The Kingdom of Sadness

The least fun day in a week of un-fun days...

You can not know the pleasure of not having to poop into a grocery bag until you’ve had to poop into a grocery bag…

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THURSDAY 9/26

Marcella had driven to Asheville on Thursday so we could leave for Wilmington on Friday morning. We had all of our stuff stacked at the front door ready to pack into the truck and leave first thing in the morning. The plan was to head to Wilmington to see our youngest daughter, Malena, to hang out and to celebrate her twenty-first and also Jen’s millionth birthday. That night we were awakened by the sounds of Helene having her way with our city. She sounded a bit aggressive. We heard a crash of tree against the back of the house. Every gust of wind made us think that the windows would shatter inward.

FRIDAY 9/27

We fell asleep again at about 5 am and when I woke an hour later I saw a text from Marcella from downstairs with a photo of a large tree covering our cars in the driveway. I decided to go back to sleep. Ugh, damnit. I got up and put off looking at the trees on the house out the back windows or going outside for as long as possible. That didn’t work. The tree leaning against the back of the house resembled a giant squid. The large limbs had been banging against the windows all night and I couldn’t believe none broke. It was stuffed into all of the crevices of our house from the bottom to the very top. It’s a massive tree that originates just over the fence in our neighbor’s yard and I’d been worried about it for years. I couldn’t see any actual damage, but our bedroom is 45 feet off the ground. So who knows what’s going on? There’s no water coming in so that’s good. Dealing with the tree in the back can wait. I walked outside and into the driveway and my oldest daughter’s Prius, my Prius, and my wife’s Tacoma were covered in trees. I figured I’d go back to bed. I walked out and it wasn’t all that bad. There were just branches of the tree touching the vehicles, probably nothing but some scratches. The trunk of the tree was being held up by our fence. Back to bed? Except we’re supposed to go to Wilmington to see our youngest daughter today. We want to go to Indochine (an insane Thai restaurant that we love) to celebrate Jen and Malena’s birthdays and hang out for a few days as a full family unit. Is that too much to ask? At this time, I was still under the illusion that there’d just been some strong winds and rain. We had no idea what had really gone on out there. We didn’t know yet how lucky we’d been.

I took some photos of the trees for insurance purposes. We didn’t have power but we had full-on cell service at that point. I didn’t look at or listen to the news. I just thought it was a bad storm. Whatever. Then I looked down our street to the right and saw downed power lines and a pile of gigantic trees blocking the road that had pulled down more even power lines. I heard a leaning power pole crack. No way out that way for who knows how long (it’s still blocked a week later, the tree guys said they didn’t have a chainsaw that was big enough). Okay, that sucks. But you can get out of the neighborhood down the other way too. Across the street, an 80-foot-tall pine had fallen across our neighbor’s yard. They were so lucky that it fell in that direction. They were out of town so I walked up and around their house to check on things. I sent them some photos and told them that their house and vehicles looked okay. It was starting to dawn on me that this had been a really bad storm. I walked through the ankle-deep water on the road down the street to the left and came across another big tree blocking the road. There was no way out of our neighborhood. If anyone had an emergency, there was also no way in either.

