I Killed Her Off

Rosie and Oreo

Now that Jody’s home safe and sound, I can tell you that I killed her off. I often do this. Jody went to India for work for a week. For a fleeting moment she died, in my mind. How did that look? How did I feel? How would I tell the kids? Probably go to their school and take them out, I thought. I mean, I did it for the cat.

I got a call at work from a person in the area who found Oreo, Crystel’s cat, in their back yard. It was a rainy miserable morning. I told her that I’d be right there. After calling Jody, I drove straight to the middle school. Juan showed up in the office first. I took him to a side room. With tears streaming down my face, I told him Oreo had died.

Perhaps the school thought Oreo was a cherished Aunt or Uncle as I ushered the children solemnly to the car. Juan and Crystel wrapped Oreo tenderly in a blanket, carried her to the car and sat with the cat on their shared lap. We had surmised Oreo got hit by a car and went in the person’s back yard and succumbed to her injuries.

Jody met us at home. The four us stood in the back yard, pointing to where our other animals were buried: 4 cats, a dog, and a hamster. Crystel chose Oreo’s resting spot. In the drizzling rain we shoveled a hole and had a proper burial. Crystel asked to take the rest of the day off. No, it’s just a cat, I thought. I bought her a Chai tea at Caribou and returned her to school. The school counselor was very supportive. I didn’t have the heart to tell her Oreo was a cat. I let the kids do that.

I once went to a therapist who told me that my house would never burn down so I didn’t need to worry when I was away on a trip. I had confessed that I found myself sneaking a look around the corner to my house whenever I returned from traveling. I quit seeing her. What she said wasn’t true. A house could burn down. A barn could burn down. I had experienced both traumas as a young child. Don’t tell me it won’t happen.

Out of curiosity, I did look up to see whether worker’s compensation would apply if Jody died while she was in India. It does.

Killing Jody off doesn’t have anything to do with how far she travels. When she and the kids traveled to Maplelag, four hours from home, for a Nordic ski weekend, I killed them all off. Just for a moment. In that moment, I had their funerals planned, felt their absence and wondered what I would do with my sudden free time.

All week while Jody was in India I felt her absence. I noticed how her absence changed Juan, Crystel and me. The house was quieter, we were quieter. Her energy was no longer visceral. Gone were the hundreds of kindnesses she does in a week such as making me breakfast before the kids get up on the weekends. Later in the morning, on request, making Juan pancakes with chocolate chips. Grocery shopping with Crystel. Making me a week full of salads. It was like the three of us were in a holding pattern waiting for her to return to start our engines. Everything stood still. Except when I opened the door to bring the kids their latest takeout.

Jody most likely doesn’t know how important she is to me, Juan and Crystel. To our household. To the two dogs and two cats that are still living. She is our engine, our heart. What makes our family work as a whole.

I’m so glad she’s home.

Living Like You Are Dying

When the buds begin to show in springtime, I think of my mother. It was the season she learned that she was dying. I wonder what it would be like to learn that you won’t be present by year’s end, yet there is the promise of life all around you. A promise in the buds on fruit and maple trees, woodpeckers drumming, and robins with pieces of grass or a beakful of mud. Crocus with its purple and white flowers peeking out of the ground on the sunny side of the house and in the air the smell of rain, soil, and grass.

In a way, I do know. I didn’t think that I would live to be twenty-five. I didn’t have any hope for the future. I’m still surprised that I created a loving family. A safe home. And, my children and their friends, teens in their own right, still want to hang with the moms for a game or two of Monopoly.

Though that time of turmoil, chronicled in House of Fire, is long gone, I still live as if I’m going to die.

I make a great effort to live with no regrets. I’m already planning our families next Guatemala vacation in June of 2018. It will be our 5th visit to Juan Jose’ and Crystel’s birth country. I have my sight set on a sailboat river tour of the Rio Dulce, Lake Izabal, and Livingston before spending time anchored alongside an island jungle and beach.

