I am sorry to have run out on you in the last post, I'm afraid that it all got a little bit much for me. But I'm doing better now and so will now share the remainder of Jaspey's last day.
....Following on, then, from Dave's goodbye - the afternoon was one of inexorable torment. My colleagues, plus Ewan and Fizzy, gathered to say a muted goodbye to their soon-to-be-fallen comrade. What words could anyone say? None could comfort; none could delay what was to come; none could make things better. Jo had the best of them: "Good boy, Jazz.". But Ewan, not to be outdone, inevitably had the last bark.
"See you tomorrow, Jazzy! Byeee!!!"
Poor Ewan. He wasn't - indeed, he couldn't - know that his best friend was about to be brutally, inexplicably, torn from his side. But I know that Jasper wanted it this way. No tears, no grieving for his friends. Sweet, simple, uncomprehending Ewan therefore said his goodbyes to Jasper without knowing that this would be their final parting. Fizzy,of course, knew; but that knowledge would have been too much for Ewan. It would have broken him utterly. Better, then, that Ewan's final goodbye to his friend and oft-time mentor was one of unsullied happiness, content and unclouded optimism.
Jasper smiled as we drove away, his tail wagging and alive with memories of the happy (even though they were sometimes exasperating) shared experiences at that place.
I know not how I managed to drive home that evening - all I remember is the departure and the arrival. My mother was there to greet us - joined, shortly afterwards, by Maisie. Dearest Maisie had originally said that she could not bear a final goodbye with Jasper but, when the moment came, she didn't want to see him go without one final cuddle. We all had a group hug, cry and shared prayer. And then Maisie walked out to my parents' car with us, Jasper in my arms, said her final farewell and watched through her tears as I climbed with Jasper into the rear of my parents' car, my mother at the wheel, and we moved slowly away.
Once inside the surgery, the kind lady vet - who had been the first to speculate that the problems in Jasper's snout might have been serious - ushered us sympathetically into one of the consulting rooms. Coincidentally it was the same room in which both of Jasper's predecessors, Jacqueline (Jaki) the Jack Russell and pretty, tragic Tess, had lost their lives. The vet left my mum and I with Jasper for a few moments, returning with the fatal syringe and a nurse. Both vet and nurse were in tears.
Looking down at my belovèd Jasper, I knew that the moment I both feared and dreaded had come. Every fibre of my being urged me to scoop up Jasper in my arms and flee from the surgery. I had to fight this urge with all the strength I had. I looked up desperately at the vet.
"I am doing the right thing, aren't I?" I asked, hoping against hope that the reply would be "Well, actually, I think he'll be OK in a few hours; it's just a mild chest infection." But she didn't. She earnestly replied that I was doing the very best by Jasper and it was the right decision; unquestionably. I asked the vet to tell me when she was about to administer the injection - and embraced my brave, wonderful Jasper for the last time. "Thank you Jasper." I told him gently, the tears pouring freely, "Thank you for being the dog that you were. You've been an amazing dog and I love you very, very much. Goodbye my dearest darling. Thank you for saving my life."
"Injection going in now." Jasper didn't make a sound as the needle did its work.
Keeping my hands on Jasper, I straightened up to look at him. He blinked calmly and fixed his beautifully rich brown eyes on my face. I did my best to smile at him and reassured him with the words that had seen him off to sleep every night of his time with me.
"Goodnight, Jasper. Sleep well - I'll see you again in the morning; sometime. You are a good boy and I love you very, very much. Goodnight sweetheart."
I felt my mum gripping the tops of my arms. Jasper stumbled once, steadied himself, and then fell onto his right side. I caught him as he fell, and the vet supported him and helped me to release my arm from under him. I cradled Jasper as he lay on his side. The vet picked up her stethoscope and began listening to Jasper's heartbeat. "Has he gone?" I whispered. The vet continued listening intently for a few seconds more. Then she nodded. Slipping off the stethoscope she said quietly "He's gone." The vet and the nurse left the room.
I looked down at the inert body. It didn't seem to me as though he had gone. His eyes were wide open. Although his chest was no longer rising and falling, somehow I still knew he was with me.
And then I felt it. I appreciate that you may not believe me - but I swear that I actually felt Jasper's soul depart his body. And then he was truly gone.
I collapsed over the handsome case that had once framed my Jasper and howled in agony. It was a sound that I had never realised I was capable of making. The pain was unbelievable - it felt like a vital part of my body had been torn from me and was being stamped on before me. I wailed and wailed with anguished despair and pain for fifteen minutes, my mum supporting me in silent compassion. And all the time, Jasper's body refused to give out entirely.