The neighbors were starting to gather in the street. Talk was being talked. Information was being informationed. It seemed that Asheville was in deep trouble with massive flooding and destruction and we were all in a bit of a fix. Okay. Let’s reevaluate. I have no idea how or why we had such good cell service that morning, but it went away. Maybe the towers finally toppled or maybe they lost power. I don’t know how that stuff works. But I know when it doesn’t work - and it no longer did. I was glad I’d posted a photo of our driveway that morning so at least our families would know we were okay. The three of us decided to take a walk around our neighborhood which has a street that goes in a circle. It wasn’t good. Trees and debris and power lines littered the road Then we got to the old stone overlook that sits at one end of the circle across from the big stone house that was once the home of a railroad baron. He used it to look out over the rail yards below at his Kingdom of Railroad Stuff. When we peered down through the trees toward the bridge we could not believe what we saw. The Swananoa River, which is usually just a big creek, had taken over and stretched all the way across Biltmore Village. We watched large chunks of debris being dragged across, heading to who knows where. We had not expected this. Then we looked down to the other area of Biltmore Village and could only see the roof of the Wendy’s and the roof of our local cafe the Village Wayside. It was just a lake with islands of roof popping up now and then. It’s a difficult thing when you see something but can’t quite comprehend it. Your brain breaks a little bit. What started as a morning of, “Ahh, a few trees our down, this sucks,” had turned to, “Holy shit. This is bad. What has happened to Asheville?” We went home and sat around, occasionally trying to get a cell signal, and gathered the meager supplies we could find; battery-operated lanterns, flashlights, and a few candles. We aren’t what you’d call preppers and we still expected to leave soon. Our refrigerator was bare since we’d planned on leaving, but we pulled it out and unplugged it from the useless outlet, and plugged it into a little solar generator I’d bought years ago for the RV. The read-out said it would keep the fridge powered for 10 hours. Not bad. Our neighbor across the street had sent a text that came through at some point to ask us to feed their cats since their automatic cat feeder was hard-pressed to do its job with no electricity. We did that and also took all of the stuff that could spoil and stink out of their fridge to put into ours. 

The Hood

SATURDAY 9/28

The next morning, water, power, and cell service were all gone. I missed each of them just about equally with a little emphasis on the water.  We’d take the solar generator to charge up for an hour at our next-door neighbor’s house who had a propane generator and then reconnected it to our fridge to keep the cold happening. Being without power sucks, but it’s not all that bad. Being without water is not good at all. I walked down the street, past the smaller of the piles of downed trees that blocked the road to check on the RV which was parked at another neighbor’s house which has a flat spot. I pay him a little rent and it’s great for both of us. It’s not possible to park it on our lot. I was dreading it because I knew that a limb most likely had crashed into our new solar panels. It was covered in small sticks and debris, but somehow nothing was broken. I grabbed a few useful things out of it and walked home. On the way back I helped a neighbor lift their small generator onto their front walk and they told me that their kitchen had been taken out and their vehicles were likely totaled by trees. Ugh. What can you say? “So sorry.” Not helpful. I went back around the downed tree blocking the road and decided we had to try to get out. I grabbed my chainsaw and got to work. Forty minutes later the road was clear while some other folks from the hood worked on another tree. I helped our neighbor Charlie get a few downed trees cleared from his driveway and as we stacked wood along the side of the road I angered a nest of yellow jackets. They whizzed around in the brush like an angry yellow tornado. I hate yellow jackets. I picked up my stuff to walk home, and as I did, two of them stung me on my inner upper right arm. Those little bastards. It hurt like hell. 

We packed up and got in the truck. We’d fuel up and head to Wilmington. We drove to the closest gas station and there was a long line and no one actually pumping gas. We realized then what we should have figured out at home. The pumps don’t work with no power. We drove down Merrimon to check out some other stations - same situation. We drove past Beaver Lake looking for anything. The Tacoma said it had 20 miles left in the tank. The driving was not great - there was debris and downed trees everywhere to navigate and the occasional power lines to dodge. We decided to go back into Asheville and try Tunnel Road for gas. We headed from Woodfin on 26 and what we saw off to the right was unreal. Where we’d usually see River Road and some buildings like Tractor Supply and the Salvage Station venue, instead we saw the river coming right up to the highway. There was nothing but water. Once through Asheville we turned on to Tunnel Road, and the other end of the tunnel, traffic was stopped. Massive trees and a tangle of power lines blocked the way. It looked like some homeless folks had sheltered in the tunnel. We inched our way forward and around the mess. Tunnel Road was no better than anywhere else. There was no fuel to be had. From there we took our usual route home through Kenilworth, but there was no way through. We turned around, hopped on 240, got off near downtown, and found a way home.

