Mourning and Thanksgiving

I want to begin my thanking all of you who sent condolences for our family's loss.
They are more comforting and helpful than you may realize, and I am grateful to all of you!

Zoey died peacefully on my lap under the cottonwood trees in the garden of the animal hospital in Tijeras. Her pain is ended, and we knew when her body relaxed that we had done the right thing.

On Monday, she had a difficult day and that evening, I had to hand feed her and force the pain meds on her. Tuesday morning, I called the vet and made the appointment for that afternoon. The Boychick stayed home from school and the Chem Geek Princess came up mid-morning to spend time with Zoey. When the Engineering Geek came home at noon, we took her for the longest walk she'd had in the month. She perked up out in the meadow, sniffing at the rodent holes, and lifting her nose to the breeze. Then she rested on the front porch, where the Engineering Geek fed her a whole Hershey Milk Chocolate Bar.

You see, Zoey loved chocolate. And after we were married in 2002, she once stole a very large Hershey Bar from the dresser. Bruce discovered it, called the vet, and spent several worried hours with her. She did not get sick. Her liver function was fine until the day she died. But we learned to keep chocolate away from our girl. So Tuesday, during the last hour of her life, she got a whole chocolate bar to herself. And I must say, it was the only thing she had shown interest in eating in a long time.

The trip to the vet was unreal, short as it was. When we walked in the door, I broke down, and the EG had to handle the paperwork and arrangements. He was the one who asked if we could take Zoey outside to the garden, where she would not be nervous about any medical procedures. She died with all of us around her, talking to her, telling her what a good life we'd had with her and what a good dog she was.
When it was all over, and she lay still on my lap, I felt a great sense of peace about it all. We had done what we could for her medically, but it was clearly time for her to go the Happy Hunting Grounds. Zoey, I hope there are rabbits there that can be caught, just for you!

In the past few days, our house has felt very empty. Zoey was a big, big presence. Bigger than we had realized while she was with us. Poor Lily wakes up each morning, and goes looking for her, and she waits by the door, puzzled at night. But she is gradually taking her place as the dog in the family.

On Wednesday, I cried as I washed out Zoey's food container, picked up her dishes, and her placemat. I put out food for the birds, so that they could carry the message of Zoey's death into the forest and the sky.

But we do a lot of smiling through our tears, as we remember Zoey and count the blessings of her life with us. She was a confident dog, a princess and a queen. She loved chocolate and standing out in the driveway, just out of reach, looking for all the world as if she were saying, "No, I don't want to come closer just now, but you are allowed to come pet me." She raised our two cats, and she taught Lily how to be a dog in a human world. She loved us, plain and simple, and greeted us with a happy dance every time we came in the door. She followed me around the house, and I am told that when I left, she'd stand at the window looking sad for a while. She was always at the window again, upon my return.

So we are sad, we feel the empty spaces in our hearts, and yet we are thankful for the true love and loyalty that Zoey gave us, every day that she lived with us. Zoey came to us by serendipity, under cottonwood trees in a park in January 2000, on a warm, sunny winter's day. And she left us in a garden under the cottonwood trees, on a warm, sunny winter's day. And every day of her life with us, she taught us to rise in the morning asking the Eternal to make us the people that she, our dog, thought we were.

Now, she is gone, but her legacy lives, and already friends are looking for another dog, one that needs a home, one that could benefit from what Zoey taught us about the bonds between a dog and her humans.

When Winter Comes Without a Spring . . .

NEARLY WORDLESS WEDNESDAY

Zoey

Winter 1997 - Winter 2009

"I sit beside the fire and think

of how the world will be,

when winter comes without a spring

that I shall ever see. . ."

--J.R.R. Tolkien, The Fellowship of the Ring

A Few Good Days: A Zoey Update

Since Wednesday, Zoey has had a few good days.
On Thursday morning, I took Lily to the local vet for her shots, and when I came home, Zoey actually got up and hobbled out to greet us.
She not only ate the treat the vet sent home for her, but then proceeded to wolf down a half-can of chicken chunks in broth, courtesy of Nutro.

On Friday, just before Shabbat, the Vetinary Surgeon from the emergency hospital called to discuss the reports from the CT scan by the radiologist and that of the pathologist on the biopsy. The radiologist report stated that they did not think the cancer was actually in the ribs, but certainly went between them, and that the tumor is very big, meaning that although surgery can be attempted, the surgeon is unlikely to resect the whole tumor and that clean 3 centimeter margins are not possible. In fact, it is possible that the in an attempt to get as much as possible, the chest cavity would be breached, requiring more days in hospital and a chest tube and increased risk of infection.

