It’s January 1, the start of a New Year. What should I bring from the lessons of this past year to help me navigate the journey ahead? For one, I’ve learned that life is unpredictable. Sometimes, it brings wonderful surprises, such as the birth of my new grandson, Jude. My daughter fell in love with the name, noting to me that Jude was an Apostle. Her son, Sean, has the middle name Michael.
When she first was awake enough from her hemorrhage to think of a baby name (they had told her it was going to be a girl!), she told me that she wanted, Michael, the Archangel for the middle name. Of course, Sean Michael, was also her only brother’s name, whose memory she carried as an amulet, an instrument in her miraculous survival and recovery. So, now she has two boys with names that carry great weight for representing good. For me, they've delivered already, Sean helping pull me from the possibility of losing yet another child; and, Jude reminding me of the innocence and beauty of this world.
Jude was born on the 20th of December, to a relief and joy that cannot be explained. Both Mom and baby were healthy and gorgeous (IMHO). The whole family exhaled as one, a release of worries for Mom, and were able to smile with a lightened heart. Jude came into this world with his mother awake, able to hold him and witness his first breaths. Such a little thing that we take for granted, and yet, an experience precious to her.Unfortunately, life has its dualities… good/evil, happy/sad, dark/light.
Earlier in the year, there were two things that hit me very hard. One was the diagnosis of a toddler, a baby really, of a serious disease that had no business visiting upon an innocent. He is family to me through family, and yet, his illness and the impact on his parents hit me as if he were mine. Maybe it’s because I have a medical background and foresee the road ahead, or maybe because I have lost a son, and almost lost a daughter. There is a pain that returns with something that triggers its lingering deep in your heart. I pray every day for the baby and his parents that they may experience the light of remission and cure.
To make my mood even gloomier, one of the people closest to me in the world has gone through a very scary, dangerous period that requires them to be in a place away from home for a while. I can hardly bear the separation myself; although, I know it’s necessary. Additionally, though, my heart breaks for the family, whom I love dearly. The absence of a child from a home leaves a gaping hole. Try as you will to carry on, the energy that is missing is palpable; yet, there is nothing you can do to source it. All you can do is hope that where they are, is where they should be. That decision takes the wisdom of Solomon and the compassion of Mother Theresa. My heart is with them every single minute, as I long selfishly for the quick return of this person to my world.
Two days after Christmas, Glenn came to me. He sat across from me, put his hand on my knee and said that he had something to tell me: ‘Percy died on Christmas Eve.’ The words hung menacingly in front of me. The bizarre nature of them kept them from penetrating. Percy is my buddy, my protector, my constant companion, and the reason why I smile most days. He was only 10, not old for a Bijon; however, he had diabetes and was almost blind. Nonetheless, he had spunk! He navigated home and the dog park in a way that belied his disability. He tried to hump only the largest dogs in the park, even a Great Dane!
When I left him on Sunday, he and I had played with his new Christmas toys. He followed me as I packed my suitcase. By now, he knew what it meant, and his companionship made me laugh. He put his nose in every bag to see if there were something in it for him, as there usually was. He rode with us to the airport, but didn’t seem to want to say goodbye, which was strange. Glenn now tells me that he began to vomit with other signs of not feeling well after I left. He also was hard to find at times (hiding?). He took him and Coop to the vets to stay while we were gone (Glenn was leaving 5 days later). Glenn asked the vet to do tests, etc. Apparently, Percy collapsed the following day. They gave him IVs, but his liver enzymes were off the charts, and he had pancreatitis. How could I not know he was that sick? Why did he have to be alone without the person who loved him the most? We dote over our pets and have spent more money on them than some would seem sensible. How could he be gone?
People who don’t have pets, may not understand the connection that is formed. They love so unconditionally, and are so innocent, you can’t help but love them that way in return. They, too, possess an energy that permeates the home, and when that energy is gone, it leaves a depressing hole. Percy was rescued at age 3 and was with us for almost 7 years. He had been with 3 other families before us, for reasons inexplicable to me. He protected our grandchildren, once jumping into a raging stream to try to save Zach from going over a waterfall! What the heck a 25 pound dog was going to do to rescue a 10 year old boy, I have no idea, but that was Percy. I’ve not been home since, and the thought of seeing his toys strewn through the house, and his empty bed has me in tears now. I’m sure they will flow in a steady stream for some time. I certainly will grieve.
This sounds like a solemn New Years writing, and, in some ways, it is. For me, it’s more about courage. The courage of Bridget to have a second child; the courage of the baby and the baby’s parents to smile through chemo treatments and months in a hospital; the courage of parents to find a safe place for their child even if it breaks their heart; the courage of Glenn to bear the burden of Percy’s passing until after Christmas for me; and, the courage of Percy to put on a strong face for me, and wait until I couldn’t see him leave. This is the second time that my dog was brave though suffering. That is a kindness befit of a hero, and Percy, Bridget, and family members mentioned are mine.
Someone posted on our Facebook page a quote from Carrie Fisher. The gist of it was that having bipolar disorder was a difficult challenge, and that just being alive and coping with it is a win… a display of courage. I have come to know people with such courage over these past 8 years, and I steal from their courage to forge on. There are certainly holes in my heart, but they shrink is size every time I learn that courage is something I can choose. We cannot avoid the sadness that life brings us; however, we can absorb all that we can from its blessing and joys, whatever their source, and find those heroes that inspire us to have the courage of Percy … To love unconditionally, to protect with all of our might, to overcome adversity, to live with pride and ambition (certainly, a Great Dane is some ambition!), and to leave the world with dignity as our legacy.
I see 2017 as a year that will challenge us in many ways; however, sometimes we need the dark to revel in the light. Tired and as embattled as we may be, it often takes courage to want to face a new day. This year, my world has been touched by children and dogs, creatures who embody innocence, but also hope, incredible resilience, and an innate ability to love.
On behalf of the Sean Costello Fund, and in memory of him, and all those who have made me stronger, I wish you a New Year full of joy, with the knowledge that there is always light to see and share. I hope surviving our own dark times gives us the courage to forge a legacy we'll be proud to leave to the Seans and Judes of the world. All it takes is a little courage and a lot of love, just look at Carrie and Percy.
I’ll miss you Percy.
Fondly,
Debbie
aka Sean’s Mom