Messages From This Side of the Bridge
March 23rd 2013 10:20 pm
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They say that there are stages of grief, one of them being guilt. Mom has started kicking this emotion around. Did I do it too early, she thinks to herself. She keeps repeating the last moments I was alive over and over in her head. She is torturing herself. She does not sleep well anymore, and she gets frequent headaches. She cried alot today, which is unlike her. She tries to keep it hidden. And now, again, she can't sleep. She knows deep in her heart I was ready to go, but that guilt is a terrible thing. It creeps in and takes hold of everything before she can reason her way out of it. She even bought Bridgit new toys yesterday and felt a twinge of guilt after giving them to her. She went to her room to be alone. Everyday seems to get harder and harder. She misses how I put my long nose up to hers when I wanted her attention. I hope this stage passes soon because I want her to feel better.
March 19th 2013 9:32 pm
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Ok, mom, I have been telling you that I am right here next to you. I don't think you have believed it...until this morning. This cold morning, at around 4 a.m. when everyone was asleep. The house was completely still and quiet. You woke up to feel the bed shaking, like you did so many nights I kicked the blankets off and I was shivering. Yes, you awoke to my shivering this morning, from a solid sleep. You looked up and saw the cat sleeping on your chest and the little dog sleeping in your arm. No movement anywhere. You couldn't believe it was me, but you knew it was. We just made contact.
March 15th 2013 10:36 pm
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I see you with your human kids, mom. I see you laughing together. I see you being strong for them. And then, when you are in your room, in the dark, I see you. I see you with your headphones on listening to Jim Brickman play his piano. I see the memories flood back, and I see the pain. I see you crying tonight, after being so strong for your family. I see you missing me, mom. I see your tears. I see everything. I see how tired you feel. I see the mourning that you conceal from the world. I see how much you still love me. It is okay to cry, mom. I remember how you poured your energy into making me better. I know how empty you feel now that I'm gone. I see you crying, mom, and I love you.
March 11th 2013 9:22 pm
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It's a Monday. It's also when mom lost an hour of sleep because of daylight savings time. It wasn't a pretty morning. Mom was tired, even a bit grouchy. She went to work, staggered through her morning, and when she went to write the date down, she got that sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. It is the 11th. She remembered that morning, exactly one month ago. The morning she had to say goodbye. The morning she gave me her last kiss and hug. The morning she cried. The morning she let me go and set my spirit free. The morning the quiet loneliness set in for her. It was like a stab to the heart, the realization of that moment in time when everything changed. One month ago, I was with her and then I was gone. I woke up next to her that morning, and watched her get ready for work. She had to force the words, "I brought Zane," when the doctor asked her if everything was ok. One month ago, today. I want to tell her I'm still here just in a different way. I want her to know that I still come and sleep next to her at night. She is just too sad.
March 3rd 2013 12:09 am
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My mom cleaned her bedroom today. She picked up my collar and my coat that I wore. She touched and read my tags, still dangling from my collar and felt that ache in the pit of her stomach. She put my collar on the top of my urn. I wish I could help her to not feel so sad. Tonight is a bad night. The kind of night that mom can't sleep, and she lays in the stillness and misses me. She misses me curled up next to her, and checking on me to make sure I hadn't kicked my blanket off. Sometimes she would wake up to my shivering and cover me again. I had little muscle mass, no body fat, and very short hair. The odds were stacked against me, but mom always made sure I was taken care of. My mom felt so much joy taking care of me, and now, just alot of sleepless nights. Get some sleep mom, I promise I'm right here with you.
February 24th 2013 10:07 am
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I have been busy trying to use my extraordinary new energy into trying to send Mom messages. I'm very glad she's open to these kind of things because I've gotten a few through. She misses me so much, and I miss her too, but I'm with her all the time, just in a new way. I watch her from the Bridge, just like I did at home, and she didn't even realize until I started "talking" to her. She would look at me and I would innocently put my elf ears down and wag my nubby tail. She would look away and I would start "talking" at her again. She would look at me again and smile...I would wait for a response. This could go on, Mom thought it was funny hearing me talk. Finally, I would get myself up and put my long nose up to her face. She would always smile and kiss me. I miss that. But, I sent her a wonderful message, and she received it! I sent her a mental image of me running and playing in a long stretch of honeysuckle. "Why did I get this image?" she asked. She didn't understand any connection to me and honeysuckle. I simply replied, "This is what it smells like at Rainbow Bridge." I made my Mom smile for the first time since my passing.
February 17th 2013 1:37 pm
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I couldn't sleep last night. I was thinking of you. I am missing you. The house is so quiet without your talking. As I laid in bed, I got the mental image that you were standing beside the bed. "I'm right here, mom," you said. Then, an owl started hooting. I know we have owls out here, but never in all the years I've lived out here, have I ever heard one hoot. Never. I listened for a few minutes and it stopped...silence. Did you send me a hooting owl to help break up the silence? Did you know I needed that? I love and miss you. Thank you, my sweet Zane.
February 13th 2013 8:07 pm
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My mom wants to thank everyone for their support, prayers, pawmails, rosettes, and messages of love and kindness during this terrible time of loss and sadness. Mom loved me very much, and is struggling greatly with my passing. The quietness of the house is almost unbearable. For those of you that have never had the extreme pleasure of owning a doberman, we tend to talk alot, and my chattering is now gone. My exuberant joy has vanished, and mom is grieving the loss of my enormous spirit. Grieving is a strong word, but not strong enough at this point to begin to describe the heaviness of her heart. So, with sincere gratitude to all the wonderful and caring pets and their humans that have gone out of their way to show their loving kindness, thank you with all my heart!
February 11th 2013 6:40 pm
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My mom's heart was very heavy last night. She had a hard time sleeping. My legs have been wobbly, and have become very painful. When touched, I show how painful I am. Mom says that with all the protein that I'm losing, I will soon get swelling in my legs and abdomun. It hurt her, but she made the decision to help me go to the Bridge so that I wouldn't have to suffer any longer. The drive to the clinic was very long and Mom kept questioning herself. Is this the right thing to do? she thought. A song came on the radio at that moment. I believe it was my Angels, but Diana Krall belted out, "Fly Me To The Moon...in other words, I love you." And mom felt fuzzy inside and tears welled up in her eyes. "Ok, Zane, I will set you free," she spoke to me in her head. I laid down on my blanket in the back seat until we got there. She put me in a kennel with a blanket. I laid down and waited for her. She came back with the doctor, and they knealed beside me. The doctor told me that I was a great dog, and Mom kissed my forehead, but she started crying. I stayed strong and composed, and I passed peacefully. I could look down now and see Mom still there beside me, and she was still crying. "I'm ok, don't be sad," I barked, but she couldn't hear me. My mom is still so sad, she was dreading coming home because I wouldn't be waiting for her, wagging my tail nub. But, I'm an Angel now, still waiting for her, wagging my nub. I am here, Mom. Everything is ok.
February 9th 2013 11:27 am
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Hi, my friends. I just wanted to post an update for you all that are praying for me. Mom thought last weekend would be my last, but I've made it to another one. Mom tells me that I am a real fighter because I've made it this long. I just look at her and tell her, "I thought you already knew this." The doctors have told her what signs to watch for to know when the end is approaching. She keeps watching because she doesn't want to lose one day with me. I am looking awfully thin, and I'm wobbly on my back legs at times. She hasn't weighed me. She doesn't want to put me through going to the vet until the time has come. A wonderful dogster angel friend has told me that I have my own wonderful cloud waiting for me in heaven. It makes mom tear up everytime she thinks about it. But for now, I will keep fighting, so that mom can watch me another day.
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