Old family joke told repeatedly on December 16:
Q. Hey, did you know today was Beethoven's birthday? What do you suppose he'll be doing to celebrate?
A. Oh, probably just decomposing....
Tomorrow is/would have been my mother's 86th birthday. She shared it with Beethoven and she read the comic strip Peanuts every year to see what Charles Schultz might have to say about it. Sadly for me, she's no longer here for me to call and sing Happy Birthday to, or the kids to run the Beethoven joke past her. I like to think Mom liked her birthday most of the time, but it always seemed as though there was something (good or bad) that happened on December 16. One of the bad times was when my cousin was killed in a car accident. But one of the good times was in 1995 when a beautiful little dog was born. We hadn't met her yet, of course. That didn't happen till the summer of 1996 when she came to make her home with us. Her formal name was "Kent's Vivid Vianetta" and we called her "Via" for short. She became a tremendous part of our lives. With our other Springer Spaniel Libby (Kent's Shaharazod's Nitestorm), we traveled the Midwest, showing both these beautiful dogs.
Via was one of the happiest, and friendliest dogs I've ever known. She had a tremendous personality, and she loved her people. And she loved Grandma. And, Grandma loved her right back. The Beethoven joke faded into the past as we'd tease Mom about sharing her birthday with the dog. But, as we found out later, she'd mention to people that not only was it her birthday, but it was Via's too. "Who's Via?" "My granddog."
When I brought Mom home to spend her final days with us, both dogs were devoted to her. Of course, Mom had visited us often and she always shared little tidbits with the girls at mealtimes. And in between. And whenever she thought it might be a good idea.
Last year, on December 16, Via's birthday, I came home from shopping to find Robert standing in the kitchen with one of those 'looks'. He told me something was wrong with Via. He thought she'd hurt her neck when she jumped out of her chair. I dropped everything and ran to her. It wasn't a neck injury. Via had had a stroke. I called the vet for the second time - Robert had already called, thinking it was a pinched nerve. I told Dr. Beth that we needed to bring her in immediately.
It was a massive stroke. She was completely paralyzed on one side and it had even blinded one eye. There was no question what decision had to be made.
"And beloved master, should the Great Master see fit to deprive me of my health or sight, do not turn me away from you. Rather, hold me gently in your arms as skilled hands grant me the merciful boon of eternal rest...and I will leave you knowing with the last breath I drew, my fate was ever safest in your hands."
It was Via's 10th birthday. It was also the day of her death. I can't think of a better place for her to have gone but to be at Mom's side to share their birthdays.
What follows is a story I wrote some months after Mom's death. I believe it shows the bond between Mom and Via and why I believe so strongly that Via was called to Mom's side on their shared birthday.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A Spiritual Piece of Toast
by Kathleen Cheyney
copyright 2002
I told my dogs that Grandma was coming. Their ears perked in that odd little quirk of the heavy eared Springer - not upward, but forward. Grandma always shared her toast with them! For Vianetta, our black and white girl, bread was the ultimate in doggie treats. If we could have come up with a good way to bring bread balls into the show ring without them crumbling, the dog would have had her championship before she was a year old! And, Libby, our white and liver Springer creaked through the house right along with Grandma; her hips aching in much the same manner as age came upon her. But for toast...well, there were some things that outweighed even aches and pains, especially if Grandma was treating.
But, Grandma wasn't coming just for a visit this time. Grandma was coming to live with us, for a bout of pneumonia had laid her low, and followed its one-two punch with a diagnosis of cancer with very little time left to share with her. The dogs followed the strangers who were bringing all the odd equipment into the house, concerned, and seemed even more puzzled when Grandma's recliner was brought into the room. What was Grandma's chair doing here? And where was Grandma?
When Grandma was brought home, the dogs wagged themselves silly, putting their paws up on the bed to greet her, Via sniffing her in ecstatic greeting, and Libby licked her hand after getting a huge drink of water, of course. Springers are well known for their generosity in sharing after a foray at the water bowl. They took up an almost constant vigil in Grandma's room, seldom leaving unless a meal or a potty trip was necessary.
