Widowish: A Memoir(50)

Earlier in the year, I had decided to take her to Paris as a graduation present. Sophie wouldn’t be going to summer camp that summer, so the cost of a trip to Paris felt justified. Plus, I had a free airline ticket and enough points to cover most of the cost of our hotel. Hal gave us a ride to the airport, and fifteen hours later, we were wheels down in Paris, France.

We had a full itinerary with a walking tour of the entire city one day, a bike ride excursion in Versailles on another. A close friend from London was coming in for the day to explore the Jardin des Tuileries and Musée de l’Orangerie with us and make quick stops at the Galeries Lafayette and Le Bon Marché. Another friend of mine from our neighborhood was also in Paris with her teenage daughter, and we met up with them a few times for dinner. If it sounds wonderful and ooh la la, it was. We were comfortable in Paris, even though we didn’t speak the language and it rained almost every day. We ate crepes and ice cream in the shape of roses. We walked almost everywhere and saw the Eiffel Tower, Notre-Dame Cathedral, and the Arc de Triomphe.

But oftentimes, Sophie was moody and tired and wanted to go back to our hotel. She took comfort in her laptop where she could get on Wi-Fi and watch her shows and get on social media. At times it seemed that the only reason she wanted so many photos was so that she could post them, rather than take in the fact that we were in Paris! I tried to be patient, but I got annoyed, and we argued.

“We’ve seen enough!” she’d yell at me when I’d suggest we hit another landmark after a full day. “I don’t need to explore the entire city. I want to go back to the hotel!”

I felt in over my head with her emotions. I couldn’t keep up with her unpredictable moods. I’d carry food with me at all times, thinking that maybe she had low blood sugar. When she seemed content, I’d relax. When she seemed anxious or disinterested, I acted over-the-top to compensate. It wasn’t different because we were in Paris. In general, I wanted to protect her from any kind of upset, but I also wanted her to feel her feelings. She seemed angry at me and frustrated, while I felt like I was giving her everything I had to give.

I second-guessed my motives for traveling; maybe it would have been better to stay home, keep up our routine, get used to life without Joel. Was I projecting my own feelings and anxiety on to Sophie about being an only parent or was this typical teenage behavior? I checked in with her therapist many times and was assured that Sophie was doing fine, but these behavioral changes still concerned me.

I usually didn’t take my phone with us while we were out during the day, so I’d check my email and any messages when we got back to the hotel. I had promised Sophie that we would go back to the Eiffel Tower on our last night so that we could take some photos of it all lit up. But after another full day of exploring and eating, I was surprised to find that my phone was maxed out with messages from home. Our beloved Lucy was sick. She had seemed lethargic and down in recent weeks, and taking her to the vet was on my to-do list for when we returned. But my neighbor Roxanne was trying to reach me. Lucy had stopped eating. She couldn’t get up on her hind legs. Roxanne took Lucy to the vet, who said that Lucy was suffering. She was fifteen years old, and it was simply her time. It was true that Lucy was an older dog, but her heart, like mine and Sophie’s, was broken. She was confused as to why Joel suddenly disappeared. She didn’t seem to recover from losing him eight months ago.

Once again, I was faced with a decision. They could have given Lucy medication to keep her comfortable, but we wouldn’t be home for eight more days. I couldn’t bear to have her in so much distress for that long.

I called my mom, and she met Roxanne at the vet. She and Roxanne were there to comfort Lucy as she took her last breath. Sophie and I cried and hugged each other in our hotel room. We felt so far away, so helpless.

“She’ll get to see Daddy,” Sophie cried.

“I know!” I whimpered. “She’s so lucky!” Which made us laugh.

We couldn’t believe our year. At this point, Sophie had lost her dad. And now her fur-sister, Lucy. Everything seemed out of order and out of whack. I didn’t want to admit to Sophie my guilt over not being there for Lucy because I didn’t want Sophie to feel bad about our being in Paris. But I was guilt ridden—I should have taken her to the vet before our trip! I should have noticed she was in worse shape than I thought. We had only been gone for six days. What if I had made these plans for the end of summer instead of the beginning? Then we would have been home to take care of Lucy during her last hours.

And then a thought occurred to both Sophie and me. Maybe Lucy waited for us to leave to spare us another deathwatch. It sounded crazy. Lucy was a dog. How would she possibly orchestrate such a thing? But she was everything to us, as we were to her. She showed me how capable my heart was of expanding. She prepared me for Sophie.

We mourned Lucy in front of the Eiffel Tower that night. It gave both Sophie and me comfort to think that she and Joel were together. We also had a sense of humor about things. Death was something we were now quite familiar with. We had to laugh; our lives had become so ridiculous.

We left the next day for New York, where we’d be spending another week with my dad and Elisabeth and Holly and her kids in the Hamptons. Sophie and her cousins had a sibling-like bond that we all loved. They were all getting older, but with a three-year age range between them, they easily played together at the beach and in the pool. They put on shows for us after dinner, picked out movies to watch from the library. They took turns baking special treats with Grandma, while Grandpa “taught” them how to drive on the quiet backcountry roads. Our time together that summer was relaxed and familiar, but someone was missing. Particularly for Sophie and me, just like in Hawaii . . . and Chicago . . . and Paris. Our grief traveled with us.