When Tess had passed away, on that same table, her body had turned cold so quickly that I was taken aback. Jasper, on the other hand, stayed warm. His whiskers continued to twitch; his nostrils continued to move as if breathing; the tip of his tail continued to wag. Post-mortem muscle spasms undoubtedly, but it was though the body, which had fought valiantly every battle it had encountered since Jasper was a tiny, abused puppy, was still fighting to live on. Only the eyes were still. Gazing yet unseeing. I tried to gently close the eyelids, but they would not shut. Even in death, Jasper did not want to miss a single thing.
After what seemed an age, and yet was not long enough, my mother informed me that evening surgery had started and that, perhaps it was time to go. I collapsed, wailing, again. The idea of leaving Jasper there alone repulsed me. But mum was right. Other, living, pets needed the table. Steeling myself against this fresh horror, mum supported me - almost holding me up - as I made my way out into the waiting room. The room was full, but I didn't notice anyone. At the door, I turned for one final, parting glance at my boy. His eyes were fixed, still staring, and I was taken aback. It was probably mere coincidence, but the angle at which he had fallen and the position of the entrance/exit door of the building meant that, as I departed, Jasper's eyes were perfectly placed so as to be staring directly at me.
***********************************************************
The evening and the night passed in a daze. I didn't sleep at all, but lay awake grieving. The surgery is only around the corner from my house - you will never know how close I came to breaking into the building, so that I could lie beside Jasper as he rested in his coffin - I couldn't bear the thought of him alone there. Mr. Winfield's undertaking team were due to collect Jasper's body at around 10.00am the next day.
Needless to say, I was incapable of going to work the next day. I could not even get out of bed. I did try, but the effort was exhausting. I'll admit that there was a moment of respite once 10.00am had been and gone - knowing that Jasper's handsome corpse was no longer lying just around the corner was something of a balm to my tortured mind. I passed the day alternately sleeping or in giving way to the relentless waves of grief, crying piteously and wailing over and over "Bring him back; bring him back; I want him back..." I couldn't answer the 'phone or any knocks at my door. In the end, my parents almost had to force entry to the house to make sure that I hadn't done away with myself in my torment.
I received so many beautiful expressions of sympathy; through this blog, via email, on Facebook or Twitter and by card or letter. Well over 200, in fact. Every single one was greatly - and gratefully - appreciated. To know that Jasper had meant so much to so many was exquisite comfort at such a time - and, indeed, these messages are still very precious treasures to me. Some folks were also kind enough to send donations to put towards the sizeable vets' bills. My mum and dad generously covered the expenses of Mr. Winfield's undertaking services. When first I ventured out of doors, I discovered that a dear friend, Karen, had left a simple but gorgeous arrangement of holly and winter blossoms from her garden at my doorstep, along with a note. I know she won't mind if I share the words of her note here:
"Until one has loved an animal, a part of one's soul remains unawakened" - Anatole France
Jasper - I will remember him with affection as;
A Gentleman
A Loving Friend and Partner
A Pro Actor
To dear R****, I can't think of anything else to say.
For such words, and all the similarly kindly-expressed others, I shall never cease to be thankful.
***********************************************************
After such a grim weekend there was no way I could go into work on Monday. Fortunately, my colleagues were understanding and sympathetic.
Later that day, I collected Jasper's mortal remains - the ashes of his cremated body - in the casket he and I had selected together, a brass plaque bearing his name affixed to the dark wood. This casket rests beside me now, as I type these words to you.
***********************************************************
It was a strange situation in which I found myself. I had never before been so truly alone. Jasper and I moved into this place, from which I write, together out of my parents' house, the home in which I had grown up from the age of six. I had never lived alone before now. I don't like it. Perhaps worse, even, than this were the efforts of dear, simple, Ewan when I returned to work. He searched everywhere for Jasper, convinced that his friend was hiding from him by way of a new game. His endeavours to find Jasper fair broke my heart - and there was scant respite at home. My neighbour's little West Highland Terrier, Rosie, being utterly smitten with Jasper. Ewan, at least, had Fizzy - who gently strove to help Ewan comprehend the fact that Jasper would not return. Rosie, alas, eagerly searches for him still. She yelps for Jasper and cannot understand why he doesn't respond.
I confess that, sometimes, I fail to understand too.
And, so, this is it. Now you have the whole story of Jasper's last day on Earth. But, should there ultimately be a Heaven, we shall see him again one day. Not here, not now. But one day.
The next post I will make here shall be Jasper's "If you are reading this..." letter - composed long before he began to suffer, to be uploaded in the event of his death.