Fortunately, Jody saves for the future. She packs away items from one holiday to the next. If it was up to me I’d just go out and buy the same thing year after year.

It’s helpful to live like you are dying. I’m at every track and cross country meet with the kids that I can attend. Though, I did hold back from going to their Nordic ski events. Somehow, I didn’t think that I’d regret standing in the cold waiting for them to come to the finish line. Maybe, next year.

The lilacs haven’t bloomed yet. But, they will. Their green bud promises us that.

The robins will strengthen their nest with mud. I’ll do the same showing up for my kids.



3-legged Cat

Antonio talking with Silver

Antonio talking with Silver

“I think we should put him down,” Antonio said through sobs. “I don’t want him to be in pain.”

I never thought that I’d ever hear him say those words. This was his cat he was talking about. His Silver. I had recently written a blog post about Silver and his sister, Oreo.

A coyote had crushed Silver’s back leg. We were looking at amputation.

I put my arm around Antonio and rested my head on his. Through tears I told him how very brave he was. Jody echoed the same sentiment.

How brave it was for him to see past his own want, his own need, to the life of his beloved pet.

And, to his death.

Antonio had experienced the death of two cats and a dog. Instead of the experience being tragic he participated in a welcoming end to a precious animal’s life. All of us, Jody, Crystel, Antonio, and me cried through each of the deaths and loved our companions to their last breath. The two cats and dog were either in our arms or one or two of us were lying next to the animal. Then we buried our buddy. Each taking turns shoveling the dirt.

The Boys

The Boys

Thank you MNpets for coming to our home, always making it easy and giving us just the right amount of privacy. I believe Antonio’s experience with dying has made him able to see past his sorrow to the restfulness of a pet who will no longer have to suffer.

Jody, Antonio, and I sat on the couch reminiscing about each companion that had died. Tears rolled down our cheeks. We talked about why we made the decision we did with each animal. You knew it was time.

I told Antonio that I wasn’t sure that it was Silver’s time. Silver had continued to eat. An indication that he wanted to live. Antonio needed to talk to him. Spend time with him and see what Silver told him.

“He’ll tell you,” I said. “You guys can talk. “

We pulled out the computer and read about the quality of life for a three-legged animal. We watched YouTube videos of three-legged cats.

In preparation for amputation, Jody and I gave Silver pain and nerve medicine as well as antibiotics every 8 hours.

When Monday came, Jody and I discussed how we needed to leave work and meet at home for Silver’s noon medicine. Antonio offered to get out of school. That was a possibility. We live next door to Richfield Middle School.

Silver our 3-legged cat

Silver our 3-legged cat

Looking ahead to Silver’s recovery after amputation, we talked about complications. Medicine might be needed on a regular basis and I was scheduled to be out of town.

“I can do it,” Antonio said.

“Are you sure?” I asked. “One person has to keep Silver’s mouth open and the other has to squirt the syringe or put the pill in his mouth.”

“I can do whatever it takes,” he said with certainty.

And, you know what, I believe him.






On Loving (and Losing) Pets

Cat and dog lovers give our hearts to our pets without reservations.

When we begin a new relationship with a person, experience has taught us to take care with our hearts. But with a new dog or cat, we don’t worry if they’ll like us back, if they are willing to commit, if they will ever cheat on us, or if we’ll outgrow each other. We know they’ll love us wholeheartedly.

My Tasha

My Tasha

We allow ourselves to be caught up—they’re so cute, sweet, and funny—that we can easily lose all sense of perspective. But we’re enjoying them too much to care if the anecdotes we tell about them have become tedious.

We overlook how annoying our pets are—the messes, the whining, the way they eat stuff they shouldn’t, wreck our things, chew/scratch/claw—it’s all OK, because we’re besotted.

We worry about their health, pay hundreds of dollars in vet bills, fuss over special foods, and adapt our schedules so we can take care of ailing pets.