Back at home, we reevaluated for the twentieth time. So we might be stuck here. Okay, what’s the priority in that case? Water. The neighbors who were out of town had some in their basement that they’d texted us to help ourselves to so that eased the pressure a bit. But Jen didn’t feel secure with what we had so I got on the red motorbike to go back out and see what I could find. My tiny red Honda, Little Ugly Homefry, is the absolute best vehicle to have in a bug-out situation. It’s a tough little bike and it will go just about anywhere. Dirt, mud, rocks, rubble - no problem. I was glad to be on her instead of in a car. I hadn’t enjoyed our little tour of Post Helene Asheville in the truck. Okay, where would some water be? I drove downtown. It looked like the gas station on Biltmore had gas now and it looked like everyone in the universe who needed gas was waiting to get it. It was a madhouse. I kept going, over the hill and onto Merrimon where there was another gas station where Highway 240 cut across. This one was worse. And the vibe was not good. People were on edge, horns were honking, and there was some yelling. I didn’t want to be anywhere near this place. It looked like the little weird baby Whole Foods was closed. Trader Joe’s was closed. I took a left to check out the Harris Teeter. It was open - great! Then I saw a line. People were cued up to get inside. Okay - I might have to wait in a line. No big deal. I rode the bike down the line to see how long it was. I kept going. I kept going. The line went all the way down to the Chick Filet, which was not all that close to the Harris Teeter. There’s no way I’m waiting in that line. I headed back the way I came on Merrimon, and the traffic from the mayhem at the gas station had caused a bottleneck. Nothing was moving. I did a U-turn and took a right at the Staples. Wait. The Staples is open. I pulled in. There was no line out the door. Maybe I can pick up some printer ink and a ream of paper or something super-useful like that? I went inside, and they had a palette of water on the floor. I grabbed two cases and went straight to the counter. Cash only - no problem. We keep a little cash stash just in case. (That’s about as far as our preparedness goes.) I couldn’t believe my luck. I strapped the cases of water to the bike and took off for home. 

I got home and Jen was psyched. And immediately after her short burst of psychedness, she said, “Go get more.” Jesus!” Here’s what I’ve learned about Jennifer though. She has a good instinct for things like this. She had said multiple times on Thursday that with the storm coming we should just go ahead and leave for Wilmington that day. We totally could have. I said, “Ahh, it’ll be fine.” That is my default. I don’t think things through all the way. I assume everything will be fine, and I assume that if everything isn’t fine I’ll float through it based on luck and charm and good looks. Mostly luck and charm. Mostly luck. Usually, that’s how things go for me. I can get into some serious trouble but I always believe it’ll be fine in the end and it usually is. That’s not really a prudent way to go about things. Jen is smarter about these things. The problem is - I never realize that until it’s too late. We should have just left on Thursday. We would have been freaking out about the neighborhood, the condition of the house, the condition of our studio, etc… But, we would have missed all of the hell too. Too late. I made a note to listen to Jen next time. Of course, that note will disappear in the wind before the next time comes. I went and got more water. By the time I got there, there were only 7 cases left. There was tons when I’d been there before. I grabbed another two because that’s all I could handle on the bike. I headed home. On the way, I stopped to check out the condition of the Pilates studio. It seemed fine. No power or water, but no damage that I could see.

A crew of linemen had showed up on our street while I was out. They were working on the power lines. I asked one of the crew if he had any intel. He said, “We might have power on tomorrow. Maybe even tonight.” I loved hearing this but I didn’t believe him even for a second. I wanted to, but I didn’t. It’s a week later as I write this and there is no power in our neighborhood.

We had some family discussions about what the heck we should do.

SUNDAY 9/29

Being without running water will cause you to rethink your choices and your circumstances. It’s not a good thing. Our strategy for number two was to put a plastic grocery bag into a small garbage can and squat over it, tie it up, and bring it out to hide a big surprise for the garbage dudes. Sorry garbage dudes. Hell, who knows when the garbage dudes will be back anyway? I asked our neighbor if, instead of bringing our little solar generator over to charge constantly if they might allow me to run an extension cord from their house (with a propane generator) to our house. They said, of course. I walked down to the RV and grabbed two extension cords. I brought them back, connected them to a slew of other extension cords I have in my kit for video and live stream work, and ran them through a window. We had constant power to the fridge, plenty of drinking water for now, and some food. So we weren’t panicking at all. But the word on the street was that this wasn’t going to get better anytime soon. Rumors were all over the place, but we’d heard weeks for power and possibly months for water. A neighbor had offered access to a little pond behind her house for flush water. Jen and Chelle brought back a couple of buckets of that. Flushing with pond water is a major upgrade from grocery bags. But still. 