The recliner became Via's focal point. She was so attached to it, that Grandma laughingly told her grandchildren and great-grandchildren that she was willing her recliner to Vianetta - she was such a good nurse. We dubbed her Nurse Nancy, and she took her duties very seriously from that moment on. Libby became the sentry, laying across the doorway, guarding Grandma from any she felt were unworthy to cross the threshold into the room.
And, for as long as she was able, Grandma shared her last two bites of toast with her girls.
The day came when the shadow of death brushed past my exhausted eyes and I knew that day would be the last one I shared with my mother. Again, Nurse Nancy took up her position in the recliner, only grudgingly giving it up to those who sat the watch with her. She took her position on the floor, as close to the bed as she could get. Libby remained on duty, refusing to leave the doorway unless we pushed her to go outside.
The transition in Grandma's soul journey was imperceptible to all but those of us who had been with her in the last hours. Libby not only became stricter in her guard duties, but circled the bed, whining in pathetic tones, repeating her steps over and over, before taking her post at the door once again. As evening deepened, she made one final journey, crying, and as she came back to the doorway, she stopped, retraced her steps and laid her head on the bed as close to the almost still hand as she could. She watched her Grandma for a long time, then slowly pulled her head away from the bed, her head hanging, shoulders slumped as she laid heavily down in the doorway once more. I knew her watch would soon be done.
Nurse Nancy became frantic. She jumped out of the recliner and onto my lap where I sat holding Mom's hand. She struggled and fought me to climb in the bed with her Grandma. It was a struggle that pitted woman and beast for different reasons - me, because I didn't wish her to disturb the frail body as time journeyed to a close, and the dog-nurse-child because her need to take care of her beloved Grandma was so great. Silently our wills fought and grieved together as we understood each other. Via settled back and sat on my lap as if to say her nursing duties were done. She watched intently for many minutes, then slipped off my lap and took up her position in the recliner once more, her eyes never closing.
Both granddogs remained in place until there was no reason to watch any longer. They joined the family as we grieved, as they grieved as well. Human and canine alike took comfort in each other. Even now, months later, Libby still guards the doorway to the room where Grandma spent her last days. Via leaves our bed in the darkest part of the night and finds her way to "her" recliner which still remains in the room. It seems as though they find some peace there...and maybe, just maybe...a spiritual piece of toast as well.
by Kathleen Cheyney
copyright 2002
I told my dogs that Grandma was coming. Their ears perked in that odd little quirk of the heavy eared Springer - not upward, but forward. Grandma always shared her toast with them! For Vianetta, our black and white girl, bread was the ultimate in doggie treats. If we could have come up with a good way to bring bread balls into the show ring without them crumbling, the dog would have had her championship before she was a year old! And, Libby, our white and liver Springer creaked through the house right along with Grandma; her hips aching in much the same manner as age came upon her. But for toast...well, there were some things that outweighed even aches and pains, especially if Grandma was treating.But, Grandma wasn't coming just for a visit this time. Grandma was coming to live with us, for a bout of pneumonia had laid her low, and followed its one-two punch with a diagnosis of cancer with very little time left to share with her. The dogs followed the strangers who were bringing all the odd equipment into the house, concerned, and seemed even more puzzled when Grandma's recliner was brought into the room. What was Grandma's chair doing here? And where was Grandma?
When Grandma was brought home, the dogs wagged themselves silly, putting their paws up on the bed to greet her, Via sniffing her in ecstatic greeting, and Libby licked her hand after getting a huge drink of water, of course. Springers are well known for their generosity in sharing after a foray at the water bowl. They took up an almost constant vigil in Grandma's room, seldom leaving unless a meal or a potty trip was necessary.
The recliner became Via's focal point. She was so attached to it, that Grandma laughingly told her grandchildren and great-grandchildren that she was willing her recliner to Vianetta - she was such a good nurse. We dubbed her Nurse Nancy, and she took her duties very seriously from that moment on. Libby became the sentry, laying across the doorway, guarding Grandma from any she felt were unworthy to cross the threshold into the room.
And, for as long as she was able, Grandma shared her last two bites of toast with her girls.
The day came when the shadow of death brushed past my exhausted eyes and I knew that day would be the last one I shared with my mother. Again, Nurse Nancy took up her position in the recliner, only grudgingly giving it up to those who sat the watch with her. She took her position on the floor, as close to the bed as she could get. Libby remained on duty, refusing to leave the doorway unless we pushed her to go outside.