Let this then, be the LAST time that his name is mentioned here with sadness. For, once upon a time, there lived a dog called Jasper Horatio Stafford. I owe him my life (perhaps I will tell you of the time he saved my life one day). And the greatest gift I can bestow on his memory is to go on living, thankful that - for a fleeting moment - he and I had a shared time together. And that time was wonderful.
Truly wonderful. Thank you Jasper - for never being anything less than Jasper Horatio Stafford.
Sunday, 11 March 2012
Sunday, 26 February 2012
Sunday 26 February 2012
I thought I'd try and be strong enough today to tell you how it all ended for Jasper on that last, sad Thursday. I hope you don't mind - I thought that there couldn't really have been all these years of him describing his life, without sharing an account of his death.
Of course, I knew that, towards the end, the hour was approaching with increasing haste. But I did not wake on that Thursday morning knowing that the day would be our last together. In truth, I own that I had been fervently hoping against hope that nature would have taken Jasper as he slept - and perhaps, in a short time afterwards, that would indeed have happened. But I am sure that you have glimpsed enough of me through Jasper over the years to know that I would not have wished any creature prolonged suffering for my own selfish purposes. Obviously, the death-rattle had not subsided in my faithful sidekick - and I knew that there had been an overnight decline when not even some fresh chicken or a couple of spoonfuls of fresh oxtail soup could tempt Jasper into taking some breakfast. He was keen to get into the car and set off for work however so, grabbing my bag and my keys, we left for the day. It was the final time that Jasper would be alive in this house again.
Jasper was comparatively buoyant when we arrived at work, hopping out to reacquaint himself with his scent markers and cheerfully greeting his friends Ewan and Fizzy. However, Jasper did not want to come and sit in the office with me. He was warm on his car blankets and determined that he was going to sit quietly in our car. I helped him to get comfortable and gave him a little kiss on the top of his head before closing him in and heading into the office.
It was a busy morning, which kept my mind occupied. At around 12.00pm I accompanied Ewan and Fizzy onto the Bridleway for their lunchtime exercise. I could see that Jasper was still sleeping soundly in the car, so I decided not to wake him. When Ewan and Fizzy had returned and headed off for their nap, I gently unlocked the car door to check on Jazz. At the click of the lock he awoke, and looked around at me as I opened the door. The look on my little man's face took my breath away. Somehow, some way, I knew - just by looking into his eyes - a part of him had gone. Just gone. The part of him that had, up until that moment, been putting up a spirited fight. The will-to-live was gone. Jasper had had enough.
I burst into tears straight away, but did my best to conceal them from my boy. Until the last, however, he was nobody's fool and he pressed himself firmly against me as I wept, allowing (perhaps even wanting) my tears to spill into his fur.
After I had let him have a brief potter around the yard so that he could use the toilet facilities, I helped him as he jumped back onto his car seat and held him tightly until he had drifted off slowly to sleep once more. Aided, I confess, by recourse to a cigarette (please do not frown upon me - I was in utter despair) I then made The Phone Call.
I knew, then, that I had no other choice. And I was wretched in that knowledge.
The vet was extremely sympathetic, and we fixed an appointment for 5.00pm that evening, half an hour before the practice opened for evening appointments. The next call was worse, perhaps, even than that. It was to a friend of our friend, Sandy, who was a good chum of Jasper, as well as of our family in general. Mr. Winfield (Sandy's friend) runs a local well-established and reputable pet crematorium (I subsequently learned that it was Mr. Winfield's company who received and returned Jasper's predecessor, Tess, to me). Mr. Winfield was the very model of sympathy and dignity in his expressions of sorrow and the descriptions of the services he offered. I engaged him for what I knew would be needed following my appointment with the vet - I knew that I could not afford his services; but Jasper deserved nothing but the very best; in death as in life.
It was then that I had to telephone my mother and Maisie. Out of respect to them, I shall not repeat the details of those distressing conversations. Somewhat fortuitously (if any of this can be even remotely described in terms of "fortune") it was a day when Dave the office cleaner visited. He was a great favourite with Jasper (and it was entirely mutual), so Dave was able to say his goodbyes. He cried, but clearly did not wish it to be known, so I politely didn't notice.
Actually, this is harder than I thought. I'm not sure I can go on for now. Hope you can forgive. I'll be back tomorrow for the end of it all.
With love, amidst tears.
Of course, I knew that, towards the end, the hour was approaching with increasing haste. But I did not wake on that Thursday morning knowing that the day would be our last together. In truth, I own that I had been fervently hoping against hope that nature would have taken Jasper as he slept - and perhaps, in a short time afterwards, that would indeed have happened. But I am sure that you have glimpsed enough of me through Jasper over the years to know that I would not have wished any creature prolonged suffering for my own selfish purposes. Obviously, the death-rattle had not subsided in my faithful sidekick - and I knew that there had been an overnight decline when not even some fresh chicken or a couple of spoonfuls of fresh oxtail soup could tempt Jasper into taking some breakfast. He was keen to get into the car and set off for work however so, grabbing my bag and my keys, we left for the day. It was the final time that Jasper would be alive in this house again.