We’d come to the decision that if we could find a way out of Asheville, we should take it. The first issue was the roads. Highway 40 was a no-go. Landslides and parts of the road sinking into the river made it impassable going East or West. 26, however, had some possibilities. We thought we could make it down to 74, and then take that east to Wilmington. There was talk of one section near Flat Rock that was closed, but it might be worth the gamble. The other issue was fuel. There was only 20 miles of range left in the Tacoma. I’d checked both Prius’ and neither had enough to get out either. What to do. What to do. I tried siphoning from Marcella’s Prius, but apparently, all modern cars have antitheft-blocking gadgets in there somewhere, and the tube couldn’t make it into the tank. I’m sure there’s a tricky way to do it, but I didn’t know what it was. I realized that I had three motorcycles sitting there. I siphoned the gas out of all of them and put it in the Prius. It wasn’t much. It wasn’t enough. On Friday when this started, I’d given a full six-gallon container of gas to a neighbor who had a gas generator but no gas. At the time I couldn’t think of a reason we’d need it. But now we did. Oh jeez, I can’t ask her for it back. But I kind of had to. I told her I’d only take as much as we needed to get out and would leave her the rest. And that’s what happened. I didn’t need much and left her with plenty. I also let her know that she could use our solar generator while we were gone, which would be more thrifty than her gas generator. She could charge the solar generator with the gas generator for an hour and then be all set with the lithium batteries for a long while. I didn’t feel too guilty. But I felt a little guilty.

We loaded up the car and took off. Prim did what Prim does and immediately filled the car with a thick toxic gas. Seemed like an auspicious start. We headed up to downtown and made our way to Patton Avenue, took a left, and crossed the French Broad River that had been one of Satan’s favorite wands in conjuring up this whole mess. There was massive traffic. We weren’t all that surprised. Okay, it’s going to be a long long day. But once we got on to 26 proper, it was smooth sailing. Very few vehicles, no problem. We couldn’t believe it. What had we been worried about? But until you know, you don’t know. Our fuel gauge held strong until we hit Chapin, and even there, 100 miles from Asheville, there was a line. We waited and we filled up. It felt good. We’d decided that instead of heading east on 74 we’d head straight down 26 to 20 to Wilmington. The reasoning was that if we got into any trouble, Jen had family in Columbia that we could count on to help if we needed it.

After we had that full tank of gas, we got on the Airbnb website and found a cheap as hell last-minute deal in a perfect location. We booked it. A couple of hours later we made it to Wilmington, got set up in our little two-bedroom house, and immediately took advantage of every faucet and toilet that the place had to offer. You can not know the pleasure of not having to poop into a grocery bag until you have had to poop into a grocery bag. I defecated in measured amounts just because I wanted to space it out and have the supreme pleasure of pressing down that little handle and watching things just magically disappear. Toilet technology hasn’t changed much since it was invented. That’s because it is a perfect technology. Malena came over and we made some quesadillas and we slept like the wind. I flicked the lights on and off just because I could. I turned the AC down as far as it would go just because I could. Electricity, running water, cell service, and the internet are incredible. 

MONDAY 9/30

I made huevos rancheros for breakfast and then Malena had to go to class. Jen, Marcella, and I worked all day. Marcella is a Risk Management Specialist at App State and is so lucky that she can work remotely until she can get back. That night we went to our favorite Wilmington Thai joint called Indochine. Usually, you have to get there at 4:30 pm before they open and stand in a long line across the parking lot to be seated. But Lane had a late lab, so we didn’t get there until 6 pm or so. But there was no wait and we went right in. Remember how my mom and Gary paid for our dinner at the Fogo Inn? Well, they struck again. I won’t give her my Venmo handle so she Venmo’d dinner money to Malena. She said she knew we’d been having a tough time and wanted us to have a nice meal. Sneaky - and appreciated. We love this place. We use the same Christmas bags for any gift-giving event and Jen and Malena opened their birthday presents and we had a big time. We were able to forget for a while all that was happening in WNC, which I felt guilty about being able to do. We went back to the little house, fed Prim, took her on a walk, watched a movie, and went to sleep. 

