A new day, a new reality.

Grief is funny.
 
I suppose we all grieve in different ways.

These last few years, grief has been a constant with all the loss.

I can't stop looking at Todd's pictures... especially his final ones. 

I don't know why.

I can't stop looking at his food bowl sitting on the top rack in the dishwasher.

The last trash bag full of his diapers and pee pads went out. 

I still can't believe he's gone. 

Taking care of little Todd had become a full time job of sorts, and was around the clock.

As his dementia worsened, we adapted. We all adapted.

Every morning, the first thing I'd do was carry Todd and his calming crate down the stairs. Lay down his pee pads and set up his "safe circling" area in the living room. 

As he circled (and likely eliminated), I'd take the other dogs out for their morning relief.

After, I'd clean up and replace any pads that'd been used- then tend to everyone's breakfast.

Since Todd had forgotten how to eat and drink, I always added water to his raw food. It became mush and was easier for him to take in, though I'm not sure how much went into his body vs. all over his face, the floor, the wall.....

Levi and Franklin had adopted the role of "clean up crew" after I'd move Todd from his bowl back to his circling area.

Interestingly enough, though... they didn't do it this morning. They knew Todd wasn't here, nor was he eating in the kitchen. They knew nothing would be in that spot to clean up. I expected "routine" to kick in. Ritual. Pattern... the dogs to at least start moving towards that area to check it out.... but no one did. 

After Todd would eat his breakfast, I'd move him back to his circling area. 

His pads were so soft and smooth since he hadn't been on a pack walk in about a year and a half, and would scuff and bleed from all the circling he did on the pads inside.

I'd put the red light unit on myself as I did my morning writing and/or content creation for community sharing, then would put the unit on him and he'd get his red light therapy. The red light always relaxed him. Always. It never failed.

Then the pack and I would head out for a hike (in the winter and spring months), to "our secret field", or on the morning neighborhood route. 

When we returned, I'd put a diaper on Todd, clean up the pee pads, and move the furniture back. He was either out and sleeping on Levi's living room bed, or I'd put him in his calming crate on the couch.

Late morning / early afternoon was when he'd sleep more. 
The dogs and I would get one or two more walks in (depending on the heat - if hotter out, we'd do two shorter walks).

Levi and Raiyna have gotten to the point where they may or may not go for the afternoon walks. If too hot, they stayed behind. Levi's usually out back basking in the sun, anyway. Walking in the heat he struggles with... but he loves to lay in it for hours upon end (it could be 5000 degrees out).

Early to mid afternoon, Toddie would wake, his diaper would be removed (likely filled), and the circling would begin again.

I'd lay the pads back down, rearrange the furniture, and his "safe circling" area was back.

Dinner would be around 5 or 5:30, and the feeding ritual would begin again.

Around 8 or 8:30 pm, the dogs would go out for their last elimination, and Raiyna and Todd would get their melatonin.

Todd started going longer and longer between eliminations, so I'd put another diaper on him, grab the calming crate, and upstairs we'd go. 

I'd set up another "safe circling" area upstairs in my bedroom while I read. If he eliminated in his diaper, I'd put him in his calming crate next to my head to sleep for the night. In this case, he'd likely wake me up circling around 4 am. Then I'd bring him and his crate down to his circling area so he could circle and eliminate..... and I could try and get a little more shut-eye.

If he didn't eliminate before lights out, I'd take the diaper off, lay pee pads down, put his calming crate in his area, and it was lights out. I'd wake up and clean up after Todd first thing.

A full night's sleep is a luxury I haven't had in the last few years.
Now, Raiyna is struggling through each night. She's starting to become restless, anxious, incontinent, and unable to walk down stairs easily. She's fallen halfway down a few times in the last week.

Yesterday morning, I had a most unexpected friend show up. 
Someone I hadn't seen in years. 

And on a day a friend was really needed.

Not only did she offer her support, she actually showed up and followed through.

This is not something I'm used to, and something that's become quite uncommon--- which is sad.

She showed up, drove Todd and me to his appointment, and arranged for Todd's pick up from the vet's office so I didn't have to drive all the way to Chantilly afterwards (for cremation).

I can't tell you how much it meant to have someone there by my side going through this. Really... there are no words. And I'm a wordy gal.

@Christina Keough I can't thank you enough. You watched me lose my sh*t. Stood there with me as Todd took his last breath. You held space when I could barely stand and was overcome with the deepest grief. You were there through the complete discomfort of it all, and sat with me for hours after... just talking. We even did a pack walk together with the other dogs. I want you to know how comforting your presence was, and how thankful I am you were there. You went above and beyond, and I honestly cannot - for the life of me- thank you enough.

Watching Todd go from awake and circling to sedated-- was like the first time he'd been able to fully rest in the last 2 years. 

The sedation was his break from the reality he'd been living in, and that I'd tried unbelievably hard to keep him comfortable, safe in, and help him through.

It was a gut-wrenching, tear-saturated goodbye, and he left quickly. Too quickly. 

We were both hanging on for so long.

Me hoping Nature would take its course. That I wouldn't have to play God.

I was told by an animal psychic not too long ago little Todd was hanging on because he saw the devastation I went through after the loss of former dog. Yes. It was the loss of my beloved Chip.

We both hung on as long as we could.

When Todd crossed worlds, the color in his coat even left quickly. 

I don't like this part of life... and love.

Living in a world where "Todd," "Toddie", "The Todd-father" isn't a part of my everyday vernacular or routine.

Since his rescue in 2010, Todd has been a staple in our little family and pack. Such an immense source of comfort. 

Not just to me, but to everyone in our pack and all we met.

Fearful humans, fearful children, fearful dogs, angry dogs... 

His happy place was curled up in someone's lap or balled up right beside one of the dogs.

It's been so hard watching my little family leave one by one.

Hard to fathom a world without any of them.

They really are family, but I don't expect everyone to understand this. And everyone won't.

So, here we are again.

We begin - yet another- transition. 

Another day in a new reality.

.... and the big changes continue.