Fitzgerald, in Colorado. Rich used to look at me, sometimes, and say, "If either of them (meaning the pups) ever get sick, we'll take them there. I wish he were here to go to Texas with us.

Well, I'm going to try to busy myself to make the time go by until they call so I can go get my buddy. I think we'll go shopping at PetSmart. Well, that's if he's not groggy. If he is, we'll go tomorrow.

New Hope / Anxious Days

I went out to dinner with Martha and Jim Turner, tonight, and as always, had a great time. They are so much fun to be with. Martha asked me to bring the blog book that Jack wrote, so I did. Time passes fast when I'm with them because we laugh a lot. Susan stayed with Jack. She's his sister but he thinks of her more as a girlfriend. She's very good to him. Sometimes she walks him three or four times a day; especially since I hurt my back.

Some days it's not so bad getting up the hill and once we're in the nature center, I enjoy our walk because I can let him go off leash (not supposed to, but no one is there when I go).

A vet at TAMU has agreed to do Jack's surgery. She is the director of cardiothoracic surgery at TAMU, and the best in the country at the surgery that Jack requires (name too long for me to remember).  The odds of success have been 20-40%, but her success rate has been 100%. We don't have a date or specifics, yet, but it's a step further in the right direction, and we're very grateful that we have this option. Fortunately, Jack is feeling fine; loves his walks, gets all excited when he hears Susan's car pull up, and his appetite is great. He surprises our vet and others at the hospital because he is asymptomatic which is very unusual. He's taking a nap on his dining room bed at the moment.

He'll be moving to his other bed shortly, as he always does. Jack has a routine for almost everything.

We have to be at the vet early in the morning so that our vet can check to see if there's enough fluid in his chest to drain. I'm hoping he hasn't filled up, again, but I think I'm pipe dreaming because it's three weeks and that's been about the length of time that he needs it. They have drained over three liters, twice, and over a liter last time all without showing any signs other than that somehow he looks to me huskier. I actually first noticed it after they drained him the first time--he looked smaller (which stands to reason). I'm glad he doesn't know what's coming-they keep him comfortable so I don't think he remembers anything bad happening, but he comes out pretty "drunk". I always get nervous and feel bad about taking him. That's why it was good to see Martha and Jim, tonight; it took my mind off it.

On a lighter subject, John and Michael took the truck and trailer over to the Nascar Race at Darlington, and will be home on Sunday. Today, I think they went to the pit for a while, but mostly camped. They are a comical pair. Michael said, the other night, that Lisa told him that John snores. He asked me if I had anything in the camper for   snoring. The only thing I could think of was the taser.

They had a smooth drive over-I'm not sure who drove when, but they both agreed that they'd never own a diesel truck because it is so noisy. I realized, driving John's little truck, today, that it's nice to have a small, quiet vehicle. However, noise or not, I'm glad I have the big truck pulling the little trailer. Michael sent a couple of pictures over his phone.

John cooked some Bubba burgers and then built a campfire toward evening or should I say  barn fire. At any rate, it appears that they are having fun so I'm happy for them.

Can You Tell Who Was Doing All The Work?

I have decided that I will take the trailer to Texas as it will give Jack a close place to recuperate. I have a friend who lives about 90 miles from the hospital so we'll get to see her at some point. Ellen graciously offered me a hookup that she has in her yard or for us to stay in her house. Such a sweetheart. Just knowing someone is that close makes me a little less nervous. I already know the route I'll be taking. Of course, I'm not as excited about this trip, but I'm hoping that Jack can take over the blog at some point. Maybe he'll even recuperate to the point where we can continue on up into Colorado. That all remains to be seen.

Well, sign off time for tonight. Crossing my fingers about tomorrow. I love my pup with all my heart.

In answer to my son's question...

"Mom, tell me how you found peace on your trip."

I learned to "quiet" myself. I, finally, after so long, had periods of time when I wasn't tormented by grief-not even a little. Those feelings returned when I came home. I felt Dad's presence within me all the time I was away, but I traveled very differently than we had when we were together, and to my surprise that was okay. It was part of the healing.

