Kahuna Signs

Today marks the one week anniversary of the day I was not prepared for. That Day. Last words. Last hug. Last day of my Kahuna filled life. I still sleep on “my side” of the bed, and find myself referring to future plans as, “We want to…” It was the George and Paula Show for so long, and separating myself from that beautiful companionship is going to take time. Writing is helping me heal, and I thank those reading this for indulging my oversharing.

When does it feel real? I know he’s gone. There will be no return to his side of the bed. No more stories my Kahuna famously told – and retold - with such enthusiasm. For now I feel as if I’m going through the motions of daily life, and not truly feeling his absence. Tears flow freely - and often - as if I'm part of a sappy Hallmark movie. Yet this isn't fiction and my reality hasn't quite gotten the memo.

I’ve got a village doing everything possible to help make the transition more bearable. And I have learned just how much George was directing key players from the sidelines these past four months, assuring his inevitable departure (CANCER SUCKS) would be as painless as possible for me, his LPM, Lovely Paula Marie.

This week with the help of our best friend, we sat at George’s desk preparing his case files for colleagues who have so openly and willingly stepped up to keep his clients represented. Making calls. Breaking the news to those who felt so secure in his capable professional hands. Discussing his clients with his sister/brotherhood of attorney friends, and crying at some point in every conversation. His absence from all of our lives is very real, yet I can’t say the reality – the finality – has sunk in. Is that a sign that he’s still “with” me?

Signs Oh how I want to know that, absent of his cancer ravaged body, my Kahuna is watching over me. Over us. For those who process the afterlife differently, I honor and accept your version. For me, I have taken great comfort when my dearly departed have “visited” me in dreams, appeared in nature, or somehow let me know they are with me. My sister is with me with every monarch butterfly. Another beautiful soul drops by as a dove occasionally. George seems to be dropping by too, visiting family and friends, and likely leaving hints that they are all now responsible for the care and feeding of his LPM…

The Wake Up Call  George’s heart stopped less than a minute after Son arrived in the ICU, completing our family circle who lovingly and tearfully surrounded him. Our extended family had all gone to bed praying for George, and expecting an update in the morning. That update would shatter everyone’s hopes. As word spread to our closest family and the Pilgrimage to Paula began, so did the tales of the signs. Niece, suddenly awakened from a sound sleep at the exact time her favorite uncle was in that tearful hug with Son – the moment I believe George waited for - before letting go of his failing body. Uncle George stopped by to see his beautiful “little girl” and let her know he would always be a second father as well as a dear friend. In the days after, others shared stories of unusual awakenings that coincided with my Kahuna’s first, then second heart stopping moments. Signs.

The Whale  The morning after his passing, Daughter and Son-in-law drove to the Pacific Coast Highway for some coffee, tears and reflection. You may know the spot – famous in many SoCal car commercials for its rugged cliffs and landmark rock protuberance. The Kahuna and I spent our fair share of moments in that exact spot, taking in the endless view and salt spray of crashing waves. Suddenly Daughter noticed, not far offshore, the distinct undulation of a whale as it slowly traveled along the coastline. In all of her visits to that spot she had never spotted a whale. Neither had I. She immediately texted me. A few days later, Niece checked in while on her long planned birthday trip along California’s Central Coast and shared her first-ever sighting of…you guessed it…a whale! My Big Kahuna Whale was with them. Signs.

Man’s Best Friend George is a pushover for the Golden Retrievers who have been the third Musketeer in the George and Paula Show. Charlie has assumed that role since we rescued him in 2015, and was probably the dog most bonded to his dad. After George’s diagnosis, Charlie stayed closer to his master – alongside his chair or curled up in George’s office while he met with clients. Charlie prefers sleeping downstairs in his “spot”, and rarely sauntered up the stairs – unless he sensed George was putting on his walking shoes for their daily stroll - and bounded up for confirmation. They were inseparable. Yet dogs live in the moment, so George’s absence doesn’t play out with human emotion. Charlie’s still waiting for Dad to come through the door, yet is his happy-go-lucky Golden self in the meantime. But he’s here for me. Nuzzled into my lap when I had my first meltdown. And this morning – only my second overnight alone since That Day – I found Charlie at the foot of George’s side of the bed. As I lay in bed on my self-proclaimed day of solitude, he has stayed upstairs with me. George’s best friend is now my Hairy Kahuna, making sure I am safe. A sign.

The Rings  George had two wedding rings. The band I placed on his finger in 1974, and a second, slightly more blingy ring – my gift to him for our 40th anniversary, and a mate to the ring he gave me. His wedding band was all but fused to his ring finger, thanks to the extra pounds 44 years of marriage had bestowed on him. I did not expect it to leave his finger That Day, but his kind and compassionate ICU nurse had other plans. Using ultrasound lubricant gel, she oh-so-gently massaged his finger to work the ring from his lifeless hand and tenderly handed it to me. It was the last gift from George to me, and both rings now hang from a chain around my neck. They rest close to my heart – in my cleavage – my Kahuna is loving this placement!

