"Patch is ready to collect."
The Scottish voice on the other end of the phone said, cheerily. It was the vet.
For a split second time stood still and I thought "Oh good I can bring him home." Then I remembered.
It hit me like a sledgehammer: it wasn't my lovely, living, breathing Patch that was ready to collect - it was his body. Patch in a box.
I didn't want to collect him in a box. Couldn't face it.
"Patch is ready to collect....would you like to come with me or shall I bring him home when I go to the farm?" I asked Andy.
Why don't you just say what you mean? "Will you come with me? I Can't face collecting him alone. I don't want to collect him in a box."
"You bring him home - that's fine," Andy answered.
No - it's not fine - it's anything but fine!
Eventually, I told Andy and it wasn't a problem. He came with me and he went into the surgery and collected Patch whilst I sat in the car. I cradled the box all the way home.
"Now what do we do?" The voice inside my head screamed.
"We find something beautiful to make from what we have left to remind us every day of our lovely Patch. That is what we do."
So the hunt is on: find something beautiful that we can keep close to our hearts and cherish forever.
Thursday, 28 December 2017
Friday, 15 December 2017
A Sad Susie
We have a sad Susie.
Susie is a lovely little Labrador and she owns my grandchildren, Andy and I.
Susie misses Patch - she's never lived in a household without another dog before. She is forlorn without him.
Earlier in the week her former housemate, my daughter's dog came to visit and it was lovely to see the two of them together. It did Susie good.
Her behaviour has changed back to what it was when she first arrived: barking at everyone who comes to the door or is walking anywhere near us in the street or indeed passing the house. Her senses are all heightened. It's as if she thinks she now has to guard the house and me in the absence of Patch and it's all a bit too much responsibility for her and she is very stressed.
It's difficult to know what to do for the best with her. I thought a good long walk at the farm to blow away some cobwebs might help earlier this week but from the minute she got into the back of the car to the minute she got out again she cried. She's never done that. Whining, stressed and not wanting to sit in her usual place in the back. I believe it's because Patch wasn't there with her but maybe she could still smell him.
I keep seeing her sniffing the air in the house and looking around. I find this strangely comforting because I feel Patch is still there with us - just that I can't see him. Maybe it's because he's been there so long - I don't know - but what I do know is that I don't want to lose this sense of him being with us.
Susie is giving the most amazing cuddles since we lost Patch.
We are helping each other.
One step, one day, one week at a time we are learning to live without him.
Susie is a lovely little Labrador and she owns my grandchildren, Andy and I.
Susie misses Patch - she's never lived in a household without another dog before. She is forlorn without him.
Earlier in the week her former housemate, my daughter's dog came to visit and it was lovely to see the two of them together. It did Susie good.
Her behaviour has changed back to what it was when she first arrived: barking at everyone who comes to the door or is walking anywhere near us in the street or indeed passing the house. Her senses are all heightened. It's as if she thinks she now has to guard the house and me in the absence of Patch and it's all a bit too much responsibility for her and she is very stressed.
It's difficult to know what to do for the best with her. I thought a good long walk at the farm to blow away some cobwebs might help earlier this week but from the minute she got into the back of the car to the minute she got out again she cried. She's never done that. Whining, stressed and not wanting to sit in her usual place in the back. I believe it's because Patch wasn't there with her but maybe she could still smell him.
I keep seeing her sniffing the air in the house and looking around. I find this strangely comforting because I feel Patch is still there with us - just that I can't see him. Maybe it's because he's been there so long - I don't know - but what I do know is that I don't want to lose this sense of him being with us.
Susie is giving the most amazing cuddles since we lost Patch.
We are helping each other.
One step, one day, one week at a time we are learning to live without him.
Sunday, 10 December 2017
I Am Broken
The day started off like any other "normal" Wednesday morning: my first alarm sounded at 4.45 am, Andy rang me at 5 am. I needed to be up and out early to my breakfast networking weekly meeting.
"If only it could have been any other normal Wednesday."