Jasper was comparatively buoyant when we arrived at work, hopping out to reacquaint himself with his scent markers and cheerfully greeting his friends Ewan and Fizzy. However, Jasper did not want to come and sit in the office with me. He was warm on his car blankets and determined that he was going to sit quietly in our car. I helped him to get comfortable and gave him a little kiss on the top of his head before closing him in and heading into the office.
It was a busy morning, which kept my mind occupied. At around 12.00pm I accompanied Ewan and Fizzy onto the Bridleway for their lunchtime exercise. I could see that Jasper was still sleeping soundly in the car, so I decided not to wake him. When Ewan and Fizzy had returned and headed off for their nap, I gently unlocked the car door to check on Jazz. At the click of the lock he awoke, and looked around at me as I opened the door. The look on my little man's face took my breath away. Somehow, some way, I knew - just by looking into his eyes - a part of him had gone. Just gone. The part of him that had, up until that moment, been putting up a spirited fight. The will-to-live was gone. Jasper had had enough.
I burst into tears straight away, but did my best to conceal them from my boy. Until the last, however, he was nobody's fool and he pressed himself firmly against me as I wept, allowing (perhaps even wanting) my tears to spill into his fur.
After I had let him have a brief potter around the yard so that he could use the toilet facilities, I helped him as he jumped back onto his car seat and held him tightly until he had drifted off slowly to sleep once more. Aided, I confess, by recourse to a cigarette (please do not frown upon me - I was in utter despair) I then made The Phone Call.
I knew, then, that I had no other choice. And I was wretched in that knowledge.
The vet was extremely sympathetic, and we fixed an appointment for 5.00pm that evening, half an hour before the practice opened for evening appointments. The next call was worse, perhaps, even than that. It was to a friend of our friend, Sandy, who was a good chum of Jasper, as well as of our family in general. Mr. Winfield (Sandy's friend) runs a local well-established and reputable pet crematorium (I subsequently learned that it was Mr. Winfield's company who received and returned Jasper's predecessor, Tess, to me). Mr. Winfield was the very model of sympathy and dignity in his expressions of sorrow and the descriptions of the services he offered. I engaged him for what I knew would be needed following my appointment with the vet - I knew that I could not afford his services; but Jasper deserved nothing but the very best; in death as in life.
It was then that I had to telephone my mother and Maisie. Out of respect to them, I shall not repeat the details of those distressing conversations. Somewhat fortuitously (if any of this can be even remotely described in terms of "fortune") it was a day when Dave the office cleaner visited. He was a great favourite with Jasper (and it was entirely mutual), so Dave was able to say his goodbyes. He cried, but clearly did not wish it to be known, so I politely didn't notice.
Actually, this is harder than I thought. I'm not sure I can go on for now. Hope you can forgive. I'll be back tomorrow for the end of it all.
With love, amidst tears.
Monday, 6 February 2012
Monday 6 February 2012
Well, it's been a month now. I'm told that time is a great healer - but I'm still waiting.
I am so grateful for all the many kind cards and messages I received when Jasper passed away, they proved such a comfort to me. Some people also generously sent a donation to assist with the vets' fees and I was ever so touched by this.
A number of times over the past weeks I have sat here at my computer, a blank screen in front of me, trying to write something to go on the blog. But the words that once flew to my fingertips are all gone now.
I am endeavouring to keep myself active and involved in various ways. Generally, I am alright at work - though it does still pain me to see Ewan's endeavours to find Jasper. He thinks he is hiding somewhere and keeps looking for him. It's in the evenings that it is hardest. I hate coming back to an empty house and struggle to get to sleep at nights.
Alas, I have had to seek assistance from the doctor and came very close to being admitted to hospital last week. But I daresay I will be OK. I know that Jasper would want me to be happy and so I do try, though I often catch myself wondering if I could have done anything differently - something that might have saved him...
One of the things I'm doing to keep myself occupied is walking a dog three times a week for The Cinnamon Trust (http://www.cinnamon.org.uk/). I think this prospect was mentioned on the blog before now, though I was only "paired up" with a dog-owner a couple of weeks ago. Little Benjy is a Yorkshire Terrier, 12 years old but very feisty, belonging to a delightful elderly gentleman who is stricken with osteo-arthritis. Benjy doesn't need too much in the way of walking, but I do enjoy his company.
