With uncontrollable streams of tears covering our faces for the past month or so, and with a strong unwillingness to accept the situation as it has turned out to be, I'm very much struggling to say 'rest in peace'.

Although Jack wasn't quite himself this summer his symptoms -not eating properly and being sick- took a turn for the worse when autumn knocked on the door. Although he's always been a fussy eater you just know something's wrong when he consciously chooses to ignore the sound of fruit being peeled or the rattling sound of picking up the cheese slicer from the cutlery drawer. However what's one supposed to think? As said, Jack has always been a fussy eater and therefore some of the symptoms weren't entirely out of place. Especially when the vet reassured us that it's 'nothing to worry about' and 'probably just some irritation of the intestines' and 'just give him some antibiotics and it soon will be over'. The vet was about 0/3 right. Or 2/3 if you count cancer as 'probably just some irritation of the intestines' and ignore the antibiotics and immediately jump to 'it soon will be over'.

"The vet was about 0/3 right. Or 2/3 if you count cancer as 'probably just some irritation of the intestines' and ignore the antibiotics and immediately jump to 'it soon will be over'."

It must be made clear that we don't blame the vet as she in a million years couldn't have known this awful truth. His hair glistened like silver and golden threads, his eyes showed love and cheekiness and his nose shone as ever before. So the morbid moral of this story, more than ever: it's not the outside but the inside that counts. And now, I guess, you wouldn't be surprised that this moral doesn't come with a happy ending. Indeed, this revelation ends the life of a beautiful creature. A creature who was much more than merely the life he portrayed. He was a gift of hope. Only four and a half years old.

Mein Handy und ich

So, my dog died. Which is one of the reasons I postponed my 'blogging career' to an unforeseeable whenever/whatever in favour of lying in bed depressed. Weirdly I haven't cried that much. Besides the sudden aggressive outbursts of grieve when faced with the painful truth of his absence that fully drains the body and the will to live, everything has been suffered without a snotty nose and a wet face. Although with balled fists, sneering comments, loneliness, insomnia and depression. Which, I read, is perfectly normal as long as it doesn't last for too long. Which, in turn, begs the question: how long is too long?

"I have thought of multiple conspiracy theories where phone companies only exist to annoy me."

Anyway, I started to write these words down because I was thinking about things that I miss. Funnily enough this wasn't spiralled from contemplating about my dead dog, but because of my mobile phone. I recently switched from phone company and everything has gone wrong since then. I'm actually quite a veteran in wrong or non working phones to the point where I have thought of multiple conspiracy theories where phone companies only exist to annoy me (trust me, I can proof it). However it made me realise -and hold your (imaginary) cup of tea (or whatever you fancy) tightly as this sentence is going into an unexpected direction- how much I actually do not rely on my phone.

Apparently I can spend days without the thing. Although admittedly my hands began to itch after day three, which apparently can be explained through the history of civilisation according to Darian Leader and his book Hands: What We Do With Them. I haven't read the book, but I really want to as it sounds fascinating. Also it got on my nerves that I still had to pay for the stupid thing while it DIDN'T BLOODY WORK.


I contemplated why I wasn't more upset or unsettled for this gap in my life because I can and will spend hours just staring at that little screen. So why no tears for Argentina? I really thought hard about it and came to the following conclusions:

1.  I have no social life. So I wasn't missing anyone's sweet messages (as my mother was aware of my technical difficulties). Also all work stuff is mostly arranged through email and the good ol' laptop is still working tiptop, so no losses there... *touches wood*
2. Although my sister and I grew up in a technological advancing world, on the innovation adoption lifecycle (yes, there is such a thing as an 'innovation adoption lifecycle') we certainly weren't/aren't/never will be innovators or early adopters. I wouldn't catogorise us as laggards or technophobes, but sometimes we can come scarily close to that definition.
3. Because of point 2 we've developed something I'd like to serenade to with Don't You Know How Busy & Important I Am? by Tom Rosenthal. Basically: too many hobbies, too little time. Also uni is always willing to provide time-consuming/robbing activities when the idea of boredom slowly spirals into the mind.

