Since Mummy always dresses me in mostly pink, I will use her signature color as well. In case you are wondering, yes, I Gigi Marie Buttercup do type. Mum just cut my nails so it's easier to do so. :)
Things you should know about my cray Mummy. She loves me to death, seriously people, like instead of calling DFACS, surely there is a department for OVERLOVED animals, right? After reviewing my Instagram account, um yes, I do have one, doesn't everyone? @gigi_the_frenchie_princess in case you were wondering. I have noticed that all us Frenchie pups have obsessed pawrents. I'm assuming it's because we are just so darn adorable.
Mum first came into my possession on a beautiful Saturday, May 1, 2015. I have been smothered every since. To say I am a spoiled baby would be an understatement but as my Grammie always says, "loving ain't spoling" so it must be true. Apparently, my Mum grew up in a household where all pets were treated as family. At least that's her excuse to me when she kisses me to death. Whatever, lady.
I have two human brothers that I see for weekly dinners. I can always tell when they are coming as Mum cooks up a full meal. She spoils them as well. But that's OK, that's what parents should do, or so I am told.
Occasionally, I get my boyfriend for the weekend or a week depending on his Dad's schedule. He is also a Frenchie and equally spoiled by Mum, much to his father's chagrin. (His Dad isn't as sweet as my Mum, just saying). I do adore bf's human brother though, he loves me and showers me with tons of attention when I see him too. Again, much to the contempt of his Dad. Mummy says we don't care what his Dad thinks because he's a....well I'm not allowed to curse so fill in the blanks. hee hee
Mum has been taking in other new friends when their pawrents go out of town. That's been fun because I have made a lot of new friends and some come back. Must be my winning personality that brings them back. Mum says it's my milkshake, whatever that is. Mummy is so odd sometimes but I do adore her and can't imagine my life without her. Unless I'm with my Aunt Susan and Uncle Frank. They treat me fabulously and may even give more attention than Mum does, if that's possible.
Bark Bark, snort snort, until Mummy lets me blog again. Hope everyone has a fantabulous weekend!
Thursday, April 26, 2018
Tuesday, April 10, 2018
Death Of A Parent
April 11, 2012 felt the most pain I have ever endured in my life. And I had two C-sections. Six years ago tomorrow, I lost my father. I'm lucky in that I was there when he took his last breath. For that I will always be grateful. However, NO ONE can describe how great that pain, that emptiness is until it happens to you. I had lost both sets of grandparents and naively, I thought it would feel like that. I couldn't have been more wrong or stupid.
My father went in for what we thought, was a routine vein operation. I say "routine" because a few years earlier he had it on the other leg so we thought it would be no big deal for this leg. We were sadly wrong. We used to say my Dad had 9 lives like a cat. When I was a teen he stopped for cigarettes at a gas station and interrupted a burglary. He was shot in the finger but it bounced into his thigh. Because my Dad was a dancer by trade, his thigh was meatier than the average 40 year old. The bullet remained in his leg until his death. Like most kids, I thought my Dad was invincible. I mean, he survived being shot, nothing could bring him down, right? Wrong. A simple surgery took him. And I have never been the same since. Neither has my Mum and sibling. I no longer speak with either, but I know it was a hard loss for all of us.
April 10, 2012, my Mum called me and told me to get to Chattanooga, where they lived. The nurses in hospice had told my nurse Mum, this was it. He wouldn't be with us for much longer. I had just been there the weekend before celebrating Easter. I was able to speak with him and tell him how I felt. By the time I got there that Monday afternoon, my Mum needed to rest. We told her to go and we would stay with Dad for the evening. My sibling popped in her Ipod and we played Dad's favorite songs and retold our favorite stories we remembered. Since I'm 10 years older, I had more. But being 10 years older didn't make it easier when he did leave us. We talked to him, told him it was OK, we would take care of Mum and he could let go and be in peace.
April 11, 2012, around 4am the nurses called. His breathing was 'thready', it wouldn't be long. We all raced to dress and drive the 10 minutes to the hospice facility. We knew what was coming but none of us could fathom the grief or pain that was imminent, at least for me. Around 7am ish, my sibling thought it was going to be another false alarm and ran back to the house to get her laptop so she could do some work while we waited. While she was gone, he took his last breath. Me on his right side, Mum on his left. When the nurse proclaimed him gone, I let out this guttural scream and wondered who it was. I didn't realize it was me. I had never cried or screamed so loud before this. Probably because I had never felt this heart wrenching pain and overwhelming loss before this date. I wish this horror on no one. EVER.
Even though we all die, holding a person's hand while he passes is beyond painful however, I wouldn't trade being there for anything. I am thankful I was there when he said good bye. He may have been gone for 6 years but he is always with me and I talk to him all the time. In hindsight, I wish I had been a better daughter and made more of an effort to spend time with him. That is my curse to carry. I know he understood and has forgiven me. One day, I will forgive myself.
Hug Hug Kiss Kiss. Life is short. Make it count. For your own sanity.
My father went in for what we thought, was a routine vein operation. I say "routine" because a few years earlier he had it on the other leg so we thought it would be no big deal for this leg. We were sadly wrong. We used to say my Dad had 9 lives like a cat. When I was a teen he stopped for cigarettes at a gas station and interrupted a burglary. He was shot in the finger but it bounced into his thigh. Because my Dad was a dancer by trade, his thigh was meatier than the average 40 year old. The bullet remained in his leg until his death. Like most kids, I thought my Dad was invincible. I mean, he survived being shot, nothing could bring him down, right? Wrong. A simple surgery took him. And I have never been the same since. Neither has my Mum and sibling. I no longer speak with either, but I know it was a hard loss for all of us.
April 10, 2012, my Mum called me and told me to get to Chattanooga, where they lived. The nurses in hospice had told my nurse Mum, this was it. He wouldn't be with us for much longer. I had just been there the weekend before celebrating Easter. I was able to speak with him and tell him how I felt. By the time I got there that Monday afternoon, my Mum needed to rest. We told her to go and we would stay with Dad for the evening. My sibling popped in her Ipod and we played Dad's favorite songs and retold our favorite stories we remembered. Since I'm 10 years older, I had more. But being 10 years older didn't make it easier when he did leave us. We talked to him, told him it was OK, we would take care of Mum and he could let go and be in peace.
April 11, 2012, around 4am the nurses called. His breathing was 'thready', it wouldn't be long. We all raced to dress and drive the 10 minutes to the hospice facility. We knew what was coming but none of us could fathom the grief or pain that was imminent, at least for me. Around 7am ish, my sibling thought it was going to be another false alarm and ran back to the house to get her laptop so she could do some work while we waited. While she was gone, he took his last breath. Me on his right side, Mum on his left. When the nurse proclaimed him gone, I let out this guttural scream and wondered who it was. I didn't realize it was me. I had never cried or screamed so loud before this. Probably because I had never felt this heart wrenching pain and overwhelming loss before this date. I wish this horror on no one. EVER.
Even though we all die, holding a person's hand while he passes is beyond painful however, I wouldn't trade being there for anything. I am thankful I was there when he said good bye. He may have been gone for 6 years but he is always with me and I talk to him all the time. In hindsight, I wish I had been a better daughter and made more of an effort to spend time with him. That is my curse to carry. I know he understood and has forgiven me. One day, I will forgive myself.
Hug Hug Kiss Kiss. Life is short. Make it count. For your own sanity.
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