Sweet grandbaby Kelly, at nine months, will sadly have no memories of her grandpa, other than the stories and photos we will share to keep him in her heart forever. One of George’s only regrets when he became sick was not having more time with his three grandchildren. He had hoped for fishing trips, more Disneyland adventures, and more time to create memories. Shortly after That Day, Daughter’s family decided to take their planned overnight trek to the happiest place on earth, and I opted to join them. It was our happy place too, and a good diversion for the day. I made it my role to stroll Kelly while Max, Daughter and SIL enjoyed the rides. She was my perfect companion – she let me cry as I recalled the memories with George here, and she didn’t question if I was “alright”. We took Kelly on one infant-friendly attraction – a little train ride. As I sat alongside Kelly in her daddy’s lap, she reached for the rings and held them the entire time. Holding Grandpa’s hand on her first ever ride at his favorite place to be a kid at heart. She has continued to clutch the rings at every opportunity since then. Grandpa is keeping close. A sign.

In Dreams  I have heard from friends and family that George has “visited” them. A presence. A feeling. A dream. I experienced those encounters when my mother and sister died, and had a beautiful moment with one of our Goldens – Bear – after we lost him suddenly. George’s dad came to him shortly after his death, and he found great comfort and wonder in the experience. I wanted more time with my Kahuna and was slightly envious hearing he had popped in on others and not me – yet!

I had my moment – the first of many I hope – two nights ago. We didn’t talk, but we hugged. I could feel him. There was less girth to wrap my arms around, which I attributed to the massive tumor being gone. He hugged back. We kissed. It was still wonderful. I awakened suddenly and he was gone. I willed myself back to sleep in hopes he would still be there. He wasn’t. I’m hoping he will return for a conversation one day. I have more to tell him. I want him to know I’m sorry for those last excruciating hours.

On this self-imposed day alone, I am going to look at photos, listen to music, hug Charlie and take a long walk. I’ll be looking for signs. I know my Kahuna is sending them.

Alone

Day 3 of #kahunagone is almost in the books. I’m cozied up with Daughter, Son-in-law and the kids in the hotel across the street from Disneyland. Tomorrow I will suspend reality and enjoy the sweet smell of innocence and joy with my grands. I’m glad today is over...

I was alone for the first time today. ALONE. Daughter had spent the night as my protector and designated shoulder to cry on. We shared stories of her dad/my Kahuna. Laughed. Cried. Planned for the new normal. Hugged and went to bed.

I had assured everyone who had been super-glued to my side since Thursday I was fine. And I thought I was - until Daughter left this morning. Within minutes I felt the emptiness of a house absent of my lifelong roommate.

“Just keep swimming,” I thought. I swam - into a riptide of reminders. His keys in their familiar spot. His clothes in the laundry basket. His name on a get well card received too late.

Then it hit. My mind flashed to the ICU and the terror in his eyes after being intubated. It is burned in my memory and it haunts me. I thought he would get better. I said yes to the procedure yet it didn’t matter. I felt such guilt, and for the first time in this terrible journey I wailed with unbridled grief. I was alone and I let go. Screamed into his sweatshirt I wore to keep him close. Shook uncontrollably and told George how sorry I was to have put him through such a horrific procedure. I asked him to send me a sign to say he forgave me.

My meltdown confused Charlie, and he did what Goldens do - sidled up to my limp body, nuzzled his way into my arms and buried his head in my lap. I took his big blond head into my hands and found comfort in his soft furry love. I was physically drained and emotionally spent, and realized the new normal would not always be pretty.

Another first? A trip to Trader Joe’s - to shop for one. An encounter with a sweet friend who had not heard The News. Finding the right words to answer the question,”How’s George doing?” Crying in the produce aisle and comforting him upon hearing my reply.

At one point in the day, my bed sounded like the perfect spot to wallow in self pity. Forget Disneyland. Postpone the visit to check out a venue large enough to accommodate George’s “Party”. But I persisted! Channeled my inner Kahuna - and a dear friend Bridget - and pulled on my big girl pants. Showered and dressed and packed my bag for my day in Fantasyland. Mission accomplished!

There will continue to be more of these moments that give me pause, and I suspect each one will help cover the open wound on my heart. For now I consider making it through today a win.

Tonight, as the muffled booms of Disneyland’s fireworks fill the night air, I am wishing upon a star, asking for my for Big Kahuna’s forgiveness and looking for signs that he is alright. Perhaps tonight’s sunset was an answer!

Sweet granddaughter held his rings on her first ever Disneyland ride. A sign.