The transition in Grandma's soul journey was imperceptible to all but those of us who had been with her in the last hours. Libby not only became stricter in her guard duties, but circled the bed, whining in pathetic tones, repeating her steps over and over, before taking her post at the door once again. As evening deepened, she made one final journey, crying, and as she came back to the doorway, she stopped, retraced her steps and laid her head on the bed as close to the almost still hand as she could. She watched her Grandma for a long time, then slowly pulled her head away from the bed, her head hanging, shoulders slumped as she laid heavily down in the doorway once more. I knew her watch would soon be done.
Nurse Nancy became frantic. She jumped out of the recliner and onto my lap where I sat holding Mom's hand. She struggled and fought me to climb in the bed with her Grandma. It was a struggle that pitted woman and beast for different reasons - me, because I didn't wish her to disturb the frail body as time journeyed to a close, and the dog-nurse-child because her need to take care of her beloved Grandma was so great. Silently our wills fought and grieved together as we understood each other. Via settled back and sat on my lap as if to say her nursing duties were done. She watched intently for many minutes, then slipped off my lap and took up her position in the recliner once more, her eyes never closing.
Both granddogs remained in place until there was no reason to watch any longer. They joined the family as we grieved, as they grieved as well. Human and canine alike took comfort in each other. Even now, months later, Libby still guards the doorway to the room where Grandma spent her last days. Via leaves our bed in the darkest part of the night and finds her way to "her" recliner which still remains in the room. It seems as though they find some peace there...and maybe, just maybe...a spiritual piece of toast as well.
8 comments:
Oh man....you did it to me again Kate.
Extremely well written, and I can't even BEGIN to tell you how many similarities there are to when my mom was here in her last days....with my sister's 2 dogs downstairs. Grandma and those 2 dogs were inseparable too.
Oh hell, I have to go shed some of these tears now and just ponder on some good memories......
Thank you that was beautiful..
...
Orion
That was... no words to describe it...
Most experts believe Beethoven was born on the sixteenth. The only documentary evidence is the composer's baptismal record. Of course, documentary evidence can be deceiving -- even inauthentic. We do know that Beethoven was baptized on December seventeenth, at least so the record shows. Some biographers maintain that Beethoven was born on the seventeenth, citing the fact that in the locale of Beethoven's birth, Catholics were customarily baptized on the day they were born. In any event, what we are left with is a few pieces of evidence, and an inference. As they say in the law, the question of Beethoven's birth date is a matter upon which reasonable minds can differ.
Welcome to my blog, Gary.
It's true that it was common for babies to be baptized the day of their birth, but if the child was born late in the evening, it's quite possible that the child wouldn't have been baptized till the next day. It was also very common for baptisms to occur after Mass was said, so it may be that Beethoven's baptism occurred the next day after morning Mass. With the high mortality rate for babies (and mothers, for that matter!) the Church wanted to make certain those poor souls didn't go to Limbo because they'd not been baptized!
But, regardless of whether Beethoven was born on the 16th or 17th, somewhere along the line my family made it "fact" that Mom shared her birthday with him, and so it stands...at least in the hearts and memories of my clan.
Ok. You did it to me again.
Now my face is all wet and I need to go make apple pies for Yule dinner.
It hits me even harder than usual this time; besides that wonderful bond and my certainty that Via is certainly not lacking for toast in the Summerlands, our oldest Basset, and Doug's familiar, Winston, is 14. The average life span for Bassets is 13. I will celebrate if he makes it through the winter, but I've a strong hunch he will not. The hard part will be if he has a stroke or something like that, as Via did, because Kent doesn't believe that death is ever merciful and it will cause quite a stir. Chances are, we'll have to arrange it for when he is not home, and I'll hold the old man in my lap, and we'll send him home. But for the sake of the family, I suspect he'll arrange to slip away quietly, breaking our hearts even as we acknowledge the inevitability of it.
It's so hard when the Wheel stops in that brief moment to let a soul step across to the Summerlands. And, sometimes, I think it can be harder on those of us who have been blessed to be able to see the necessity of such things.
I know how much you adore your dogs, Alia, and you know that I'll weep with you when those inevitable times come. *hugs*
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