Finding the beauty in every breath.
As cliché as it might sound, it really
does feel just like yesterday that we brought Cooper home. It's hard for me to
believe that today, he turns 7 years old. Where did the years go and how did I
allow them to go fleeting by so quickly? Thinking back on those years, Cooper
has been such an integral part of our family. He has been through the best of
times with us and the most difficult. Although, he doesn't say much (unless
barking at the treat closet), his eyes and presence communicate so much. He has
been a presence of comfort and stability for me through everything and
continues to be.
Although I do not recall a lot of specific
memories between my brother and I, there's one thing that will always connect
us: the love for a dog. Not only will we forever be connected as brother
and sister, and the fact that we both had and have CF, but we will always have
this special understanding of what the love and companionship of a dog can
really mean. Little did I realize that until now as I think about the last 7
years with Cooper and what his presence has brought to my life. Nate spent most
all of his life living at the hospital. My childhood home was more of a
vacation retreat for him, and his true home was the hospital. The room itself
might have been made of cold cement and sterile tile, but it was filled with
such warmth by all those who cared for him. The most incredible thing was when
Nate was roughly about 13 years old, the hospital let him get a dog. Not only
did the hospital let him get a dog, they let him keep the dog with him at the
hospital at all times. Mystic, was a little Maltese that went everywhere and
did everything with Nate. I remember throwing toys across the room and watching
Mystic's little white fur bounce across the tile: I can still hear the sound of
those little paws meeting the hard floor. Looking back, that dog meant
everything to Nate: it meant a bit of normalcy, the comforts of a companion,
and the experience of loving something and being loved in return
unconditionally. After Nate died, Mystic became mine. He continued to grow up
with me and be a stable and irreplaceable connection to Nate in my adolescent
life. But looking back he would always be Nate's and I would not really
understand the depth of that connection until now.
Today, I packed Cooper up and we went for
a ride to the dog bakery to celebrate his birthday: something I couldn't have
done a mere 3 months ago. It was just him and I taking on the world. Life is
truly beautiful. Sometimes I think that Cooper knows me better than anyone:
there's something so truly special that we share in the silence between us. He
knows what's happening, he knows what CF is doing to our lives, and most of all
what CF is doing to me, yet his presence is unwavering and reassuring. He sits
on the couch next to me as I do treatments, kisses the tears away during those
difficult times, and brightens any and all days. Most of all, my love for
Cooper will always be a connection to Nate. Love to all you pet lovers.
Go hug your dog.
I’ve never
sung at a piano bar in my 28 years of life. I’ve always been an avid listener.
Nye’s changed that. I thought to myself, “why not?” So, Vera (the 70 something
staple of Nye’s) and I sang a little Judy Garland. My life has continued to
take on a type of “if not now, when?” mantra as I see the impact and realities
of CF confront me and those I love. Life is too short to not truly live: I must
reach out and grab every experience with both hands. The simple fact was that a
few months ago I couldn’t even sing at all, and for only a couple short months
have I been given the gift to sing again. So you see, I had to sing. I couldn’t let that moment pass me by, because I may
never be given the chance again. It didn’t matter how good or how terrible I
was at singing, all that mattered was sharing in the love of music with the
people I was surrounded by.
