Is it Thursday? I seriously do not know the days anymore. But my iPhone confirms it is Thursday, March 14th, 2013. Why thank you, Siri.
I am in no mood to be thankful. I have been bedbound for a few weeks with what feels like an alternating knife, drill and sometimes a hammer and nail attacking my head. I believe that if outsiders could see the pain in this way, they might just puke just as they might if they really saw a someone hammering a nail in the space between my eyes.
They'd be horrified, just as my husband is when he comes home to finding me curled in a ball, eyes closed, using sign language so I don't have to speak and hear my voice or noise period, holding up a finger (not that one) for George to stop moving. Yeah. I can't stand movement: his, mine, the dogs, or the neighbor's car. I can only imagine that it feels like an electrical current shooting through my body; but I've never experienced that...Thankfully.
But I hadn't eaten in eight hours and George has to get my weak body propped up to eat supper. I have to move (OH WAIT "ZOFRAN!") so that he can give me a shot of burning Toradol in my rump. He has an essential tremor and his hands are shakier since his September coma though the neurologist says it is not a big deal. Guess he isn't having George stick an inch and a half needle in his rump! But I don't care as I keep envisioning the Toradol as this army of big goobers running through my system to kick out the utensils which are progressing into my skull, to squelch the pain and to hopefully bring my body to a place of tolerance.
Did you want to hear that? I'm guessing not so much. There are some Migraineurs who really take complaining/whining to a new level and I think it is appropriate at times, but I have always believed in finding the joy in the hard times. I find it easier to find the balance in truth. They say that humor and being positive and happy is supposed to help pain. And actually gratitude is supposed to have healing properties. But lately, my pain has turned me into a sullen, dark, angry creature who has holed herself away and I DO NOT want to write this post, but my there must be some essence of "Kelly" inside because she wants to say she is thankful.
Monday, March 11th would have been my Mister Knightley's 10th birthday. George and I sing a lot, not to music, but to our own drummer to be silly or to connect and to have fun. And even if I put happy intonations into something simple as "Twinkle Twinkle", Knightley would only ever react to the "Happy Birthday" song. He LOVED the birthday song. I wish I had his reaction on video. I may somewhere. We'd sing Happy Birthday to him randomly and on other people's birthdays because he would get happy and twirl and we all were uplifted.
I am so thankful for my boy. He was ever watchful. He was ever comforting. He loved to dump out trash cans and rip up tissue paper and then come to me and tell on himself with lowered ears. I'd have to keep from laughing as I'd known exactly what he had done. He would follow me to the end of the earth and was my constant shadow (except when dumping trash cans that is). Zoe and later Giselle would stay put not wanting to disturb their slumber. But there was a deep connection and no matter how much it hurt his poor hips (moderately severe hip dysplasia) to get up and down, I was his mommy and he wanted to be with me.
Gromit (named after an intelligent dog in stop-animation features). He even knew Zoe's name and knew my husband by "George" or "Daddy". Knightley and I shared a favorite command "Kiss George." He would lick George like crazy. George was not fond of the command which is how Knightley learned I was "Mommy" as the command was turned onto me!
As he got older, he got to be a stubborn old man, refusing to come in out of the snow and I used his vast vocabulary comprehension against him by yelling out the door "Are you hungry?!" It never failed. Though I had been calling his name and whistling relentlessly, he would ignore me, but once I asked him about food, he heard and would come tearing up the stairs and inside. I talk a lot to my dogs, but neither of the girls have the comprehension he did though Zoe knows more "tricks" and Giselle just learned to "kiss" on command.
Knightley loved to be groomed and nail trimmings were a piece of cake which helped when my scared rescue dogs came into our household. He would fall asleep every time and was a great model for them. I would lay them next to him and he showed them it was okay. Now nail trimmings with the girls are a piece of cake. Thanks Knightley!
The happiest I saw Knightley was at the beach. In May 2011, we took him and Zoe to a secluded beach house where we had to drive six miles on the beach to get there. It was the first week of May and it was as if we were on an island by ourselves with the occasional car driving by. Knightley loved to dig in the sand chasing the bubbles and shells. He would jump after a ball or shell into the surf. He would sit and watch the waves peacefully. Though watching the birds and wild horses were more of an active attraction rather than a watching attraction for him! He got Zoe over her fear of the ocean and she started to have fun too. He really helped his rescued sisters.
So on what would have been his birthday on Monday, I was thankful. I decided not to be sad. I was happy that I got to be Knightley's mommy. I sang to a gold framed 8x10 photo of him hanging in our bedroom "Happy Birthday" choking back the tears that wanted to creep up. And then I noticed a commotion behind me, on the bed, Zoe and Giselle who had both been deep in sleep had not only roused but were on the bed dancing in circles. They were celebrating too or at least were happy that their mommy was.
*PS* I actually feel a little better. Guess there is something to this gratitude thing!!