The Empty Spot on the Couch

Dear Jordy-Bug,

Daddy and I are still recuperating from our first week back in the "real world" after our visit to Faith's Lodge. It was a doozy. Mommy had two full days of meetings at work, and kept thinking, "How am I going to be productive for an entire school year when just sitting in these meetings is exhausting me emotionally?" I was constantly fighting back tears. I can't imagine how I'm going to function when there are halls and classrooms full of students and teachers. I can't imagine what I'm going to say when someone asks me how my baby is doing. You are in heaven and happier than anyone can understand, so the answer should be "she's perfect!" But answering that question with a giant hole in my heart is unbearable (I'm crying just thinking about it.) Speaking of crying, I ended up at the eye doctor again on Tuesday afternoon because my crying has chapped my eye. Yes, I said chapped. The tears are still washing away the natural, protective coating on my eye and causing severe dryness and making it impossible to wear my contacts without pain.

As for Daddy, he had appointments to figure out what's really wrong with his shoulder/elbow/wrist. He is very claustrophobic, so he has been putting off the MRI his doctor ordered. His persistent research for alternatives and subsequent hounding of the medical staff paid off. The nurse scheduled a shoulder ultrasound for Wednesday morning. When he got there, he asked the doctor again about the acute pain in his elbow (the doc previously wasn't concerned with the elbow, just the shoulder and wrist.) He reviewed the x-ray and, lo and behold, he missed the fracture in Daddy's elbow. So, poor Daddy has been walking around for over a month with a broken arm and not sleeping at night worrying about the MRI. He had to see a different doctor on Thursday for his wrist, who cast his entire arm. He didn't handle that well at all (as I told you, he's claustrophobic and can't stand to be restricted in his movement.) So, after practically begging them, they sliced the cast in half to make it a "splint." He is still uncomfortable, but at least he can take it off when it gets to be too much. And at least he got out of the MRI. By the end of the day on Thursday, we were both at the end of our emotional ropes.

Even before you died, I was worried how Daddy would handle it when it was Milo's time to leave us. They have been buddies for almost 14 years! It was determined while we were at the lodge that the little guy had an inoperable, cancerous tumor in his gall bladder and liver. The day that we both dreaded came on Friday. We knew it was time to let him rest in peace because he had gotten very weak, unsteady, wasn't consistently keeping his tube-fed meals down, and was having occasional seizures. A little after 4pm, we took Milo around to each of the other kitties to say good bye. By the time we got out to the car, he was uncomfortable and scared. So in an effort to escape, he chomped down on my left thumb. I've never really been bitten by an animal before (playful bites by the kitties don't count), so I had no idea how much a puncture wound hurts. Holy cow! I knew he didn't mean it and I knew we didn't have much more time with him, so I tried to focus on making him comfortable and not on my thumb. At 4:30pm, we arrived at the animal hospital and the veterinary assistant led us to a room we had never seen before. It was painted green, with a table in the center covered by a soft towel, had homey decorations and comfy places to sit, and contained books about animals in heaven. I immediately turned to Daddy, who had already started to cry, and said to him through my own tears, "How odd and cruel is it that twice in less than five months, we've been led into a special room to watch our baby die?" After we took some time alone with Milo, the veterinarian came in and gave our little man a shot that sent him to you. Watching Daddy cuddle his soft, limp body took me right back to the NICU on your last day here on earth. I couldn't get the image of you in Daddy's arms out of my head. We cried together and left the animal hospital with empty arms. Just as we left the hospital in March. When we got home, the first things I saw were the indented, empty spot on the couch where Milo used to nap, and your Jordyn Bear, peering at me from the love seat. We want you both back. But since that's not possible, we want you two to be happy together. You're an amazing little girl and he's a special kitty. I hope you have lots of good cuddles with him, honey.

We love and miss you so much!

Love,