I was proud of myself for taking the pup that I love and he so loved, to enjoy the outdoors as he should. Dad would have been proud, too. I know because I could "see" the look on his face-his smile-his amusement, really. I was with him more on that trip than I had been since the day he died. I saw him at every turn not with the sadness of losing him but with the joy that I had known him. The rage and anger at the loss that I felt subsided and gave way to acceptance. The sadness came and went, but was a familiar, comforting feeling. It was cleansing to cry in nature; here, it is desperation and frustration.

I learned that I could live in 4 feet of space with very little "stuff". I loved the outdoors-not seeing another car or person for miles or sometimes days. The high point of a day might be finding a place to walk; a place for Jack to swim, and then sitting on a log or a rock and listening to the silence or eating a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. I loved the cool breezes and the absence of bugs. I loved seeing things I'd never "noticed" before.

There was something satisfying about not being able to just jump in a car and go to a destination. The preparation and ritual of hitching up and feeling like a nomad was - can't find a word for it. Not knowing where I was going to sleep at night sometimes, was exciting. Unfortunately, age hampers ability at a certain point. Stay in good shape. I wish I had.

I liked being a spectator and seeing and doing new things. The dorymen. I could spend an unexpected afternoon watching cowboys with their herd or learning that cows aren't as dumb as I thought. The ferries at Sausalito. The thousands of boats. The golden hills of the headlands in Marin County. Watching the barges on the Mississippi. Crossing a wooden dock to get to an old cannery. Seeing Leavenworth, again, and the Wenatchee area. Finding Wisdom MT and the "Big Hole". The seals, the birds, the elk, the bison--they were all my entertainment, and I didn't need a remote to see them. I liked not knowing what was around the bend. I liked the adventure. It kept my mind busy.

I wasn't lonely even when I didn't talk to anyone for days. I liked not knowing what was going on in the world-the contamination of information that has become a part of everyone's life, it seems. There was always something to do. Sleeping near a river, sitting by the ocean, or walking in the woods was calming-I didn't feel so broken, any more. I learned to let go of anger and worry. I learned to live, again, and to be content just to be in my own skin in the surroundings that I chose to be in. I didn't need the clutter in my life.

I wish we had lived a simpler life and that I had been able to raise you kids without so much "stuff" so that you didn't have to search for the forest because the trees were in the way. It's not the ability to "see", it's the art of "noticing" that I wish for you.

I learned that it was okay to be different than Dad. I liked the way "I" traveled and even though it wasn't his cup of tea I think it could have been had he tried it. I had become so much a part of him that I had to learn to function as myself. I could only do that because either I let go or he let go...I don't know which.

There's so much more to it, but I'm not capable of writing it or expressing it. I have come to believe that peace is the one thing in life that we all need. I found it for a while, and once in a while, now, I drift back in memories and find it, again. I'd like, more than anything, for you to find it. All you need is a little trailer, a big truck, the first mile behind you, and the memory of your Dad to guide you.

I included this piece because I read it each day, and it helps.

WALK WITHIN YOU

If I be the first of us to die, Let grief not blacken long your sky.

Be bold yet modest in your grieving. There is a change but not a leaving.

For just as death is part of life, The dead live on forever in the living.

And all the gathered riches of our journey, The moments shared, the mysteries explored,

The steady layering of intimacy stored, The things that made us laugh or weep or sing,

The joy of sunlit snow or first unfurling of the spring, The wordless language of look and touch,

The knowing, Each giving and each taking,

These are not flowers that fade, Nor trees that fall and crumble,

Nor are they stone, For even stone cannot the wind and rain withstand

And mighty mountain peaks in time reduce to sand.

What we were, we are. What we had, we have.

A conjoined past imperishably present

So when you walk the woods where once we walked together

And scan in vain the dapple bank beside you for my shadow,

Or pause where we always did upon the hill to gaze across the land,

And spotting something, reach by habit for my hand,

And finding none, feel sorrow start to steal upon you,

Be still. Close your eyes. Breathe.

Listen for my footfall in your heart.

I am not gone but merely walk within you.

Find peace in your new life, son. You deserve happiness.