A little glitter goes a long way

Immediately following the death of my mother, my dad confessed, “It wasn't supposed to happen this way—I was supposed to die first.” She was the love of his life, and I was worried for him. He and I made a pact that very day; we would always be honest with, and there for, each other. Three years later after my second divorce, Dad invited me to move in with him to his house, my childhood home. I believe that things happen for a reason and I can see now that living with him, at that time, was exactly what we both needed. We had a lot in common before I moved in with him, but we bonded even more by taking care of each other. We added to our powerful duo when I adopted my dog Glitter and the three of us became a true pack. The first day we picked her up, she ran directly to my dad and looked up at him with her big eyes all the while melting down his legs and he was smitten. They bonded immediately and she rode home in the car on his lap and promptly fell asleep cradled in his arms. I was grateful for their bond. I worked full-time, which meant that my dad would be alone for most of the day, and she was excellent company for him. Friends and family told me that me living with my dad played a role in the quality of life during those years, but I would go even further and say that Glitter was just as impactful as I was. He would sing to her, talk to her, and pet her. He wished he could read her mind. He snuck her people food and overtreated as signs of affection. He told me matter-of-factly that's just what a Grandpa does. And, just as with me, he worried about her and told her regularly that he loved her. Once, I had to call an ambulance for him and as the EMS were closing the doors on the vehicle, he yelled out through the closing gap to me, “TAKE CARE OF GLITTER!” At 92, my dad was capable of doing all the tasks of daily living. He did his own self-care, paid bills, managed his pills, was driving, doing dishes and laundry. He was very fortunate to have been fully capable and mobile up until the last few months of his life. All of a sudden, he deteriorated rather quickly and had been in and out of the hospital a handful of times, which was rare for him. The last time he went into the hospital, a code blue and transfer to the ICU was the sign I was dreading; I knew he wasn't coming back home. Knowing what Glitter meant to him, I asked the ICU team if she could come visit her grandpa and to my delight, the head nurse approved. The first day I brought her to see him a physician was in the room giving the latest updates on what had been going on with my dad overnight. As soon as Glitter was up and in the bed with my dad, his oxygen levels went from the high 70s to 100 in an instant. The doctor turned to me and said, “I've never seen anything like that before.” But, I had. I had the privilege of being a first-hand witness to her caring energy and unconditional love impacting his health and well-being on a daily basis. She got to visit him the rest of the time he was in the ICU and worked her special magic up to the very end. He left this physical world a couple of days later with me and my sister on either side of his bed, each holding one of his hands and Glitter laying in the bed with him between his legs with her head resting on my hand holding his. I'm grateful she was present at the very moment of his death, both for his sake and for hers. I believe that he was glad that she was there for him at a scary and difficult time and brought him a bit of joy or relief merely by being there or him being able to rest a hand on her, just like she did for him every day at home. It was important to me to have made that happen, because quite frankly, not including her was unthinkable to me. I truly believe that Glitter understood that he died that day and has successfully adjusted to life without him. Like me, I'm sure she mourns him, but I believe that she understands why he's not physically with us anymore simply because she was able to be a part of it.