I dressed and went downstairs, let my dogs out, put my boots on, donned my coat. Opened the door to bring the dogs back in. Only Susie came - wagging her tail, seeking the biscuit she knew I was about to give her as she went "back to bed". Patch didn't come in. I called him. Nothing. I called again and then I heard the most awful noise; a noise I will never forget as long as I live.
It was the sound of something being dragged across the concrete outside the door. I looked out. Patch looked back at me from the darkness, his big wide eyes full of fear as he silently pleaded with me to help him. His back legs splayed on the floor as he dragged them behind him, desperately trying to get to our back door.
The horror of the scene unfolding before me was unbearable. I don't remember going outside but I do remember scooping him up and carrying his soft, helpless body inside to his bed. My beautiful, loyal, best friend was in trouble.
"When did he become so light? Why had I not noticed his weight loss?"
I now know he wasn't any lighter but in that moment when I needed to carry him, he was as light as a feather.
I rang Andy. He was in Manchester and would be 2 1/2 hours before he got home. I rang Denise from our Networking group, explaining I wouldn't be there and the emailing what she needed from me to enable someone to take on my role in the meeting. Bless Denise she added words of comfort but I couldn't tell you what she said.
Then - practicalities all taken care of - I fell apart. I went and sat on the floor next to Patch's bed, cradling his head, stroking him and I rang my friend, Julie. I have no idea what I said to her but 20 minutes later she was with me. Then something amazing happened.
I went to make Julie a cup of tea and Patch got to his feet and followed me into the kitchen! He went from there into the lounge and, exhausted, flopped onto the floor. I couldn't believe my eyes. But my joy was to be shortlived.
Patch was sick, very sick. My amazing friend had found the strength to stand up because he didn't want to be alone in what he knew was his last hours. His breathing was laboured, his gums pale. My precious dog was dying and there was nothing I could do about it other than to be there for him and to make him as comfortable as possible during his final hours.
I was knocked for a six. I was just not prepared or ready for this. It was the last thing I had expected when I got out of bed that morning; a morning that had started so normally, just like every other Wednesday morning before it. Only this wasn't any other Wednesday morning. The nightmare that was rapidly unfolding was horribly real and it was a roller coaster ride, spiralling downwards and I couldn't get off. It was going too fast and I, we were going to crash.
Julie left and shortly after Andy arrived home. Then the vets arrived. They listened to my account of what had happened and then gently examined him. Then they told me the news I didn't want to hear. His heart was broken and we needed to say goodbye to him and let him go. My heart was broken. Andy's heart was broken. In that awful moment, we were all broken. A broken family.
"No, no, no....this can't be happening. I did not expect this today. I am not ready, we are not ready. No - not my beautiful Patch. No, please just no. One more minute, hour, day....more time please just not now. Please not now."
But the words I was screaming did not come out.
Andy cradled my beautiful boy and I stroked him as he peacefully took his last breath.
We clung to each other and cried. Huge sobs.
Life was never going to be the same again.
I am broken.
"If only it could have been any other normal Wednesday."
I dressed and went downstairs, let my dogs out, put my boots on, donned my coat. Opened the door to bring the dogs back in. Only Susie came - wagging her tail, seeking the biscuit she knew I was about to give her as she went "back to bed". Patch didn't come in. I called him. Nothing. I called again and then I heard the most awful noise; a noise I will never forget as long as I live.
It was the sound of something being dragged across the concrete outside the door. I looked out. Patch looked back at me from the darkness, his big wide eyes full of fear as he silently pleaded with me to help him. His back legs splayed on the floor as he dragged them behind him, desperately trying to get to our back door.
The horror of the scene unfolding before me was unbearable. I don't remember going outside but I do remember scooping him up and carrying his soft, helpless body inside to his bed. My beautiful, loyal, best friend was in trouble.
"When did he become so light? Why had I not noticed his weight loss?"
I now know he wasn't any lighter but in that moment when I needed to carry him, he was as light as a feather.
I rang Andy. He was in Manchester and would be 2 1/2 hours before he got home. I rang Denise from our Networking group, explaining I wouldn't be there and the emailing what she needed from me to enable someone to take on my role in the meeting. Bless Denise she added words of comfort but I couldn't tell you what she said.
