Spinning on that dizzy edge

My brother passed away yesterday morning. His girlfriend and my dad were there with him, and from what my parents say, it was a welcome release for him. His girlfriend has an excellent local support system, and her brother will be flying in tonight to stay with her so my folks can drive back home. It looks like the memorial will be in a week or two; they are still nailing down details.

I am not doing great; tired numbness is basically my primary feeling right now, with spikes of anger and throat-clenching grief. I am desperately glad that I got to see him two weeks ago when he was still coherent. I am furious with his kids and his ex for ghosting on him, and his past self who blew off the initial symptoms and inconclusive results. I am trying to cut myself some slack for not attempting to bridge the gulf between us as adults, because he was never great at talking about feelings, and probably not that interested in analyzing our relationship.

I spent a lot of yesterday noping out of responsible adulting by doing avoidant stuff like Pokemon raids and not thinking about much of anything; I did let my team at work know, and I'm guessing some back-channel conversations happened, because nobody has said boo about my not picking up the high priority tasks in our queue and opting instead for the low-hanging fruit. I also had a face-palming moment this morning when I realized that it's picture day at the kid's school, and he certainly did not dress for that. Thank goodness for retakes.

I was just beginning to forgive September - in 2001, in the space of 3 weeks, 9/11 happened, my uncle was killed by a drunk driver, my great-aunt died, and after returning from those back-to-back funerals, my boss informed me that I was being let go due to cutbacks. Yesterday was actually the 17th anniversary of my uncle's death. So September can go hang, again, some more.

...I've just spent five minutes re-reading this post while debating about turning off comments. The coin toss said to leave them on, but I hope you'll understand if I can't respond for a while or, you know, at all.

I had to put down my sweet puppy girl Mika this morning. She was fine yesterday, then developed bloat and a twisted stomach overnight, so we figured that surgery would be crueler than just letting her go.

I am beyond lucky to have had Mika's company for more than 13 years. She came to us from the Humane Society a scared, underweight, skittish mutt, who needed lots of affection and reassurance that she was in her forever home with people who loved and treasured her. We don't know her exact age; the vet thought she was between 1-2 years when we got her. So for either side of her likely breed mix of Golden Retriever/Husky, she had a long life.

I knew this day was coming. She's been in decline for a couple of years now, what with most of her senses being dulled and moving slower and slower. But she still loved going on walks, and with the medicine I got for her last week, she seemed to be perking up from her back pain and leg weakness. I can only grasp at the notion that it was her time, and be grateful that I didn't have to watch her slip further away until my decision had to come on a slippery slope.

I already miss her so much. It's going to be really hard to get used to her being gone. I have to believe that she's already romping merrily in Dog Heaven, where she gets to chase all the squirrels and rabbits, while reigning as alpha dog of the pack.

( My pumpkin butter dog )

Goodbye, my sweetest, best puppy girl. You were such a good dog.