I hope - if you will indulge me - to continue posting here from time to time. About various things; about Jasper - life with him and life now without him.
I will admit to feeling a little narked this evening. Jasper had a regular column in a local parish magazine and was (though I say it myself) quite popular - "he'd" been a featured columnist since 2005 or 2006 - I've just read the January edition and there is not a single word about the fact that he has died. Not one. Quite apart from the aggravation of that, I was rather hoping that the editors might have put something in so that I don't keep getting "Oh hello ****, is Jasper not with you today?!" everywhere I go and then having to explain and go through it all again. But I daresay I am overestimating his popularity, or others' enjoyment of what he had to bark, at any rate.
Jasper did compose an "if you are reading this..." post, to be placed on the blog in the event of his death. I am afraid you will have to forgive me for being remiss in not putting it up yet. I will dig it out and post it soon.
Until then... keep smiling.
I am so grateful for all the many kind cards and messages I received when Jasper passed away, they proved such a comfort to me. Some people also generously sent a donation to assist with the vets' fees and I was ever so touched by this.
A number of times over the past weeks I have sat here at my computer, a blank screen in front of me, trying to write something to go on the blog. But the words that once flew to my fingertips are all gone now.
I am endeavouring to keep myself active and involved in various ways. Generally, I am alright at work - though it does still pain me to see Ewan's endeavours to find Jasper. He thinks he is hiding somewhere and keeps looking for him. It's in the evenings that it is hardest. I hate coming back to an empty house and struggle to get to sleep at nights.
Alas, I have had to seek assistance from the doctor and came very close to being admitted to hospital last week. But I daresay I will be OK. I know that Jasper would want me to be happy and so I do try, though I often catch myself wondering if I could have done anything differently - something that might have saved him...
One of the things I'm doing to keep myself occupied is walking a dog three times a week for The Cinnamon Trust (http://www.cinnamon.org.uk/). I think this prospect was mentioned on the blog before now, though I was only "paired up" with a dog-owner a couple of weeks ago. Little Benjy is a Yorkshire Terrier, 12 years old but very feisty, belonging to a delightful elderly gentleman who is stricken with osteo-arthritis. Benjy doesn't need too much in the way of walking, but I do enjoy his company.
I hope - if you will indulge me - to continue posting here from time to time. About various things; about Jasper - life with him and life now without him.
I will admit to feeling a little narked this evening. Jasper had a regular column in a local parish magazine and was (though I say it myself) quite popular - "he'd" been a featured columnist since 2005 or 2006 - I've just read the January edition and there is not a single word about the fact that he has died. Not one. Quite apart from the aggravation of that, I was rather hoping that the editors might have put something in so that I don't keep getting "Oh hello ****, is Jasper not with you today?!" everywhere I go and then having to explain and go through it all again. But I daresay I am overestimating his popularity, or others' enjoyment of what he had to bark, at any rate.
Jasper did compose an "if you are reading this..." post, to be placed on the blog in the event of his death. I am afraid you will have to forgive me for being remiss in not putting it up yet. I will dig it out and post it soon.
Until then... keep smiling.
Thursday, 5 January 2012
Thursday 5 January 2012
Jasper Horatio Stafford died at 17:15 today.
A fuller tribute to him will follow. For now, my heart is not so much broken - but completely shattered.
Thank you for reading.
Wednesday, 4 January 2012
Wednesday 4 January 2012
Another dictated post. I continue to weaken.
My partner managed to talk me out of dictating a strongly-worded letter to the Bishop regarding the incident in the churchyard yesterday evening.
Alas, I have not the strength to write the entry alluded to last evening. Perhaps my partner will share it after I... well, another time anyway.
I have been able to swallow some nourishing oxtail soup this evening - most delicious, but I fear the time for deriving nourishment from Earthly food is past.
The ongoing rattle, to which Edward the Rottweiler alluded in our recent conversation, has grown more pronounced. It has a Latin name: Mors Crepitant.
I saw Kipper again today. He was accompanied by more of my friends from former times. With a wagging tail, I recognised Rex from the rescue home. Rats was there too. A jolt of alarm dashed through me as I looked about me to see if I could spot my late wife, Isolde, and saw her standing a short way off - in the company of my other late wife, Ellie, and my former girlfriend Candy.
"Quick, Kip! Hide me!" I yelped, "I'm toast if they see me!"
But Kipper just laughed.
"It's alright Jazz." he smiled, kindly. "It's alright. Only love, forgiveness and peace are waiting for you here. Don't be afraid - you have lived the worthy life of a good boy." He smiled again and wagged his bushy caramel-coloured tail with its quirky white tip. As I grew relaxed and tranquil once more, Kipper glanced behind him at some larger, shadowy and indistinct forms, which were moving in the background. I could not identify individuals, but the shapes were unmistakeable.