TUESDAY 10/1

I made huevos rancheros for breakfast and then Malena had to go to class. Someone had fed Prim, but she didn’t eat it. Weird. Like very weird. Jen, Marcella, and I started to work. Suddenly Prim got out of her bed and threw up a disgusting watery yellow bile. Poor girl. We thought she must have gotten into something last night when we were at dinner. I looked everywhere. There was nothing she could have gotten into. Every time she went out she was on a leash so she couldn’t have eaten anything strange outside either. What the hell is going on? She laid back down. We figured she’d feel better soon. But she was acting strange. She was staring at the wall. She didn’t look right at all. She got up and paced a bit. Something was going on. Then she collapsed on the floor. Her legs just gave way. She didn’t act like she was in pain. She was just sort of spaced out. Whatever was happening wasn’t good. Marcella started crying and I knew why. Because it was obvious that something bad was happening. I said, “She’s going to be fine,” but I didn’t believe it. Jen and Marcella comforted the dog while starting to freak out a bit. I started calling some vets. I explained to each that we’d escaped from Asheville and didn’t have a vet in Wilmington and we needed help. I explained what had happened. “Sorry, we’re not taking new clients. But based on what you’ve told me, you should bring her somewhere right away.” They’d each recommend another vet who also couldn’t take us and it went on like that for a while. Finally one of them recommended an emergency clinic. I called them and they said, “Come on in.” Prim wouldn’t get up. I rolled her up like a taco in her bed and carried her to the car. She would never ever normally let me carry her like this. Something was beyond wrong. Jen had a Zoom client that she wanted to cancel but I told her not to worry - we’d be back soon. Probably just need to get her stomach pumped. On the way, a vet I’d left a message with called me back. They said they couldn’t take us and recommended many of the places I’d already called. I told her we were on the way to the Emergency Vet. She said, “Only go there as a last resort.” I pulled over and called a few more places. It was a last-resort situation. We drove to the place and carried Primrose in. Five minutes later a tech was doing a triage, asked a few questions, and took her in back. I sat with Chelle on a bench waiting. We were scared. The tech came and got me and took me around the corner. She said a bunch of vet tech stuff that I didn’t really understand. She said we want to do this and that and the other thing to try to find out what’s going on and it’s going to cost this much. I said go ahead. Back to the bench to let Chelle know what was up. Twenty or thirty minutes later the Tech brought me into another room and said that the doctor would be right in. The doctor came in and sat down. They knew we’d come from Asheville. She said, “I know you’ve had a horrible week. I’m sorry that I have to tell you it’s not going to get better right now.” I didn’t really want to hear this. I listened all the same. I have no idea what procedures they did to come to their conclusions, but she said (and I’m paraphrasing from what I can remember. I am sure this isn’t what she actually said), “A tumor burst in her stomach and there’s lots of bleeding. There’s cancer in her stomach, likely in her spleen, probably in her lungs and possibly in her heart. We could do surgery to try to remove what can be removed, but at her age and condition, it’s likely she’ll die on the table. If she doesn’t, she might get three more months. They won’t be good months.” WTF? Prim was just smelling up the car a day ago? She was her regular sad cute self until this morning. What are you talking about? I asked her if this should have been caught sooner. She said, “It wouldn’t have shown up in blood tests. Your vet wouldn’t have known. There are some tough choices that need to be made.” If there’s anything I like less than a regular choice it’s a tough choice. I asked some more pointless questions, choked up and couldn’t talk for a few minutes, and then continued. The Doctor was a compassionate professional and knew exactly what to do. Who knows how many times she’s had to deal with this exact scenario? I felt so lucky to have ended up at the last resort place. I have no clue what the other office was talking about or why they didn’t recommend we come here. The doctor and I made a plan. She would keep Primrose comfortable (and alive) until I could round up Jen and Malena. I went out to where Marcella was waiting and she knew from the look on my face and started crying a little. I told her the situation and she kept crying. What is happening? But she didn’t fall apart. We had things to do. We went back to the house to get Jen. I’d texted her the vague details. She was crying when we got there. We hopped in the car. I texted Malena,

“Where are you?”
“I’m in lab, what’s up?”
“Don’t freak out, but Prim is having an emergency. We need to come get you now.”