Then - practicalities all taken care of - I fell apart. I went and sat on the floor next to Patch's bed, cradling his head, stroking him and I rang my friend, Julie. I have no idea what I said to her but 20 minutes later she was with me. Then something amazing happened.
I went to make Julie a cup of tea and Patch got to his feet and followed me into the kitchen! He went from there into the lounge and, exhausted, flopped onto the floor. I couldn't believe my eyes. But my joy was to be shortlived.
Patch was sick, very sick. My amazing friend had found the strength to stand up because he didn't want to be alone in what he knew was his last hours. His breathing was laboured, his gums pale. My precious dog was dying and there was nothing I could do about it other than to be there for him and to make him as comfortable as possible during his final hours.
I was knocked for a six. I was just not prepared or ready for this. It was the last thing I had expected when I got out of bed that morning; a morning that had started so normally, just like every other Wednesday morning before it. Only this wasn't any other Wednesday morning. The nightmare that was rapidly unfolding was horribly real and it was a roller coaster ride, spiralling downwards and I couldn't get off. It was going too fast and I, we were going to crash.
Julie left and shortly after Andy arrived home. Then the vets arrived. They listened to my account of what had happened and then gently examined him. Then they told me the news I didn't want to hear. His heart was broken and we needed to say goodbye to him and let him go. My heart was broken. Andy's heart was broken. In that awful moment, we were all broken. A broken family.
"No, no, no....this can't be happening. I did not expect this today. I am not ready, we are not ready. No - not my beautiful Patch. No, please just no. One more minute, hour, day....more time please just not now. Please not now."
But the words I was screaming did not come out.
Andy cradled my beautiful boy and I stroked him as he peacefully took his last breath.
We clung to each other and cried. Huge sobs.
Life was never going to be the same again.
I am broken.
Saturday, 7 October 2017
An Amazing Lady
This week we lost my favourite Aunt.
She hadn't been well but it wasn't expected either. My mum - her sister - is bereft. I find that hard to deal with. We had a call from the hospital she had been admitted to saying that if we wanted to say goodbye we needed to go that morning. Mum, my cousins and my other Aunt set off on the 60+ mile journey. As they were on the outskirts of the City where the hospital was another call came through to say she had passed away. Devastating - so close, yet so far. What a difference 10 minutes can make.
As we grieve her loss it has become apparent what an amazing lady she was and what a difference she made to the people around her. She was a retired primary school headmistress and she had that rare quality of being able to relate to people across the generations.
An avid Facebook poster, I communicated with her frequently by PM. She "liked" and commented on my daughter's posts frequently, giving her encouragement in the way she was raising her children and her artistic flair. She rang my mum and chatted to her several times a week. My dad liked her! We are her extended family. Within her close family it was the same story.
She was an amazing, generous and kind lady. I can't believe she's gone. I didn't want her to go and now I miss her dreadfully. For me she had her angel wings here on earth.
She hadn't been well but it wasn't expected either. My mum - her sister - is bereft. I find that hard to deal with. We had a call from the hospital she had been admitted to saying that if we wanted to say goodbye we needed to go that morning. Mum, my cousins and my other Aunt set off on the 60+ mile journey. As they were on the outskirts of the City where the hospital was another call came through to say she had passed away. Devastating - so close, yet so far. What a difference 10 minutes can make.
As we grieve her loss it has become apparent what an amazing lady she was and what a difference she made to the people around her. She was a retired primary school headmistress and she had that rare quality of being able to relate to people across the generations.
An avid Facebook poster, I communicated with her frequently by PM. She "liked" and commented on my daughter's posts frequently, giving her encouragement in the way she was raising her children and her artistic flair. She rang my mum and chatted to her several times a week. My dad liked her! We are her extended family. Within her close family it was the same story.
She was an amazing, generous and kind lady. I can't believe she's gone. I didn't want her to go and now I miss her dreadfully. For me she had her angel wings here on earth.
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