"There are people in Heaven too?!" I gasped, incredulously, for I am not deceived as to why Kipper and my friends were coming to greet me. I have been many things in my life, but a fool I never was.
Kipper nodded.
"One, perhaps, above others in love and greatness - but you have nothing to fear from any of them. Trust me. There is no pain here. No despair."
"I trust you Kipper." I replied. "No pain."
He nodded and smiled again as he and my other friends faded from view.
My partner is beside herself in her agonies - above all, she dreads having to make "the decision" and desperately hopes that nature may peacefully take its course. In her desperation, however, she found this little poem on this wonderful resource which has given me a voice - the internet (edits and emphasis are my own):
We've been so close -- we two -- these years,
Don't let your heart hold any tears.
~(Author unknown. Annotated by Jasper Horatio Stafford)~
I will post again here shortly - whether it is to say that I am momentarily spared, or whether it is to take my leave of you. But I beg you. No tears. No tears for me. I am not afraid - and I am thankful.
Trust me - I am thankful, truly thankful. And I welcome this new stage of my life, which will bring me the peace that passes all understanding.
I was born into anonymity, sold into misery and saved from untimely death. Now I fall prey to cancer, that silent, abhorrent and unworthy killer. But - for a brief, shining, moment in between these extremities I lived.
I really, truly, LIVED. For all-too-short a time I was Jasper Horatio Stafford. And what an honour that has been.
I hear the beginnings of a whisper... "In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus et Sancti..."
No tears.
Good night.
My partner managed to talk me out of dictating a strongly-worded letter to the Bishop regarding the incident in the churchyard yesterday evening.
Alas, I have not the strength to write the entry alluded to last evening. Perhaps my partner will share it after I... well, another time anyway.
I have been able to swallow some nourishing oxtail soup this evening - most delicious, but I fear the time for deriving nourishment from Earthly food is past.
The ongoing rattle, to which Edward the Rottweiler alluded in our recent conversation, has grown more pronounced. It has a Latin name: Mors Crepitant.
I saw Kipper again today. He was accompanied by more of my friends from former times. With a wagging tail, I recognised Rex from the rescue home. Rats was there too. A jolt of alarm dashed through me as I looked about me to see if I could spot my late wife, Isolde, and saw her standing a short way off - in the company of my other late wife, Ellie, and my former girlfriend Candy.
"Quick, Kip! Hide me!" I yelped, "I'm toast if they see me!"
But Kipper just laughed.
"It's alright Jazz." he smiled, kindly. "It's alright. Only love, forgiveness and peace are waiting for you here. Don't be afraid - you have lived the worthy life of a good boy." He smiled again and wagged his bushy caramel-coloured tail with its quirky white tip. As I grew relaxed and tranquil once more, Kipper glanced behind him at some larger, shadowy and indistinct forms, which were moving in the background. I could not identify individuals, but the shapes were unmistakeable.
"There are people in Heaven too?!" I gasped, incredulously, for I am not deceived as to why Kipper and my friends were coming to greet me. I have been many things in my life, but a fool I never was.
Kipper nodded.
"One, perhaps, above others in love and greatness - but you have nothing to fear from any of them. Trust me. There is no pain here. No despair."
"I trust you Kipper." I replied. "No pain."
He nodded and smiled again as he and my other friends faded from view.
My partner is beside herself in her agonies - above all, she dreads having to make "the decision" and desperately hopes that nature may peacefully take its course. In her desperation, however, she found this little poem on this wonderful resource which has given me a voice - the internet (edits and emphasis are my own):
If it should be that I grow frail and weak - and pain should keep me from my sleep,
Then will you do what must be done,
For this last battle cannot be won.
You will be sad - I understand,
But don't let grief then stay your hand,
For this day, more than all the rest, your love and friendship must stand the test.
We have had so many happy years,
You would not want me to suffer so.
When my time comes, please, let me go.
Then will you do what must be done,
For this last battle cannot be won.
You will be sad - I understand,
But don't let grief then stay your hand,
For this day, more than all the rest, your love and friendship must stand the test.
We have had so many happy years,
You would not want me to suffer so.
When my time comes, please, let me go.
Take me where my needs they'll tend,
Promise to stay with me until the end
Hold me firm and speak to me,
Until my eyes no longer see.
I know in time you will agree
This is a kindness you do for me.
Please don't grieve - it must be you
Who must decide this thing to do;
Hold me firm and speak to me,
Until my eyes no longer see.
I know in time you will agree
This is a kindness you do for me.