She didn’t freak out. At least not completely. She let us know where to pick her up and 8 minutes later she was in the car. We explained what was going on and she broke down as expected. If there ever was a Kingdom of Sadness, our little Prius was it. It was horrible. 

We got back to the clinic and reception said they were just waiting for a room. The Tech overheard this and made a look that said, “Hell no.” She found a room in a matter of seconds and brought us to it. There was a sofa and a few chairs. The three girls sat on the sofa and cried and we waited. A woman came in and said she was the social worker. I’d never heard of a vet social worker. But she was so calm and so soothing. A professional. She took me outside and we talked about how this was going to go down. She asked me what we wanted to happen after - and we’d decided that the only thing we could do was cremation. Malena had already said, “I don’t want her buried under the tree with everyone else in case you guys move.” Every lizard and cat that has passed away over the years is buried under a pink dogwood tree in the backyard as are several groundhogs and a possum. Malena wanted some ashes that could go where we go. So that’s what I told the social worker. I told her I’d like to deal with the payment beforehand so that we wouldn’t have to deal with it afterward. She said she’d get that prepared and led me back into the room. I had no idea how much money we’d spent already, but I had a feeling it was thousands. I didn’t give a shit at that moment, but after being away from work on a crazy 30-day RV trip, and then working for four days when we got home until a hurricane shut down our studio for who knows how long… I mean - money is unfortunately an issue to worry about. But not now.  We sat in the room a few minutes longer. She came back and pulled me out. 

“The doctor is comping everything except the cremation. That’s done by another company and we have no control over that.” 

“What? Hold on. What? No, that’s okay - we can…” 

“The doctor wants to do this. It’s already been done. Here’s your invoice. I’ll take your card for the cremation and that will be that.” 

“But. I. Holy shit, thank you. Thank the doctor. I mean.. I. Are you sure? This is, this is, I mean…” 

She took my card and I went back into the room. She brought my card and some paperwork back and then they brought Prim in along with her bed. Jen and the girls got off the sofa and we put her there. We all crowded around her taking turns breaking down. Or fawning over our girl. “Oh Prim, you’re the best. It’s going to be okay. You’re so brave. You cute little stinky. Oh, little tiny we love you.” I thought hard about making a joke about finally getting my hands on those tender jowls I’d been dreaming about for so long. I knew for a fact that the girls and Jen would laugh and that it would lighten the mood, but I just couldn’t break the intense fog of thick sadness we had spent a lot of energy creating. Sadness is cleansing. It has a purpose. We all needed to feel it and live in it and embrace it. We took some final photos of ourselves with Prim while we could. It didn’t seem morbid at the time and still doesn’t. The doctor came in and we made a little room, but not much. Prim already had a port in her front leg. The doctor asked if we wanted her to explain what she was doing as she did it. Malena said, “Yes.” Malena has dealt with this before. She’s in college studying biology with the goal of being a vet someday. She’s shadowed and volunteered in vet offices and has seen this procedure before. The doctor was an angel. So gentle, so to the point, so plain-spoken. And I swear to god, she was sad too. She explained exactly what she was doing and what to expect. All the while we said our farewells and comforting Prim who had been feeling no pain since she was brought in. Whatever they gave her to be comfortable was working like a charm. She was the same weird goofy “dog” she’d always been. None of us could believe what was happening. And then it happened. We were all right there with our hands on her. Her final act was to stick her little tongue out at us where it remained there between her teeth as she went still. Final Tongue Out Mode. The doctor gave us a few more minutes to sit with her.

