Life after Buttercup

I miss BC more than I can express without alarming anyone.  BC was with me longer than any of my (4) husbands, and since I've long decided not to have another dog OR husband, the prospect of life without companionship for the next 30-odd years is depressing. I've already vowed to get out more and get involved in outside organizations, like the local Cultural Arts Center.  When I feel better.

Thank goodness I'm working.  My co-Workampers and Management have been very kind.  BC was a popular gal.  As a matter of fact, she's (posthumously) received more cards, gifts and tributes than I have for any birthday, Christmas or Blog Post.

I learned, after I last posted, that BC had cancer in her tummy or intestines, I can't remember what the doctor told me; and that even with $8-10,000 for treatment she might only have lasted another 3-6 months.  It explains a lot.  I cry at the thought of any discomfort she may have experienced which I didn't recognize; but I suppose things worked out the right way.  I think the anguish of making a terribly difficult decision would have REALLY killed me.  Fortunately, it was taken out of my hands.

"You did everything right.  You were a terrific Mom to BC, and there wasn't anything you could have done that you didn't already do."

Well, that did make me feel a little better.  Definitely cut down on the guilt.

I was hoping the grieving process would be easier, having gone through my late husband Tino's untimely death in 1994.  It isn't, not really.  The tearing of my heart still stings.  When I'm feeling terribly sorry for myself, I remind (Amy) of others who are currently suffering from much more egregious circumstances than the loss of a dog through natural causes; who would likely trade places with me in a broken-heartbeat.  That helps a bit, too, but I'm ashamed making the comparisons.

"It's clear you loved her very much, and she definitely knew it.  Please take some time to grieve, as losing a family member is never easy," wrote her Doctor on the OSU Hospital Sympathy card.  Added an Assistant, "We enjoyed meeting her and getting to experience her sweet personality, such a charmer!"  Oh, God, this is almost unbearable.

This resort is always full of dogs, such a wide variety to cuddle should I choose but as yet I can't.  I look at the tiny 'mop' dogs I used to poke fun at, and understand why so many retired people choose them. Not so difficult to carry, and you can easily fit two or three of 'em in an RV.

It seems I've had a high price to pay for my current circumstances, meaning my nice (newer) RV home in a nice, COOL, part of Oregon and managing to survive the inflation rate.  But since arriving April 1st, I've gone through BC's operation ; the demise of a decade-long friendship; Uncle Julian's death; the trip to his funeral - our final Travels with Buttercup. 

In-between dwelling on the past months, I have done some positive things, like pulling out my folding bicycle, I'm so out of practice.  I still haven't left the RV park, since once around 2 of the 3 loops makes my legs shake for 1/2 hour.  I bought a fun Sushi helmet...as one friend said, "If it'll get you on a bike!"

I also began painting again, just a little.  I finished sponge-painting a couple pieces for the bathroom, and am working on a rock shaped like a whale for another Workamper who leaves next month, I promised.  I am extremely grateful to be here and not back around Medford, where the temps last week hovered around 110 degrees; and the McKinney fires rages across the border.  The smoke is affecting the Rogue Valley, where the Nat'l Weather Service  warns of "Abundant Lightning on Dry Vegetation" today and tomorrow, no thanks!

I also put together another photo book, this time of the gourd art I created in Puerto Rico.  Last year I created a 99-page photo book of my 2017 Travels with Buttercup, but I also included favorite photos of BC from the past 13 years.  In the back of my mind I knew it would help my grieving whenever I faced the inevitable, and it has.  I have a number of sweet mementos of our time together, like the little painted gourd, above.

I've given many of her things to other pet-owners and donated unused medication to my local Vet, who always tried to help me pinch pennies by offering such meds.  Pay it forward. (Left: a fun glass mobile, one of the gifts for BC.)

But I haven't yet moved her basket of toys, and her retractible leash still hangs by the door like Tiny Tim's crutch. 

For decades I've known God's keeping me alive until I'm at least 100, just to piss me off.  That's not so implausible nowadays, thanks to Modern Medicine, Good Genes, or in my case, Bad Luck.  I'm beginning to relate to the Old Man in "The Green Mile".  Last night I wondered if there are High-Risk Vacations advertised online, can't hurt to test my theory.

Life goes on.  Put on a brave face.