Goodnight Moon. Goodnight my love. 💙

Life Lessons from Lucy - An Old Dog's Wisdom

Hello readers (aka family and friends!). A lot of life has happened since I began my journey into "super adulthood". My adventures continue, and I have made a promise to myself to share them in the weeks and months ahead. 

Today, one of the saddest moments that a pet owner must endure prompted my return to blogging. We had to say goodbye to our wonderful girl Lucy. Writing helps me heal, and the following post is my tribute to Sweet Miss Lucy.... 

She must have been a beautiful baby. I can imagine a creamy blonde bundle of fluff, small for her breed, and likely the most mellow of her litter. A precious Golden Retriever who would have brought joy to any family. Instead she became breeding bitch G-75 - according to her ear tattoo - and was doomed to life in a cage at a puppy mill. A commodity - the canine incubator of profitable pups as beautiful and kind as their mother. If not for the expensive C-section needed to deliver her last litter, G-75’s story would have ended differently. Instead, that C-section led her to us. Lucy’s life truly began when she picked us as her family. 

Lucy made every day better. She was perfect, and we are heartbroken that she is gone. But sweet Miss Lucy has left us with some important life lessons. Our old dog taught us a lot about how to live one’s days....

Never say never

Hubby and I had been a dog-free household for five years. We were never going to have another dog. After our last Golden, Tracy, died suddenly, the pain of her loss was something we could not imagine going through again. But I was ready. So was hubby. We opted for a rescue and began the process of adoption. Within 3 weeks, I saw her on the list of available Goldens. Saved from the shelter where she had been discarded. They had named G-75 Julie Lynn, and we knew she was The One! She was our Lucy.

Forget the past, find joy in the present

Lucy’s first life must have been horrific. Yet, except for a couple of avoidable phobias - the sound of rustling plastic bags, water from the hose - she was extraordinarily calm, kind, and friendly to every dog, cat, kid and creature she ever met. Every day we could feel Lucy’s appreciation for the life we gave her - it was in her eyes, in her very presence. Lucy was content in the present - so were we!

Live and let live

Nothing riled Lucy, including our wild backyard bunnies! Over the years, the past Hultman pooches gave them a run for their money...and sadly, they provided an occasional bunny meal. Not Miss Lucy. They learned quickly that she had no interest in chasing their little cotton tails. It was comical to see them happily grazing on the grass nearby as Lucy found her perfect pee spot - which never overlapped with their nightly salad greens! 

Uphill battles are worth the effort

We had to teach Lucy a lot - puppy mills are void of stairs, car rides, toys and no pee zones! Each night’s journey upstairs to bed began with her thoughtful navigation of 14 steps. We could “see” her brain at work...”Okay, take one step up with one front paw....now another....hmm, now one step with the opposite hind leg...that’s it! Now repeat with the other front, other back and so on, and so on”.....every night for almost 5 years, we beamed like proud parents when she made it upstairs to the bedroom and her favorite spot on my side of the bed. Even in her weakest state, she insisted on fighting her upstairs battle, and slept peacefully with her people.

Greet your loved ones with glee

Coming home today, we felt the void as we drove up our long driveway. I was with Lucy most of the time (the luxury of working from home), but if left outside, she would wait patiently on the side yard, under the shade of the lemon tree until we returned. We delighted in finding her gazing attentively as we turned in the driveway, perking up once she confirmed our arrival - then dashing to the other side of the yard to gleefully bark her “Welcome Back - I’m so glad you are home!” Homecomings were filled with joy!

Live life with wags not growls

Lucy never, never, ever growled. Never! She feared no one, and assumed everyone loved her as much as we did. She actually loved the company of people more than pups! Dog park visits were less fun to Lucy than our favorite breakfast spot, where we were known as “Lucy, party of 3.” We would wait patiently for our table, and she would wag her tail and gently tug on her leash to get closer to those seated nearby. She was an unofficial therapy dog, and a kind lady once said, “I feel better just by seeing her.” She had that effect on people. 

Face life’s challenges with grace 

Lucy’s “G-75” years left her physically weakened. She wasn't strong enough to jump or stand on her hind legs, and tore her doggie ACL shortly after we got her. She endured surgery, steel plates, and 8 weeks confined to a small indoor space, followed by physical therapy until she could take walks again. Lucy handled the ordeal with calm resolve - and only a few whimpers. It was her first battle - and sadly not her last - and with each one, her tail wagged, she loved her doctors, and faced each and every  battle- including the last - with her Lucy spirit intact.

Our sweet girl was a special gentle spirit, and we feel blessed beyond words to have filled her final years with the love she deserved. It was an honor to share Lucy with so many, who were somehow drawn to her when in her presence. While the pain we feel today is hard to bear, we will be forever grateful that she found us. 

Sweet dreams, Sweet Baby Girl. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MHXFRGwjSzU

Our old dog, Lucy. We will cherish every memory with our sweet girl.
Rescued April 19, 2010
Crossed the Rainbow Bridge January 26, 2015