Life after Mom. I knew it would happen sooner or later. At first I didn't accept her sudden death. Why was she taken away when so many others at the nursing home lingered on? She could've lived another ten years. You see it all the time on the news: "Woman celebrates 102nd birthday- still going strong..."
But it was her time. She led a full life at 93. It wasn't an easy life. Her heart broke many times. But she had her family and continued on, surviving another 36 years after Dad passed away. She was ready.
There was still much to do. Paperwork to file for her insurance. Her estate documents. Making sure everything was paid. I was used to taking care of the bills by now. Mom would be there to help if I needed advice. It was still hard to believe that she was gone for good.
The family came over and took a day to clean out her room. Old clothes were donated or thrown away. Mom was a bit of a hoarder, and we found bags of greeting cards, little packets of soap, dozens of rosaries and religious medals she had collected over the years. Her cookbooks, her beautiful crochet items, like table cloths and mittens, were found in drawers. Everything went. Mom had said to the family, "Take what you want when I die," and they did.
Remaining were her beautiful religious statues in various places in the living room, some from as far away as Czechoslovakia, brought to the States by her mother. Special fellow parishioners from Sacred Heart Church, our parish, knew she had these old statues and asked what I was going to do with them. I knew Mom would've wanted me to give her Blessed Virgin Mary to Laurel, a loyal and faithful friend , someone she trusted to take care of the statue and honor it. I kept the rest.
Seeing these things that Mom loved so much taken away was sad, reinforcing the reality that she wasn't coming back.
They say "with time it gets easier." Not really. The holidays made me think of her even more, especially the first holidays without her. Thanksgiving was always a special family event in our house. Mom made the turkey and the side dishes. . She was fussy and liked to entertain. I remember the aroma of the turkey cooking overnight, the smells filling up the house. Often she was up late making cookies, "because it was quiet." I would venture out to the kitchen after midnight and there she was, rolling dough, wondering why I wasn't sleeping. I wondered the same about her.
The first Thanksgiving she was in the nursing home we joined her for dinner midday. We ordered the trays ahead of time, and along with other families who couldn't take their loved one home, we shared Thanksgiving the best way we could.
The following year Mom came home. We had another idea. We ordered all the food- turkey, stuffing and all the trimmings- from a local grocery store. All we needed to do was pick it up Thanksgiving morning, heat it up and we were ready to eat. No fuss, no muss.
Mom had agreed to this plan. Later, after a nice dinner, I asked her if she was having fun.
"It was OK," she sighed, looking sad in her favorite chair.
"What's wrong/ Didn't you like it?"
"It was nice. The food was good."
"Then what's wrong?" I persisted.
"Well, she said, shrugging her shoulders, "'I didn't do anything."
"But that was the point, Mom. So you wouldn't have to do anything."
"I felt..useless." She slumped back in her chair, ready to return to the Center.
Lesson learned. After so many years of making the big holiday dinner to have it all taken away, even if she did realize she couldn't do it anymore, the loss was too great for Mom to handle.
So, the final year we had Mom in our lives for Thanksgiving we compromised. She came home and we still pre-ordered the food. But this time Mom helped out. She set the table and supervised in the kitchen. Like the old days, she made sure everyone had plenty to eat. She often ate last on holidays, not until she knew that her family were happy. That made her happy.
Mom had some control again, her dignity was restored and she said it was one of the nicest Thanksgivings ever.
Normally I love the holiday season. That first year without Mom I couldn't wait until they were over.
About a month after Louie died friends from work strongly encouraged me to get another dog. They saw how down I was, going home each night to an empty house. I was still grieving Lou. I could hear Mom: "Louie isn't even cold yet and you're getting another dog."
But they were right. I needed company. I needed protection since I lived alone. Having a watchdog made even Mom feel better when she was home alone. I also needed a propose in life, something to take care of. The flowers and plants were dying, which was my fault. I just didn't care anymore. I needed life to fill the house again. The emptiness in my heart ached to be filled.
So, along with my friend Julie form the Activities department, we started searching for the perfect dog. I knew I didn't want another Pekingese. That would remind me too much of Lou. Pekingese are great dogs- affectionate and smart, playful and faithful. Another Peke would just remind me of what I lost and no dog could ever take the place of Louie.
I knew I didn't want a puppy. Training a puppy in my situation would be hard. Hopefully I could find a dog around two or three years old, a dog who would be around for a while, a dog already house-broken and friendly. I know I was asking for a lot.