Jen and the girls will attest that I had been joking about Primrose dying for about 8 months. Talking about death has always been important to me. I always wanted the kids to be comfortable with the subject from the start. Pretending it’s not going to happen is a grave error in my book. I don’t believe it’s something to ignore. Being constantly aware that it’s coming is a skill that I am proud to have honed and I want the rest of my family to have that skill too. It’s important. Also, the subject of death is a great opportunity to say inappropriate things which is a hobby of mine. Like if Prim slipped a little coming down the stairs, “That’s it. Prim is on her way out. You guys better say your last goodbyes.” Or someone would ask if we should take Prim on a walk. “Sure, if she’s still breathing, let’s go!” Or when she’d let out an especially nasty dog fart, “Smells like death is coming soon…” Or before we headed out on our 30-day epic RV adventure, “If she’s going to kick the bucket I sure wish she’d do it before we have to board her for thirty days…” They’re all used to this sort of thing. I’ve always wanted to be a weird eccentric old man that the neighborhood kids would avoid at all costs and make up stories about. I think I’m on the right path. There were signs. She couldn’t deal with the stairs as well anymore. She’d occasionally space out and stare at nothing. Her hearing was starting to go. Her eyesight might have been failing a bit. The vet said she probably had a touch of doggy dementia and that it would likely build as the years passed. The hike where she couldn’t make it up the hill was a turning point. The couple of times she fell down the last couple of stairs. And also there was the problem of plain old math. We’d had her for 13 years and she was at least one or two when we got her (we have no idea really). Fifteen is a hundred and five in dog years. That’s old as hell. Prim was old as hell. I was constantly joking about her impending death because I knew it was coming (I mean, it’s always coming) and I thought it might help us to be ready for it. (It didn’t.) But also, joking about their dog riled the girls up, which is a passion of mine. “Primmy will never die, will you Little Tiny?!” Little Tiny was for some reason another nickname for Prim. Kind of redundant, I know.

I’m not a very new-age type of person. I don’t believe in much of anything that I can’t see and touch. I’ve had one paranormal experience in the middle of a stretch of desolate highway in Texas, but that’s a subject for another post. But I do believe in coincidence and chance and luck. I really do. It has played a big part in my life many times. I believe it’s possible that Primrose orchestrated this whole thing. She waited until we were all together. Imagine if this had happened in Asheville? What would we have done? Malena wouldn’t have been there which would have been an absolute tragedy. No vet clinics were open. What would have happened? Each scenario I can come up with is horrible. We would have had to just watch her suffer. What if it had happened during our 30-day RV trip while she was frolicking and lounging at the kennel? That would have been horrible. What if Marcella was in Boone where she lives and works? That would have been horrible. For such a terrible thing - it couldn’t have happened any better. Had we come to visit Malena when we originally planned we would have already been back in Asheville. The fact that it happened when all of us were in Wilmington North Carolina together is freakishly lucky. We were all able to be there with her. It’s amazing and I’m thankful.

When I told Jen and the girls that the vet had comped everything, they all put their hands to their mouths and choked up. None of us couldn’t believe it. “But, why?” We think it had to do with the fact that we were refuges from Asheville where the worst flooding event in American history had just occurred. That, and the extreme sadness that we fogged up the place with. But they must have this amount of sadness each time this happens. So we don’t really know why. Once again, amazing. I’m still gearing up to write the tech, the social worker, and the doctor what I hope will be a letter they will fold neatly and keep in their desk drawer to read whenever they’re having a shitty day, to remember how good they are at their job and how they helped a family through a very bad day with compassion and grace, extreme decency, and unexplainable generosity. Thankful doesn’t cover it. We are so lucky. 

At the end of this emotional day, we had a pizza which soothed us. I myself had several beers which soothed me. One of Malena’s friends who worked at the pizza place we ordered from added a free dessert pizza because she knew about the day we’d had and wanted to brighten it. I feel like we just have a lucky knack for brushing against sweet people. Malena went in to pick up the order and I watched the immediate long hug she received through the plate glass window and I was so happy that she has friends like this. 

I figured out how to mirror my phone to the TV and we looked at about a thousand photos of Primrose. We laughed and we cried some more. We remembered all sorts of things that we did together and the quirks that made her so special - many of which I wrote about in the last post. Malena kept Prim’s dog collar and every time it jangled it made that sound it’s made for longer than I can remember, I turned expecting to see that sad-ass dog walking across the room. Even this morning I caught myself before saying out loud, “Did anyone feed Prim yet?” It’s been a rough week. 

Primrose Lavender Homefry Gianni was never a real dog and never had to be. She was a treasured member of the family and we miss her terribly and I’m not sure what we’re go to do without her. At least it smells a little better around here…