The pathologist report agreed with the best hypothesis of the on-site oncologist: this is most likely hemangiosarcoma, less likely a soft-tissue sarcoma (it is not acting like one) and least likely an atypical bone cancer. The prognosis with surgery and chemotherapy (since they would be unable to get clean margins), is an average survival time of six months to a year, and in Zoey's case the smaller number is the more likely because of it being a Stage 3 (very malignant and fast growing) cancer.

The surgeon laid out three options:

• surgery with chemotherapy (we'd be facing this again in about six months)
• make her comfortable with pain management (prognosis of two weeks to a month in her best clinical judgement)
• euthanasia

We told her that we are leaning towards the second option, knowing full well that at the end of that road is the third option, but that we would contact her on Monday with any other questions and a decision.

As we sat in our pre-Shabbat bath, we discussed some more, and reluctantly concluded that we cannot put Zoey through risky surgery only to face this again in six months. We also concluded that we would not go through multiple regimes of pain medications. She came home from the hospital on three meds, which had given her two good days. When they cease to be effective, it will be time to put Zoey down, hard as that will be.

Shabbat dinner Friday night was a roast, with mashed potatoes and gravy. One of the Engineering Geek's express wishes was that Zoey should come put her muzzle in his lap, asking for a treat. And she obliged him. (I tell you that she can read your mind. Or at least smell the beef!) She hobbled out and ate quite a lot of the juicy bits, complete with Challah dipped in the clear gravy.

On Shabbat morning, the Chem Geek Princess brought the Granddog Ruby out, and the Engineering Geek and the Boychick took Ruby and Lily for a walk as part of our scheme to socialize Ruby to Lily (both are nervous about other dogs, unlike our beautiful Zoey).

Zoey was so upset that she could not hobble fast enought to go that I brought her outside to sit with me on the porch while I prayed the morning service. Here is Zoey smiling in the warm sunshine.
Our porch faces southeast, and so the morning sun is reflected off of the stucco wall of the house, warming the porch nicely, even on cold days. Yesterday was a warm day for February and the porch was quite toasty-warm. It felt good for both man and canine!



Later, when her people and other dogs came home, Zoey got positively motivated, spending a few minutes watching Ruby jump over the low door-garden wall, and then she decided to dig up a chew she had buried on some long ago summer's day.

Here she is digging, a favorite pasttime that has been absent during the last six weeks.
We watched with a bittersweet sense of impending loss; the digging was a sweet reminder of better days, but Zoey's poor shorn body, the grapefruit-size of the tumor, the trembling left leg, and the arched, painful way she holds her back, all reminded us that this normal Zoey behavior was a temporary respite from the weary toll of her illness.

And indeed, last night, worn out from the days adventures with Lily and the Granddog, Zoey had to be hand-fed, she paced in pain a full hour before she was due for her evening meds, she could not settle.

She did sleep, finally, at the foot of our bed, where she seems to find comfort in our nearness when she awakens in the night. She got up twice for two painful trips outside, and then to the kitchen for a drink (she refuses to take food and water from anywhere else).

This morning, she had great difficulty getting up. When we got up, she took over the center of the bed for a few minutes--another fleeting reminder of the Zoey normal--but today she has slept and slept, although she did eat some yogurt for breakfast, and some dogfood with cheese for an afternoon snack.

Today was at best a mediocre day. And the tumor is growing still.

Although I cannot imagine our house without my Zoey, I do confess that I looked at the pictures of adoptable dogs from the local shelters on-line. But I kept thinking that this one or that one had ears like Zoey's, and that this one or that one would do well with Zoey as a mentor.

And then I'd remember. Zoey won't be there when we add another dog to the family. And then I cry. And Lily, that needy love-hound, would come up and lick my tears as I sat, stroking Zoey's velvet soft fur.

Mumbai: For the Sanctification of the Name

Even as we have been fulfulling our obligation to give thanks for all of the good things that we have this Thanksgiving Holiday, we have also been watching with great concern the terrorist attacks on the Indian city of Mumbai. As the Editorial in The Albuquerque Journal stated today:


". . . Just as chilling, though, is the growing realization that in Mumbai we are witnessing a deadly progression in terrorist strategies and capabilities . The global disease of terrorism has metastasized since Sept. 11, 2001. This attack on innocent civilians, or "soft targets," in Mumbai will be remembered as a multiple-day event: Nov. 26 - 29, 2008.
It is as if al-Quaida, instead of blowing up the Twin Towers, had decided to take and hold Manhattan. . .
The challenges facing the incoming administration of Barack Obama have just been ratcheted up. "

--In Mumbai, World is Seeing Terrorism 2.0,

The Albuquerque Journal, Saturday November 29, 2008 p. A6

The challenges are grave indeed: There is great evil at work in the world, and it must be countered, as the Indian Army and Special Forces did over the last three days. I cannot imagine what it must have been like for those soldiers to confront the enemy in one of the great cities of their country; to see a city of progress and business transformed into a war-zone, where innocent civilians died and tourists fled their hotels in terror. These soldiers were the force standing between their country's desire for peace and economic progress and the terror and destruction of property brought by men with bombs and guns.