We tired looking local. I went to the S.P.C.A. in West Chester. I never had a shelter dog before. I had this misconception that shelter dogs were tainted, maybe abused, dogs that no one else wanted.
Kind of like me. Then I thought how stupid that stereotype was. All dogs are different, just like people. Why not give the dog a chance. Give a homeless dog a forever home.
I preferred a smaller dog and every dog I found was either too big or too expensive. I went to shelters and pet stores, looked for ads in the paper and kept my eyes open for puppies that someone from work wanted to sell or give away.
Finally I went online. Julie suggested the idea. I never had very good luck with computers, going back to my days at Penn. She found a site in Alabama that had shelter dogs. She sent me the link and suggested I check out a few, especially a really cute Pekingese mix on page four under "small dogs' on the site.
But I wasn't looking for another Pekingese. She convinced me how stupid and unfair that was. I always raved abut Lou and how smart and loving he was. Why penalize another potential canine friend because of my own hang-ups?
The dog on page four was the cutest little guy. Small, a Peke-a-Pom ( half Pekingese and half Pomeranian). multi-colored in different shades of brown. He looked friendly from his "smile." His name was Mr Miyagi ( from the Karate Kid movies).
I still wasn't sure if I wanted to go through all the red tape involved in adopting a rescue dog form so far away. I really wanted to meet the dog first, to see if we liked each other. It would be a huge risk and a big commitment to go through the process of adopting a dog form Alabama, only to find out we weren't compatible.
I did a little more investigating. Mr. M. was described as "friendly, a true Southern gentleman." There was no explanation given as to why he was at the shelter. It didn't say if he was found on the streets, or if he had been abused or dropped off because no one wanted him. I knew there was a big problem down South with unwanted puppies and kittens.
One note that did raise a red flag: Mr. M. didn't care for mn. . He preferred to be around women. I could relate to Mr. M. Maybe a man had abused him in the past? But that wouldn't work. So I continued looking elsewhere.
I didn't find another dog I liked on their website. And iIwas striking out locally. Disappointed, I gave the idea a rest for a few days, almost abandoning the thought of getting another dog altogether. Luckily, Julie and other friends at work persisted.
I couldn't stop thinking about Mr. Miyagi. That little voice inside told me to check him out again. I scrolled down to his picture one late, sleepless night, and knew that he was the one.
So I contacted Alabama and did some research. Their shelter was legit, not a scam. Someone else was also interested in Mr. M., but after talking to a sweet lady on the phone from the shelter ,she promised to hold him if I really wanted him.
Sometimes if you don't take a risk in life you never win. So I said why not?
I did all the paperwork on line. Numerous phone calls and information was exchanged. I gave them three references, one form Louie's vet. Tey t wanted to make sure I would be a good father. I was impressed that they just didn't want to dump Mr. M. anywhere. They cared about him.
The references were good, the check cleared and Mr. M. was mine. He had all his shots, was fixed, and had all his papers. How do we bring him North?
They had a truck which delivered puppies once a month. They made stops in Maryland, Pennsylvania and New Jersey. I was given a specific date and time and told to be on time to meet Mr. M. The truck wasn't going to wait.
Julie said she would take me to Yardley, a town about an hour from where I lived, to meet the truck at 8:30 Saturday morning in the Pet Smart parking lot.
The last time I talked to the lady in Alabama I was more convinced I had done the right thing. She didn't want to tell me before to influence my decision but Mr. M. had been up for sale quite a while. If he didn't find a forever home within the week he was schedule to be put down.
I looked forward to meeting him more than ever.
Julie and I waited in the parking lot on a cool September morning as other adopting parents soon filled the lot.I had a leash ready, all my identification papers, and sat nervously. What if he didn't like me? This was a life-changing moment and suddenly I wasn't so sure I did the right thing after all.
Then I saw the white box- truck pull up. Exactly 8:30, right on schedule. They started bring dogs out in crates or on leashes. Still no Mr. M. Than it happened.
"Mister Migayi, Pekingese mix...who is here for this cutie?" a lady holding a clipboard shouted.
I waved and they brought the pooch over to the grassy area where we had waited. He looked exactly like his picture. We didn't make eye-contact at first, as I reached for the leash. In an instant I knew we would be pals.
Mr. M. lifted a leg and peed on my left back wheel. I was his.He was marking his territory.
