Mimi Remembers

I write frequently about Bennet and Ruby when it comes to this not-having-a-Mama-thing. When it comes to my human offspring, my mouth cannot consume the salty tears coming down my face quickly enough when I think about Mom. Tonight, I realized that I have another set of overwhelming emotions when it comes to my eldest, four-legged daughter.

It was December of 2003, and I quit my doctoral program. Lamenting the woes of trying to find a job and giving control to those who judged me for quitting, I was in my self-involved world. Then, I found out Mom's cancer had come back. The big, stupid C. While I was gone to Madison for graduate school for two years, all was well. I came back to Austin to pursue a life of research and academia, decided to quit after one semester and the cancer was back. Life is strange, and life is timely.

It was easy to make the choice to move back to Wylie. I was with Mom. It was, after all, where I grew up. My minutes, my hours were filled with work, reveling in Mom's stories and commentary about life, radiation appointments, chemotherapy and late night phone calls with Jeremy. My heart felt good. My lungs, on the other hand, were stifled. My world was downsized, and I was pissed-off. Friends were going to happy-hours, dates, music festivals. I remember hating Fridays. People would jovially talk about weekend plans. I would cry the entire hour driving home from work. The tears would always culminate into sobbs by the time I reached the drive-way. I remember calling Jennifer and sobbing and crying and sobbing. It was our weekly Friday date. Once the tears ran out, I would clean my face, enter the house with a smile and have dinner with Mom. Each bite of food was hard to swallow.

This was my life for months. Then, everything became brighter. The stars aligned, and I was going to meet my pug. My entire life, I wanted a pug. My friend Danny says I look like one. Maybe that's why? I aesthetically align with them. Regardless, it was love and love and love at first sight. She was the runt of the litter, and they named her Anasthasia. This did not work for me. She was renamed My-Lan, the name of the little girl in a Chinese lullaby mom used to sing to me. Over time, she became our Mimi Pug.

Mimi is nine years old now. Her face is so white now, and her eyes tell me that remembers that last year with mom. Mimi was my comfort and my solace. She was also Mom's. Her antics brought chortles to Mom's days. Instead of sitting on the couch all day while I was at work, Mom would spend her days with her squished-face companion.   While other dogs consumed dog food, our Mimi would get jasmin rice with the brown sauce from fatty pork. Even though I asked Mom not to, she would sneak in little pieces of the meat.  Still a wee-puppy, Mimi's energy was plentiful, and it surely put a little spunk in Mom's step. Until Mom couldn't do it anymore.

By the time Thanksgiving came around, the jaundice had returned. Everything had gone to shit. Mom's liver, pancreas, everything was shot. A Po, grandma, was living with us by this time. Mom couldn't be alone while I worked. By the time I got home each day, everyone was always spinning around Mom. She would just sit. My loquacious mother became a mute. You know, the only person that I think gave her peace was Mimi. I remember coming home, and the sweet pug would just sit right at her feet. She would just stay there. If mom had to go the bathroom, Mimi would sit and wait until she returned to her seat. Spunky, spry Mimi knew that Mom needed something else. She was less than a year old, and Mimi knew Mom was dying.

As I am typing this, Mimi is quietly sleeping next to me in the bed. When I look at her, I always, always think about that last year we had together with Mom. After the funeral, sleeping was hard. Dad worked nights, so, I was alone in the house. I was scared to sleep, and, to be honest, I was scared to live life without a mother. In the middle of one night, I remember walking over to Mimi's crate and opened the door. She looked confused. Once I patted the bed, she happily jumped up, nestled against the bend behind my knee and quickly fell asleep. So did I.

On days when things are more-than-a-bit hard, and I am missing Mom with every cell in my body.  I look at Mimi, and she understands.  More importantly, she remembers.  She was there when I needed her most, and she is here now for us and the girls.  And for that, I am so pug-grateful.