Six Years Later

Six years ago today we lost our baby boy, Buster. I felt the need to write something about it but wanted to make sure I didn't repeat myself, so I searched my blog history and found my original post that I wrote three days after Buster crossed over Rainbow Bridge. In that post, "For The Love of Buster," I said everything then that I was going to say today. I also found the next post I made about it, "Six Weeks Later," and re-read that one as well. After I read both of those posts I had the idea of what I was going to write today, so here it is.

I said in my original post that "all hurt heals," and it does - but only to a point. I don't hurt anywhere near as much as I used to, but the hole in my heart that was occupied by Buster is still there although it's nowhere near as big as it used to be. But it's still there, and I suspect that it always will be.

One of the reasons the hole isn't as big as it used to be is the Boston Terrier that we were waiting to pick up when I wrote "Six Weeks Later." Cage joined our family shortly after I wrote that post, and he's been a godsend. He's no Buster by any means - Buster was truly one of a kind - but he's quite the dog in his own right. He helped me get over my loss, helped me heal, and I love him just as much as I love Buster. He's also big, and I mean BIG. He's twice the size of a "normal" Boston Terrier and weighs 40 pounds. And you can bet that the first thing I taught him to do after housebreaking him was to go up and down stairs!

This is my "little man" Cage.

Harley got along with Cage right away, and I think he helped her heal as well. She really enjoyed having another dog to run around in the yard with, and she did that every day until she got older and couldn't run as well as she used to. She's 12 now, and is one of the loves of my life.

Here's our baby girl Harley standing next to Cage. Gives you a good idea of just how big Cage is since Harley is 22 pounds.

Three - or is it four? - years ago Gina showed me another picture of a dog she "just had to have," and just as with the picture of Cage I knew it right away. We had to have this dog, too, so Gina and a friend of hers drove all the way to Tennessee to pick him up from the rescue where he was and bring him home. He's a French Bulldog/Boston Terrier mix we named Mason, and he's a love bug first class! He loves nothing more than to sleep on my lap, and everywhere I go in the house he's right there. Cage is more than a little jealous about it, but when it comes to sleeping on my lap he has a shorter attention span than Mason, who could stay there all day and all night.

And this is Mason.

How can anyone resist that face?

While Cage played a key role in helping me heal after Buster's passing, I have to say that all three of our babies play a part in it. Healing is, after all, an ongoing process which in some cases never ends. I still kiss Buster's picture every night before I go to bed as I have done since he passed, and every time I leave the house I always ask Buster to watch over my babies while I'm gone. I feel him with me in the house all the time, and I dare say that I've seen him a couple of times as well - just a dark blur of motion out of the corner of my eye, or maybe a shadow in the next room that was there one moment and gone the next. Call it what you will, but he's here and I know it.

And I'm okay with that.

I love you, Buster, and I miss you.

Deo Vindice

IHC

My Wake-Up Call from God

Everyone goes through a period - or two - in their lives where they feel insignificant, like they don't matter to anyone, like no one cares about them outside of their family. I mean, we all know that the members of our family love us and always will, but sometimes you need to know that people outside of your family care about you. Sure, you can walk around with the "I don't care whether people like me or not, I like me and that's all that matters" attitude, but we both know that deep down inside you know that's a crock. Everyone cares whether people like them or not, and that's a fact. And I'm no different than anybody else in this respect.

Last fall, around the October/November timeframe, I was going through one of those periods for several reasons that I won't go into here. I will say that most of the feelings were the product of my own over-active imagination, but there were a couple of things that happened which helped the feelings of insignificancy along a bit. It was bad enough that I was losing sleep over it, and I don't lose sleep over many things. I slept through air raids during the Gulf War, for cryin' out loud, so for me to lay in bed at night wide awake and unable to sleep means that whatever it is is pretty damned serious.

And it wasn't getting any better. Seems that each day that went by just made me feel more insignificant, and there wasn't anything anyone around me could have done to make me feel better.

That's when God stepped in and gave me a wake-up call. And, in His usual manner, he did it in a big way.

At 3:00AM on Wednesday, November 15, 2017 while at my job on the midnight shift at Lowe's, I had a heart attack.

It started at around 8:00PM or so on Tuesday while I was at a meeting of my Masonic Lodge. I felt a small pain in my chest which kinda radiated out to my left arm, and to be honest my first thought was, "Man, please don't let this be what I think it is!" Meaning, please don't let it be a heart attack. I moved my left arm around a bit and the pain went away after a few moments, so in usual male fashion my thought was, 'The pain went away, so I'm fine!' After the meeting was over I changed clothes at the Lodge and then went to work.