One of the first things we needed to do was get him groomed. He didn't look or smell too good from his thousand mile trip. The only stops were to occasionally pee,
Back in Phoenixville, my groomer took him in, groomed and bathed the little guy, and he finally reached his new home.
He sure was house-broken, and they didn't kid about how smart he was, for when we got inside he immediately ran to the backdoor and asked to go out. I was just as relieved as Mr. M. was, hoping the house-broken part was true.
Speaking of "Mr. M." I didn't like the name. First, I couldn't say it very well. I never saw the Karate Kid movies and I wanted somethimg simpe. The Alabama lady said they named him that when he arrived at the shelter so he wasn't used to it yet. I looked at him when he came back inside and said "Good Buddy, nice going. From now on your name is...Bud."
Not original but easy.
Bud was great from the get-go. I figured he was probably on the streets at one point because he kept trying to dump over the trash-basket in the kitchen, looking for scrapes of food. At night I would hear him prowling the other rooms and the crash of a trash can. Once he started getting regular meals he gratefully stopped the trash-picking stunts.
I hated to leave him home during the day but I had to work. I bought him some new stuffed toys and gave him a few of Louie's old toys. I would use these to my advantage in the mornings,. Bud still had a little "rabbit" in him, and I had to be careful he wouldn't bolt out the door and head for Alabama. So, until he got used to his forever home I needed to back out in the morning, which wasn't easy to do with the wheelchair. I tossed a toy deep into the living room for him to chase as I shut the door.
He never made a mess while I was gon,. even an accident. All the misconceptions about rescue dogs faded away.
Now when I came home from work I had someone with unconditional love to greet me. I had a purpose again. I may have saved his life but he also saved mine.
In February we had a terrible ice storm which knocked out my power for five days. No heat, no electricity. The power went out on a Sunday afternoon while it was still light outside. It usually comes right back on. It didn't this time.
My land line eventually died. It grew dark early and I searched for flashlights. I didn't trust candles. I got an extra blanket for overnight and hoped the power would return by morning.
No work the next day because of the storm. The only contact I had with the outside world was my transistor radio. They were working to restore power but it may not be back "for a few days." Ice piled up outside my front door. My family still weren't in touch very much, even after Mom died. Plus I figured they were battling the ice storm as well, with no power.
It was me and Bud, alone.
I didn't keep too much food in the refrigerator and freezer so no worries about things spoiling./ But not having food wasn't a good thing either. I did have fresh bread, peanut butter, crackers and other essentials on hand. Plus Bud's dog food.
Our days were spent waiting. We couldn't go anywhere. No one was coming to check on us. I had no phone or internet. No television. I felt like Daniel Boone in the wilderness.
It grew even colder at night. It's one thing to lose power in the summer from a thunderstorm. At least you could open the windows and leave if you had to. The aftermath of the ice storm was still evident just outside my door. Bud squeezed himself out the backdoor to pee and then hurried back in. The highs during that week were in the teens.
The nights grew even colder. One night I had three blankets on, plus layers of clothes, yet I still trembled. What scared me more was Bud. He slept at the foot of my bed but was shivering so violently I could feel him shaking.
I wasn't going to let him die. I got one of the blankets, wrapped him up and held him against me all night. We both survived.
By Friday the ice had cleared enough that the Para Transit van arrived to pick me up for work. I was dressed and ready to go., thinking they would come washing and dressing in the dark. I couldn't use my electric razor and didn't own a regular razor so I went to work looking stubbly . I didn't want to leave Bud but I thought I may find out how close we were to power. Maybe if I stayed home someone would come and find me. but I gathered all the blankets for Bud to keep warm and left.
The radio said power was slowly coming back all around me. The local high school had been an evacuation place for people without power to go for heat and food. I found out from the van driver that not all of town was out of power. In fact, the part of town where most of my siblings lived was fine.
When I got to work they just got their power back. The elevators were finally working. It had caused chaos at the nursing home but everyone was trained for such events. I heard a rumor that Phoenixivlle was "back on line." I prayed it was true.
When I passed the facility head physician in the hall he asked how I was doing. I told him the temperature in the house was down to 43 degrees. He strongly suggested I take Lou and get out of there if the power wasn't back on. "You could die in your sleep from hypothermia." he warned.
The van driver couldn't go fast enough to get me home. He heard the same news - the town had power. I worried about Bud.
When I opened the door I was met with heat. I was never so happy in my life, especially when Bud greeted me at the door and didn't try to escape. He found his forever home. I found a lifelong friend. And we really did save each other in more ways than one.
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