Down:

The last month has been full of both intense excitement and extreme grief. The post is long, because these weeks have been long and weary, but there is a sweet picture at the end.

If you follow me on Twitter, you’ll remember that one of Eric’s childhood dogs passed away shortly before we left for our vacation to Denver. She was a crotchety, noble, old German Shepherd. I worried about the way she would sometimes snap at the kids and our smaller dogs–she lashed out in pain, and has nipped at our dachshunds, and that terrified me sometimes. She was so much more than that. At times I was not entirely able to give her the affection she so deserved because of my fear, but Hannah reconciled that 1000 fold. Hannah was the last person to see her alive. When we walked out back to greet her and Eric’s parents’ other pup, Hannah shouted with glee and gave her the biggest smile, just as she did every time she saw her. She has no concept of fear’s inhibitions. That’s a glorious way to live.

Hannah showed us how to love this dog, and she died loved. Unfortunately she was alone. We knew she was old and nearly ready to go, but we didn’t know that would be her last night. My mother in law had talked about putting her to sleep, but Eric fought it every time. His parents were out of town, so he went out to check on the big dogs once more, and found her. She had fallen asleep on her bed, and died there, seemingly in peace. The rest of the night was a flurry of phone calls with his parents and siblings and a mash of reflection and heartbreak.

As the cliche goes, life marches on.

Up:

Two days later we traveled to Denver and fell wildly in love with the city. We stayed at a lovely downtown hotel and were able to walk to so many restaurants. Walking is what I miss most about our Cambridge life, and it was delicious to have a sample of that again, even for just five days. We were there for the snow, and crunching through it did so much to lift my spirits. I am most definitely a cold weather girl, and I felt so vital while we were there. We will be back, and probably for good at some point. It certainly doesn’t hurt to meet charming, wonderful people and their adorable son. I may or may not be selecting a prom dress for Hannah already. It’s really more on the may not side of things, but we were all thrilled to hit it off so well, in spite of a not so charming stomach bug Hannah introduced.

Down:

My dad called me the morning we were leaving Denver. He was watching our pups so I thought he was calling with bad news about them, but he wasn’t. My uncle, his only sibling, had died the night before, after falling in his bathroom. I still have such a hard time believing that he’s gone. I mean, I know he is–my grandmother found him, and I am utterly crushed for her and for my dad and for my cousin, his daughter. No mother should have to endure this–not after 10 weeks or 10 years or 50 years. It’s always too soon.

My uncle was working so hard to defeat the demons of being bipolar and alcoholic. His life was far from easy, but he was doing a phenomenal job of integrating himself with the community, serving others, volunteering, and making himself someone his daughter could be proud of, and it makes me absolutely ill to think that he won’t be able to do that anymore. He and she and my grandmother all deserve that. They all put so much effort into his life.

We don’t have answers yet, but his psychiatrist had him on an unacceptable cocktail of drugs. Combined, they put him at increased risk of injuring himself. From what I can understand of the drugs and from another doctor who explained them, he had no business being on all of them at once.

It is unfathomable to me that he will merely be a story for Hannah. He was a tremendous part of my childhood, and would have continued to be a part of my adult life as he worked to improve his own life. I’m profoundly sad that can’t happen.

We spent several days (well, in between grappling with stomach bugs all around) with my grandmother just listening. She told me so many stories of my uncle’s childhood, of the out pour of grief from the community at large, and of her own feelings. She’s the strongest woman I know–she was back to work less than two weeks later. She’s 80 years old and chooses to continue substituting. She’s devoted her entire life to teaching, and she refused to stop just because she retired. She’s incredible.

It’s heart-stopping in the most amazing of ways to see how strongly my grandmother’s community has come out to support her. She’s getting phone calls from students she had more than 45 years ago, she won’t need food for weeks, and people from all kinds of places are reaching out. Wow. I am so grateful.

Down again:

You’d think being sick, grieving our dog and my uncle would be enough, right? Wrong.

A few days after my uncle’s memorial, Eric’s dad got a call to go see his brother in the hospital. He, too, was an alcoholic and had spent the last few months in and out of hospitals and nursing homes. Eric thought he should go with his dad, and before they could get there, his uncle had passed away. His death was somewhat expected, and Eric has never been close to him–for many reasons. This made the ordeal of processing his death oddly different from the one of processing my uncle’s. We’ve spent some time reflecting on what it means to live such an empty life, and I think we concluded that the greatest tragedy of it is the abandonment of your parents’ dreams. Eric’s grandparents put so much love and attention toward him, but they were no match for his disease. His funeral is this morning, and Eric will be a pallbearer.

Watching a mother grieve is the most wrenching thing, and I hope don’t have to do it again for a long, long time. Hannah has made two old ladies so very happy in the throes of their grief in the last few weeks, and that has been the greatest beauty to rise out of this glumness. Laughter can and does happen in between sobs.

In between all this, I got my grad school acceptance and had to scramble to register. This was a definite up, but it really heightened the downs for me. It was odd being so excited about something while also learning to mourn in new ways.

They (who?) say death comes in threes. It better be done. I’m ready to celebrate life, which is infinitely easier to do with someone like Hannah who is ever joyful.