Please don't grieve - it must be you
Who must decide this thing to do;
We've been so close -- we two -- these years,
Don't let your heart hold any tears.
~(Author unknown. Annotated by Jasper Horatio Stafford)~
I will post again here shortly - whether it is to say that I am momentarily spared, or whether it is to take my leave of you. But I beg you. No tears. No tears for me. I am not afraid - and I am thankful.
Trust me - I am thankful, truly thankful. And I welcome this new stage of my life, which will bring me the peace that passes all understanding.
I was born into anonymity, sold into misery and saved from untimely death. Now I fall prey to cancer, that silent, abhorrent and unworthy killer. But - for a brief, shining, moment in between these extremities I lived.
I really, truly, LIVED. For all-too-short a time I was Jasper Horatio Stafford. And what an honour that has been.
I hear the beginnings of a whisper... "In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus et Sancti..."
No tears.
Good night.
Tuesday, 3 January 2012
Tuesday 3 January 2012
Back to work today for my partner and I, amidst some of the worst storms I can recall. Wind and rain lashed down, houses lost power, trees fell all over the place - but, a few short hours later, all was calm. The sun even peeped out for a while. But it sounds like the wind is getting up again, so my partner has seen me guarded against the cold with a thick blanket around my shoulders now that I have dined.
Before I proceed any further, I must apologise to those dear friends who have been in touch with me. I am sorry that I have been the cause of spilled tears. It is not my intention to cast grief amongst anyone - my partner will, indeed, be bereft when I am gone; but I have had a long, mostly happy and very full life. I have enjoyed a stage career, shared my thoughts, hopes, mishaps and opinions with you via this blog, penned a regular monthly column in a local magazine and have delighted in all of my manifold friendships - including this one which I share with you, dear reader. Truly I have been blessed far beyond what I had any right to deserve. I had to bark these words to Eddie and Angus, who bounded across the road to see me when my partner and I were surveying our garden for potential tree-damage, just after we returned from work. Both Rottweilers looked red-eyed, but I hailed them most heartily.
"Evening boys!" I barked. "All well?!"
"Tolerably so, I thank you, dearheart." replied Eddie, before Angus burst out
"Oh, dearest Jazz! Edward has told me all about your illness! I am SO sorry - you have always been a good friend to us. Is there anything we can do?" Before I had a chance to respond, Eddie cut in.
"Yes!" he barked, "We wanted to offer you something to ease you in your extremity. Angus thought you might like a fruit basket - but I wondered if you may prefer a selection of continental meats?"
A-thousand-and-one double-entendres flashed through my mind concerning Edward, Angus, fruits and continental meats, all of which I ignored (not without great effort), as my two friends were being very sincere in their affection and I did not wish to offend. I contented myself with responding that their friendship and continued good-humour was better than any bodily comfort, and assured them of my gratitude for their continuing amity. My partner is ensuring that I have the most delicious of fresh-cooked meats and morsels to sustain me in my frailty - I cannot manage any more than what she offers and it would distress me to see delicious gifts going to waste. The two Rottweilers were happy with this response and tottered back to Eddie's house much more content than when they left it.
If only they had known that I was very nearly hastened to my end a little earlier this evening. My partner needed to visit a shop in our small town to collect something, in between out return from our workplace and our arrival at home. She found a parking space in the road leading to the train station and we took a short-cut through the graveyard to the shops.
Never again, my friends, never again.
As we walked along the dark path, all of a sudden a brightly-lit spectre loomed up before me, swaying gently amidst the grey and ageing stone tablets.
"Ahhhrrrrrrrgggaaaaaahhhhh!" I screamed at the top of my lungs. I fell to the ground in front of the shining apparition. "OhHolyMaryMotherofGod, OhJesusandHisBlessedSaints, OhHolyMa-"
"JASPER!" shouted my partner, hauling me to my feet as I wailed and quaked before the spectre. A moment's secondary glance led me to feel more foolish than I have done for quite a considerable time.
Someone - for reasons best known to themselves - had strung a load of white Christmas fairy-lights around a large gravestone. They were brightly shining in the darkness and swaying in the increasingly strong breeze. Why? In what world is this a good idea?!
I grew gradually calmer - but it took an intense cuddle lasting almost ten minutes, six slices of cooked chicken-breast and a quantity of breaded-ham before I stopped whimpering entirely. I am going to ask my partner if I can sleep with the bedroom light on tonight.
Tomorrow - a tale of humiliation and debasement from my past, with which to entertain you (although possibly not, if you are a gentleman reader...).
Good night.
