Loss and the run

2016 has not started out well. This was the week I was ready to get myself back on track. Over the weekend, I prepared last week's 3 blog posts. I was on a roll, and the words just flowed. I love when that happens.

No sooner had I hit publish on my blog post about getting out of my January funk did the wheels once again come off the proverbial bus.

We noticed during dinner that my dog Cleo, who had been acting perfectly fine all day, did not come to beg hang out at the dinner table as she usually does. But at age 13, she was sleeping more than she used to and we just figured she was tired.

After dinner, I heard a noise from her crate. I was shocked to find her moaning and panting. I carefully picked her up and took her to bed with me, just like I used to do with the boys when they were little and sick. Restless, she couldn't get comfortable. She kept panting. I couldn't sleep. Worried, I finally packed her up and took her to the animal ER.

Tests were run, IV fluids given, and some morphine for pain. The blood work showed something really bad was happening to her. The vet wanted her to stay overnight. But I brought her home where I knew she'd be more comfortable.

I couldn't sleep. The sun came up and Cleo was still panting and shaking. She couldn't stand up. I woke up my youngest son and together, we drove back to the vet, Cleo on my lap.

After an ultrasound of her abdomen, the vet laid it all out for us.

Tumor. Bleeding. Old age.

No options to treat. Actually, no options at all. Except for one.

The decision was surprisingly easy. She was miserable. End her suffering. Let her go.

At the vet, getting ready to say goodbye to my sweet pup. One last picture for mom.

My head was spinning. 24 hours ago, she was sitting next to me, begging for Cheerios. Later, walking through the freshly folded laundry. We had just bought a new bag of food for her.

And now, we were making end of life decisions?

We left the vet with only her collar and a pawprint. And so many tears.

The next morning, I awoke in my bed, alone, exhausted after another sleepless night. All night I swear I heard Cleo padding around the house. Click, click, click. The sound of her nails on the hardwood floors. A deep sigh as she settles into deep sleep. My imagination hard at work. Playing cruel tricks on me.

Unable to relax, I got out of bed, I knew what I had to do.

The sun was coming up. It was 3 degrees outside. Brutally cold. No matter. I needed this run. I layered up and headed out into the cold. I let myself go. I didn't feel the cold. My legs felt light. My music, so familiar to me, carried me through my familiar neighborhood route. I ran mindlessly.

My ninja eagle on this cold morning

In the past, there have been other runs like this one.

After a miscarriage, so many years before. Fast and sweaty, finding power and strength from a body that I felt had betrayed me.

Another powerful run after the loss of my mother-in-law. Aversive to doctors, she was diagnosed and gone in 6 weeks. The only medical person in the family, the medical decision making rested on my shoulders. On my runs, I found strength to lead the family forward.

And just last year after our troubles with my oldest son came to a head. Anger, sadness, and feelings of failure all propelled me forward on the road.

When I came home from this run, chilled to the bone, there was no Cleo to greet me. The house felt empty. I shrugged off my layers and got ready for work.

On my way through the house, on the floor, was one of Cleo's toys. Just where she had left it the day before after carrying it around to show us. Triggering a flood of memories. And more tears.

This is the hard part.

I miss my little pup. She greeted me at the door every night and announced to the family that mom was home. This was the dog who couldn't wait to go to bed at night and "helped" me to pull down the covers so she could get her spot on the pillows. Who showed everyone who came to our house Elmo, her favorite stuffed toy. The pup who begged for pizza crust on Friday nights. Who sang in her crate when she was lonely. Who ate a pound of bacon she managed to snatch off my parents' kitchen counter. With no ill effects. Who loved to swim with the ducks in the lakes where we vacationed in Wisconsin. Who couldn't wait for me to pull my sweaty socks off after a run so she could run away with them.

So many memories.

Sweet, sweet Cleo. So much personality. She was a character. She loved everyone. And everyone loved her. Her tail never stopped wagging.

We all can only be so lucky to have such a dog. Unbridled joy. Unconditional love. A life well lived.

My life, so much better for having Cleo.

Keep wagging, my friends. Run like someone left the gate open. Chase your dreams. Never stop playing.

Thanks for reading. I'm linking up with Holly and Tricia at their Weekly Wrap. This was my week. How was yours?