Ultimately, we agonize over end-of-life decisions: Do we have the right to keep them going even when they’re sick and in pain, because we aren’t ready to lose them? How will we know when they’ve had enough? How can we bear to part with them?

Despite knowing we will likely outlive our pets, we willingly take on the cycle of loving/caretaking/loss, because our pets give us so much joy. Unreservedly.

For anyone who has lost a beloved pet recently—especially Beth, Pam, Margo, Becky, and me.




After Kor Am Tae Kwon Do class, Antonio, Jody, and Crystel bustle inside. Soon I hear, plop, plop, boom as workout bag after workout bag bounces off the basement steps and lands on the bottom.  Antonio walks over to where I’m sitting, my hand lying on Spirit.

“Did you brush Spirit?” Antonio asks.

“Yeah, I forgot she was dead.”

He laughs. It helps to have a sense of humor when your pet has just died.

This is the first time Antonio and Crystel been old enough to understand the death of a pet.

JoJo and Angel

Angel and JoJo

JoJo died on Crystel’s 4th birthday, but this was after Jody and I visited the vet for the sick cat. While burying JoJo in the backyard, I told the children that animals and people don’t die completely, but their spirit lives on, so you could pet their energy. I thought all was going well for the 4-year olds, and I was especially touched when they asked permission to pet JoJo. I said, yes, and had an image of them floating their small hands in the air, caressing him above his grave. Fortunately, I looked out the window before they had shoveled JoJo back up. My spiritual talk flew right up to heaven past their little heads.

Now that they are 11, they could participate in Spirit’s death. Two hours earlier, all of us including our two dogs and other cat, were surrounding Spirit as Dr. Rebecca from MN Pets talked about the process. Earlier in the day I had asked for referrals. MN Pets as well as Animal House Call Service were recommended.I didn’t want Spirit to go one more day in pain.

My morning routine with Spirit was for her to sit on my lap. She’d crane her neck to give me a head butt. I’d brush under her chin where she liked it the most while listening to her purr. Jody had an evening routine that involved Spirit curling between her legs as she brushed her teeth. Between morning and night, Antonio and Crystel visited Spirit in one of her many hiding places.

Dr. Rebecca made us feel good about our decision to let Spirit go. She pointed out the signs as Crystel lay nose to nose with Spirit. She told us about the sleepy drug that she would give Spirit and then the final injection that would stop her heart.

Saying goodbye

Saying goodbye

I noticed that I was trying not to cry, but then I realized that wouldn’t help the children at all if I didn’t show that it was okay to cry. So I got a box of Kleenex and let my feelings eek out.  

Crystel lifted her head. “Can I have one of Spirit’s whiskers?”

“Let’s talk about that later, Crystel.” I said. I didn’t really have a problem with this but the cat wasn’t even dead yet. Seemed like we were getting a little ahead of ourselves.

“Yes, let’s wait on that one, Crystel,” Jody said.

Spirit’s heart had stopped beating before Jody, Antonio, and Crystel left for Tae Kwon Do but I assured them that she wouldn’t be buried until they got back.

While they are gone, I continue to pet and brush Spirit until the warmth leaves her body.

Spirit's brother Angel

Spirit’s brother Angel

When they return, I ask, “Antonio and Crystel, are you going to carry Spirit outside?”

They negotiate how they are going to manipulate the cat bed out the patio door without dropping Spirit.

Spirit still looks like herself. She isn’t cold. She isn’t stiff. She doesn’t look like a ghost or a cat skeleton.

After placing Spirit in the hole, I ask, “Who wants to be first to shovel dirt on her?”

“I do,” Crystel says.

Tears and soil fall on Spirit.

Because we didn’t rush Spirit into the ground, death was not scary for the children—especially, since they came home to find Mama Beth brushing a dead cat.   It wasn’t even necessary to give them a talk about how our spirits still lives after we die. They were living it.