We were particularly saddened by the murder of our fellow Jews at the Chabad-Lubavitch Outreach Center. We watched with great fear as the commandos were lowered to the roof of the building and we prayed that the lives of Rabbi Gavriel Noach and Rebbetzim Rivkah Holtzbert, z"l (may their memories be for a blessing), would be saved by those brave men. Alas, they were brutally killed, although the quick-thinking cook saved the life of their two year old son as she fled the building.

But what are the lives of six more Jews to terrorists? What of their work to men who carry such hatred of their fellow human beings? The terrorists have a mission: to spread anger and death and destruction among human beings in order to destroy what they refuse to become. They claim that they do this in the name of G-d.. But they do not worship G-d. For by their actions, they demonstrate that they worship at the altars of such idols as hatred, destruction, and terror.

But Gavriel and Rivkah Holtzberg spent their lives in the work of Tikkun Olam--the Repair of the World. As our New Mexico Chabad wrote to us yesterday:

"Chabad's 6000 emissaries throughout 3500 centers worldwide are in their respective countries primarily to be of service and help, to each and every one of their Jewish brothers and sisters unconditionally, no matter what their affiliation or background, with whatever is needed, physically and spiritually, and to help all humanity with goodness and kindness in their respective cities, states and countries. In short, the Lubavitcher Rebbe sent the emissaries to help make every city, state and country and thereby the entire world, a better place for all mankind. Unfortunately there are those who try to hinder and destroy good."

--e-mail communication from Rabbi Chaim Schmuckler

sent Friday afternoon, November 28, 2008/1 Kislev 5769

And the Rabbi and Rebbetzim Holtzbert were murdered, as so many many of our people have been, because they were Jews. In contrast to the claims of their murderers, and of those who incite murder and destruction in the extremist madrassahs, it is the Holtzbergs who died al Kiddush ha-Shem, for the Sanctification of the Name.

Terrorism must be fought and evil must be countered.

The Indian Army fought terrorism with guns and force, and this is necessary.

But it is not sufficient.

The evil must also be countered. As Rabbi Schmuckler said in his e-mail:

"Chabad's answer is, as Gavriel and Rivky would have said, to bring more goodness and more kindness into the world. This is the lesson of the Chanukah candles. Just like the Chanukah candles, when it is dark, that is when we light the candles, and we are not content with just one candle, but we continuously add a light each night, ultimately illuminating the world with G-dliness, kindness and goodness."

In a few weeks, when the moon of Kislev wanes to new, Jews will celebrate Channukah, the Festival of Dedication, the Festival of Light. And at Channukah, we will, as we do every year, dedicate ourselves to lifting the sparks and bringing light into a darkening world. That is the job of all Jews, as it is the job of all menschen, all real human beings.

Here at Ragamuffin House, we are deeply saddened to learn of the senseless, violent murders of Jews, once again killed only because they were Jews. We did not know them, but we know who they were.

Here at Ragamuffin House, we also pray for the leaders of our own country, in whom we place the responsibility for our own defense against the destruction at work in the world.

And here at Ragamuffin House, we are also thinking about what small things we can do to raise the sparks here as Americans, and to build up the House of Israel everywhere, as Jews.

"And I tell you the good in us will win,

Over all wickedness, over all the wrongs we have done.

We will look back at the pages of written history and be amazed,

and then we will laugh and sing,

And the good that is in us, children in their cradles will have won.

Here I stand, the Jew, marked by history, for who can count how long?

Wrapped in compassion as in a Tallit, staring every storm in the face.

Write songs of pain, sing prayers of torment, refresh yourself with suffering.

Too much for one people, small and weak --

it is enough to share out among the whole human race.

But G-d has planted in me goodness, compassion, as a mother loves her children,

So I sing and weep, sing and weep,

For the blood knows the heart of the world is not made of stone . . .

And the heart knows that there is a day and an hour, and a Mountain,

And then all the sufferings will gather there and will all become song,

Ringing out into every corner of the earth from end to end,

And the nations will hear it, and like caravans in the desert will all

to that Mountain throng.

". . . Pour down, O heavens, from above and let the sky rain down righteousness;

let the earth open, that deliverance may flourish, and let righteousness spring up."

--Siddur Sha'arei T'filah, The New Union Prayerbook, Gates of Prayer

CCAR Press, 1975, p. 707

When the Cold Wind Blows

The last time I saw him we talked about the kids.