About an hour after I got to work the pain came back, only a little stronger this time, and the more time went by the worse it got. By 3:00AM the pain was all the way down my arm into my hand, up the side of my neck into my jaw, and I couldn't catch my breath. So I went and found my boss and told him that I thought I was having a heart attack. While he was calling the ambulance I walked up to the front of the store to sit down in the Pro Services office to wait for them, and along the way I called my wife. Her first words to me were, "Are you coming home?" since I frequently would get off work early if I finished my work. I told her no, I wasn't coming home, I was going to the hospital because I was having a heart attack. She asked me if I was sure, and I said that I was. I also told her that I'd call her and let her know what hospital I was going to once the ambulance got there. By that time the pain was so bad I was having trouble breathing and talking, so after a few minutes I had one of my co-workers call her back and ask her what hospital she thought I should go to. Since she works for a local hospital I thought she'd know which one was best, and I went where she told me to go. She met me at the hospital about ten minutes after I got there, and I only hoped I didn't look as worried as she did.

Once there the doctors verified that yes, I was indeed having a heart attack, but that it wasn't the kind like you see in the Hollywood movies. You know, the kind where they guy grabs his chest, stumbles around for a moment, and then falls over dead. The docs call those "widowmakers" because most people didn't survive them. I was having the kind that was caused by a blocked artery - two of them, actually - which restricted the blood flow enough to cause the pain I was feeling. The doc also said that all they needed to do to fix me was put a stent into the artery that was 100% blocked and I'd be fine. There was a second one that was partially blocked but not enough for them to worry about it, so they didn't. Five hours later I was on the table getting the stent put in, and thanks to the drugs they gave me and the fact that I had been up for 30+ hours without sleep, I don't remember any of it. I was out like a light. The last thing I remember was the nurse prepping the site on my thigh for the catheter to go in, and the next thing I know they're waking me up to slide from the table to the gurney so they could take me to my room.

And that's when He started working his magic. I sent my wife to work around 7AM since she worked right across the street, telling her that there wasn't anything she could do anyway. Well, she started making phone calls, and about two hours after I got to my room the visits started. The brothers from my Masonic Lodge started showing up, as did their wives and girlfriends. I was in the hospital for two and a half days, and during that time period one of my Masonic brothers and a Past Master of our lodge, Worshipful Brother Jason Schulties, showed up twice - once on Wednesday and once on Thursday. The second time he showed up he brought me a gift - a copy of the page out of George Washington's Masonic Lodge which showed his payment for the degrees he received. When my wife came back Wednesday afternoon after she got off work, she brought a candy dish/stuffed animal/balloon thingy that one of the girls in her office who I had taught how to shoot sent me. During the afternoon on Thursday I received a visit from another Past Master, Worshipful Brother Matt Moskowitz, who took time out of his duty day with the South Carolina Law Enforcement Division (also known as SLED) to come visit me. My wife stayed with me as long as I would let her, and I ended up both nights having to kick her out so she could go home, take care of the dogs and get some sleep.

My phone also started going off with phone calls and text messages. I have to be honest and say that I was stunned when I got a text message from my first wife, Mary. We haven't talked nearly as much as I think either one of us would have liked since we divorced, so it really took me by surprise when I received a text message from her. I called her instead of texting, and we had a good talk. My daughter Kathy contacted me from her home in North Carolina as well, and my son called me from Florida where he's stationed with the Air Force. When he called me he asked me if I wanted him to come up to South Carolina. "I don't mean 'do you NEED me to come up there,'" he said, "I mean, do you WANT me to come up there? Because if you want me to come up there, then I'll be there in four hours." I told him no, I appreciated it, but I was OK and for him to stay with his family. I promised him that if I changed my mind I'd let him know.

Thursday night I was lying in the hospital bed in my room thinking about the events of the past 48 hours, and all I could think of was how many people had reached out to me in that short time period, and it brought tears to my eyes. I felt my feelings of insignificance vanish, and I knew what had happened. God had sent me a message, a "wake-up call" if you will, and I heard Him loud and clear. I was in trouble, He knew it, and He handled it in a way that only He could.

Since that day I've gone through every day knowing that I do matter, that I'm not insignificant, and that there are more people out there who care for me than I realize. And I thank God for that.

That, and for the wake-up call He gave me.

Deo Vindice

IHC