RECOMMENDED: Ich Hab Dich Lieb: Liebster Award 2017

Did you miss me?

So after I was finally reintroduced into online existence, browsing Instagram and the likes, I once again acknowledged my relationship with my mobile phone. It was a thing. A thing that lead me to other things. And because the thing primarily leads to other things it's less crucial (except when you're desperately lost and Google Maps is unavailable) than -you can at this point unclench that tight grip you have on that (imaginary) cup of tea (or whatever you chose to hold) as this sentence is going into a predictable direction- real living beings. Basically: a dead dog is worse than a dead phone. Yes, I too am impressed by this startling insiders information. You can really see those first months of uni paying off.

"I concluded, besides a few million dollars, I'm actually truly missing two things: my dead grandmother and my dead dog."

From there I came to the question what I really, desperately missed. And I concluded, besides a few million dollars, I'm actually truly missing two things: my dead grandmother and my dead dog. This has something I think to do with me being unable to accept their deadness as I think they've died too soon and in an unfair way (other dogs died of old age, which is hard but at some level acceptable, and there was no other grandmother to begin with so...). Especially in the case of Jack -please don't take any offense grandma!- where one moment he's a living, tail sweeping creature and the next he's a dying cancer patient that can't be saved (although same with my grandmother who went from 'just a cold' to never returning home again), it's hard to say: okidoki, let's move on.

I know how privileged I am for 'only' missing two things in my life, however 'only' must be read not in the slightest sense of the word. 'Only' represents, say, two chopped off limbs of a three limbed body (I'm not a biologistm just go with the analogy OK). So now I'm, rather astonishingly, limping on one limb. Frantically bouncing up and down in the hope I don't fall flat faced on the ground sucked into a black hole where Google Maps can't find its way out. What a time to disappoint, Google Maps... *disappointedly shakes head*

A new life

After having hopped around for some time like a bunny on a sugar rush, it came to me that maybe my list of missing wasn't just bound to unfairness in death. And my frantic hopping wasn't bound to just trying to escape the black hole. Maybe, like the few million dollars, there was something missing that related to 'wanting' instead of 'gone forever, impossible to reproduce'. And that 'maybe' was maybe the reason I kept hopping in the first place. Because it certainly is so much easier to stay in bed all day than to not stay in bed all day.

"I felt I was betraying the remembrance of Jack to want or even crave for a new life, but I was."

What I wanted was hard to swallow. I wanted a dog. Preferebly my dog, but since that option wasn't available I noticed how my mind slowly accepted the idea of another dog. I felt I was betraying the remembrance of Jack to want or even crave for a new life, but I was. And I wasn't the only one. After a few rowdy discussions, tears and sleepless nights we stumbled across a dog, another dog, who immediately melted my heart.


So meet Sarah! Or Saar for short. A black and tan Jack Russell of 8 weeks old (born 17 September 2017). She's a real cutie-pie and loves to cuddle. We first met on Sunday 5 November and she came home with us about a week later on the 11th.


As my mother rightfully said after I asked her how she wanted to introduce Saar to her Instagram followers (oh yes, always there to ask the really important questions): "For many people it's just like 'oh sad dog dead' and 'oh yay puppy'. They don't experience or think about the mixed emotions that come to play." And indeed, YOU don't have to worry about this struggle between torment and bliss and enjoy the puppy without the emotional baggage attached to it. However for me they are there. Jack played such an important role in our lives, a role that literally can't be described or explained to others, that trying to flee his memory feels like a 'get out of jail free' card, a betrayal to him and his (non)existence.

"You can, I've decided, be deeply sad and very happy at the same time. The one shouldn't bow down for the other."

However I think I have come to terms with my sorrow and doubts. Sarah certainly isn't a replacement of either Jack or the grief for Jack. She's a whole wonderful game of her own. You can, I've decided, be deeply sad and very happy at the same time. The one shouldn't bow down for the other. Or replace one for the other. They can be respectively different components that ultimately, eventually celebrates life.


Although it's still impossible for me to say 'rest in peace', the tears are now more and more met with a smile (it's hard not to when looking at Saar). Not replacing them, but embracing them in a way where new life can celebrate and mourn at the same time.