In one of the cancer caregiver books I've read, it tells the caregiver, you don't have to do much for the patient, but JUST BE THERE. The patient isn't up to much and if they can only sit, just sit there with them. You don't have to talk to them, just be there. That is what Taco was to me, what he gave to me. For hours and days that little guy laid on the chair next to me, on the back part of the chair, on my feet, on my bed. Yes, on my bed. Wherever I was, he was.
I know it was hard for my kids and hub to do that, when there was so much to do. But Taco didn't mind. He truly gave unselfishly.
I am crushed -- I'm not really sorry if peeps don't understand. It doesn't matter to me. My heart is crushed.
I'm going through the what if I did this, what if I took him with me that afternoon, why didn't hub keep better watch over him, why didn't they put him in the house and on and on ... I know the Lord has a plan and there is a reason for him being taken now -- but I WANT TO KNOW WHY? I know the Lord knows and knew how crushed I would be, I'm not sure how strong he thinks I am, but I am NOT. I just want to curl up in a ball and die.
I know it’s not good for me to feel this way -- physically ill, and I can tell you cancer thoughts have definitely taken a back seat right now. My thoughts are continually on my friend. I'm scared; I am really lost without him. It may be stupid to you to depend on an animal, but they are truly man's best friend -- and he is my best friend. I am not complete right now. I pray and hope there are dogs in heaven, because I want to spend eternity with him romping by my side.
Its so hard to go home ... co-workers told me to stay home. Stay home and him not be there? Uh, no. Every routine I had at home centered around or with Taco. If I went to do laundry, he'd be there ... if I went to the bathroom, he'd push his way in, check on me, but then he'd go back out. I pray I don't get sick, because I am not ready to be alone in that house ... its just not the same right now.
Taco was a giver -- and he loved us all. Of course, he had favorites but when one of us came home we were greeted with love. He has even grown on Josh -- Josh would come home and lie down on the floor and wrestle with him. When I told Josh -- he balled, he didn't get teary, he cried like a baby. He told me to pray for him, while he was on his knees at work pleading God to raise him up. OH GOD! I was on my knees as well. I never thought I'd ever have the strength, but when I saw him lying in the road, I got out and checked him, unmoving, raced up to the house, grabbed a blanket and ran back out to lift him in my arms. I cradled him like a baby, and wept and wept over him. Prayed for him, asking God to let him live. Later when hub came home, he took him off the living room floor, I didn't know it. I ran outside and hub had put him in a bag, I grabbed it. He started to pull the blanket off him while inside the bag. It broke my heart -- I screamed at him to stop, I wanted him to stay in the blanket, nestled. My Joshie, took Taco and wrapped him gently in the blanket for me; laid him on the ground where I had fallen and I petted him and kissed his head. My son had to physically get me up and with his arms around me cradling me next to him, whispering to me, "Its okay mama, it’s okay mama". he got me back to the house. OH GOD.
Taco isn't buried yet -- we I want him in a box and hub is going to make it. I've been out to his body a few times. Josh as well. We're crazy -- but foolish enough to ask God for a miracle.
When Stephen wanted a dog last summer, I never thought about the impact of him in my life. Of course I didn't realize I'd be dealing with breast cancer either. God knew. I think He knew I'd need him, which is why I can't understand Him taking him from our lives. I wasn't dependent on him; I just
He followed me everywhere. If I was moving around, Taco would be too. If he knew I was settled down at the computer or something, he'd go to the couch and lay on the back of it. As soon as I stood up -- his head would pop up and he'd look at me. I'd ask him, "You coming?" And off he came and waited at the bedroom door. He'd come in and wait on the floor by my side of the bed until I get all settled in and then I'd pat the bed, and he'd hop up. He liked lying at our feet or behind our knees. Sometimes if he was cold, he'd wake us up in the middle of the night to get under the covers. I'd always reach out and lay my hand on him. He was such a great dog.
It's not the same for me with Mini. She's cute -- but she doesn't have my heartbeat. Taco has that, and I think always will. He was a comfort to me in an amazing way, I am grieving. I am missing my friend, just like any other friend. Taco and I were tight. We were buds.
In the mornings he'd hang with me until time to go in the shower, then he'd go with dad but once I came out he'd hang around looking for his cookie. When I went in the bedroom to get dressed, he'd come in there too!! He just always wanted to be with you. I'd lay my socks on the bed, and of course he'd grab them, and I'd have to wrestle him for them back. Goofy boy.
What I remember the most about the Taco. (or Tock)
We called him Tock -- shortened for Taco.
I remember him waiting at the end of the drive, sitting on the small hills there, watching our car come down the road after work. Stephen would have let him out after school. He would be sitting there so proud and just anxious for us to be with him. I wish I had a photo of him sitting there, but I am thankful I see it in my mind. He wouldn't run close to the car, he would wait for me to stop, check the mail and then once I opened the door he would sneak in and we'd right up to the top. If I wasn't stopping, then he'd run behind me to the top waiting for me to get out.
He sure loved us -- gave us so much of himself.
I remember him peeking over the kitchen screen door looking out when I was leaving because he couldn’t see me anymore by the living room door. His cute ears sticking up with his little nose showing.
Cookie time … calling him for his morning cookie. He knew too. Reaching up stretching and grabbing it so nicely.
Always at my feet in the kitchen because he knew for sure I would eventually drop something on the floor. Messy me.
I remember him running in from outside when I was sitting in the chair during my months of chemo – looking for me there and not finding me. Running to my room and not finding me there either. Back he came running – Stephen calling him and telling him “Mom’s in here Taco!!" And he so glad to find me again.
Sitting under my chair and feeling his fur touch my legs and what a comfort that was to me.
Lying with me for HOURS on the bed during sickness. Sitting on the back of the chair when I had made it there.
He came a lot after the sickness thing – Stephen told me when I told him to take Taco with him. He told me, Mom you need Taco now so he can stay with you. Some nights when I’d make him stay out there, because he was after all Stephen’s dog. Stephen would open my door and bring him in to me. I had to thank Stephen for sharing him with me.
Taco going in to the bathroom trash! Ugh. Eating paper. Yucko.
Him going out the kitchen door in the mornings to go potty and zipping right over to the living room one, cause he’d know I’d be there to let him in. I always let him in, and made Mini stay out. LOL!
Him barking at anyone coming in to the house and yet be too scared to do anything except run away when we tried to trick him and make ourselves scary for him.
That low grumble sound he’d make in his throat. It wasn’t really a growl just a rumbly sound to let you know that he didn’t want you moving him from where he was laying. Mainly by mom on the bed!! I wish I had that sound taped … I’ve never heard a dog do that.
Loved the awesome way he ran – long strides like a deer or a gazelle. That afternoon I can still see him in my mind running after the guineas but never getting close to them. Barking at them, but really scared of them! I remember looking at the billy goat but constantly looking back and watching for Taco in the barn to make sure none of the other goats got in to hurt him. Calling him out and coming to the house with me. Inside is a little blurred because I was rushing around trying to clean up and stuff.
I remember Lexi saying once they moved out, Taco needed to come visit so he could play with the cat. Him and cat enjoyed wrestling with each other. Mini was too busy with the puppies to play with Taco.
Thankful there are puppies – not sure how they ever got together but perhaps God knew? One little black one makes the growly sound. The girl definitely has his coloring. {sigh} But they are just not him.
It’s too fresh; it’s too raw for me right now. I need prayer ... please pray for me.
This blog is for me … for my memories … I love you Taco Boy!!!! So very, very much.
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