I was going into Target at the beginning of November and he was coming out. It seemed like we would run into each other at this Target once every two months or so, and of course, also at the synagogue when picking our sons up from Machon. I saw his wife at Target almost as frequently, but separately. It seems we frequented the same place for towels, toiletries, and the little stuff you buy on a semi-regular basis. Maybe because that particular Target is only a few blocks from the synagogue, a good place to run errands while our sons studied Judaism.

We were not close friends. I taught for his mother when she was the religious educator at the synagogue. I have never been to his house. But we each had two kids, and his daughter is a year older than my daughter, and his son is two years older than my son. I saw both his kids become bar and bat mitzvah, and he saw one of mine do the same.

When our college-aged daughters were younger, we'd occasionally talk about Star Trek and Rock and Roll. He was a Deadhead, and I prefered Rush, but I enjoyed Terrapin Station and he graciously said that Grace Under Pressure was a good album.
We both thought that B.B. King was one hell of guitarist.

He had a sarcastic sense of humor and that wonderful precision of language employed by techno-geeks who can write. I remember talking about our daughters' college educations and he allowed as to how some aspects of the college experience today are 'profoundly broken.'

He was one of those guys with a great wise-crack, a funny comment, or a kind word. He was there, a part of my community and my life for at least 20 years. When I think of him, I see him as he looked when our daughters were in primary religious school. I hope he thought of me the same way.

In the past year I read a few of his blogs and a blog that belonged to his business partner. I leafed through his book on Outlook --was it Outlook for Dummies, or the Idiot's Guide, or something like that--at the UNM bookstore.

And then last Sunday morning I heard, in a round-about way, that he was in the hospital. A massive myocardial infarction. He had been unconscious for nearly a week. No one knew how long he had been anoxic. The CT scan showed no obvious brain damage, but the EEG was not that of a healthy, conscious person.

I shook my head, thinking about how out of touch I had been. How could this all happen while I was busy with life? I called and left a message for his mom and dad, assuring them of our family's prayers and best wishes. "Is there anything we can do?" I asked, knowing that there was not. And then we went off to Blackman Taekwando holiday party.

On Monday morning I checked my e-mail. The message was the third one from the top. It was from Congregation Albert. Marc Orchant z"l (zichrona l'bracha--may his memory be for a blessing) was the title. Before I opened the message, I sat there and cried. I knew what had happened. His family had to make the decision to take him off of life support.

He was not yet 51. He had boundless energy. He didn't smoke. He was physically fit. He was under some stress, but who isn't? He was on the brink of starting a new job. It was going to be fun. Exciting. The dream job.

I remember him, leaning on the red cart outside of Target. He smiled. He cracked a Star Trek joke. And we talked about the kids.

I am only a few years younger than he was when he died. My husband is a few years older. We are the same generation. "This is unbelievable," we say. "He was young."

At the memorial service we heard that "we shouldn't be here." But we were. His business partner was crying so hard that he had to take off his glasses to read the eulogy. His best friend read song lyrics. "Love is stronger than death," he said. His daughter said that there was something 'profoundly broken' about the fact that the sun could still rise over a planet on which her father no longer dwells.

And we sang Ripple.

"Ripple in still water,
where there is no pebble tossed, no wind to blow..."


"There is a road, no simple highway,
between the dawn and the dark of night.
And if you go, no one may follow.
That path was made for your steps alone.
If you lead then we must follow,
but if you fall, you fall alone.
If you should stand, then who's to guide you?
If I knew the way, I would take you home."

But for me, the cold wind did blow. And, as Jim Croce sang, it turned my head around.
And the 'road, no simple highway' is now closer to the dark of night than the dawn.
And each of us must find our way home.

A Black Day

Where were you when you heard about the black day at Virginia Tech?

I was sitting in the SUB (Student Union Building) at The University of New Mexico. I had just completed a test and I was feeling pretty satisfied with it. I was setting up my computer to read my e-mail and check the blogs I follow. Then I heard the sound of shooting.

It was coming from the giant flat-screen in the corner near where I was sitting. And as I listened to the eye-witness accounts, I was thinking that I was seated in front of a floor-to-ceiling plate-glass window. If someone with a gun were to decide the shoot at the SUB..... well, I would be in harm's way. I didn't move.

As one does, at times like this, I was thinking that the peaceful scene outside the window--newly leafed-out trees swaying in the wind, undergraduates going by in flip-flops with eighty pound backpacks, a couple holding hands at a table outside--felt like it was not in the same world where this tragedy happened.

Thirty-three lives. Gone. Just...like...that.

It was hard to come back to my world...the one on a campus where such a thing would never happen. Would it?

There will be much to say in the coming days about the how's and the why's. I am sure there will be finger-pointing, calls for legislation, hand-wringing and lawsuits. I may even have an opinion or two. Maybe. Next week.

But for now, it is a time to think about the loss of 33 individuals--people with dreams, goals, joys and sorrows. Gone. Just. Like. That.