Before I proceed any further, I must apologise to those dear friends who have been in touch with me. I am sorry that I have been the cause of spilled tears. It is not my intention to cast grief amongst anyone - my partner will, indeed, be bereft when I am gone; but I have had a long, mostly happy and very full life. I have enjoyed a stage career, shared my thoughts, hopes, mishaps and opinions with you via this blog, penned a regular monthly column in a local magazine and have delighted in all of my manifold friendships - including this one which I share with you, dear reader. Truly I have been blessed far beyond what I had any right to deserve. I had to bark these words to Eddie and Angus, who bounded across the road to see me when my partner and I were surveying our garden for potential tree-damage, just after we returned from work. Both Rottweilers looked red-eyed, but I hailed them most heartily.
"Evening boys!" I barked. "All well?!"
"Tolerably so, I thank you, dearheart." replied Eddie, before Angus burst out
"Oh, dearest Jazz! Edward has told me all about your illness! I am SO sorry - you have always been a good friend to us. Is there anything we can do?" Before I had a chance to respond, Eddie cut in.
"Yes!" he barked, "We wanted to offer you something to ease you in your extremity. Angus thought you might like a fruit basket - but I wondered if you may prefer a selection of continental meats?"
A-thousand-and-one double-entendres flashed through my mind concerning Edward, Angus, fruits and continental meats, all of which I ignored (not without great effort), as my two friends were being very sincere in their affection and I did not wish to offend. I contented myself with responding that their friendship and continued good-humour was better than any bodily comfort, and assured them of my gratitude for their continuing amity. My partner is ensuring that I have the most delicious of fresh-cooked meats and morsels to sustain me in my frailty - I cannot manage any more than what she offers and it would distress me to see delicious gifts going to waste. The two Rottweilers were happy with this response and tottered back to Eddie's house much more content than when they left it.
If only they had known that I was very nearly hastened to my end a little earlier this evening. My partner needed to visit a shop in our small town to collect something, in between out return from our workplace and our arrival at home. She found a parking space in the road leading to the train station and we took a short-cut through the graveyard to the shops.
Never again, my friends, never again.
As we walked along the dark path, all of a sudden a brightly-lit spectre loomed up before me, swaying gently amidst the grey and ageing stone tablets.
"Ahhhrrrrrrrgggaaaaaahhhhh!" I screamed at the top of my lungs. I fell to the ground in front of the shining apparition. "OhHolyMaryMotherofGod, OhJesusandHisBlessedSaints, OhHolyMa-"
"JASPER!" shouted my partner, hauling me to my feet as I wailed and quaked before the spectre. A moment's secondary glance led me to feel more foolish than I have done for quite a considerable time.
Someone - for reasons best known to themselves - had strung a load of white Christmas fairy-lights around a large gravestone. They were brightly shining in the darkness and swaying in the increasingly strong breeze. Why? In what world is this a good idea?!
I grew gradually calmer - but it took an intense cuddle lasting almost ten minutes, six slices of cooked chicken-breast and a quantity of breaded-ham before I stopped whimpering entirely. I am going to ask my partner if I can sleep with the bedroom light on tonight.
Tomorrow - a tale of humiliation and debasement from my past, with which to entertain you (although possibly not, if you are a gentleman reader...).
Good night.
Monday, 2 January 2012
Monday 2 January 2012
"What's that dreadful rattling sound?" asked Eddie the Rottweiler.
"Erm..." I hesitated and then sighed heavily.
"There it is again!" Edward looked at me, frowning. "It's not - it isn't coming from you, is it Jazz?"
I looked up at him. "It is!" he barked. "It is coming from you! Whatever are you doing?! You're not channelling the spirit of some ghastly hell-cat, are you darling?!"
"Actually, Ed., I'm not that well these days. Very poorly indeed, if I'm honest." I took a deep breath. "I've got cancer, Ed. I'm dying."
"No!" gasped the Rottweiler. "No, no, no! I mean, I know that you've been losing a lot of weight lately - I thought you were trying to set a good example to dear Angus..."
I smiled sadly. "Well, what are you waiting for?!" continued Edward, his lip trembling, "You've got to get yourself to a hospital! Get it out; get it out of you now!"
"I can't." I replied. "It's too late. There's nothing anyone can do."
Eddie was temporarily rendered speechless - quite a feat for any dog, as Ed generally always had some (usually scathing) comment to make.
"How long?" he whispered after a while. "Have they said?"
"Um, about two months..." I began.
"Two months!" spluttered Eddie, "Two months! J*s*s, Jasper, you've known about this for two months?! Why the h*ll didn't you come and scratch at my door - or at least leave a weemail on my fence?!"
"Ed - no - "
"I mean, I don't know what I could have done, but I'd have tried to do something for you!"
"Eddie, no, it's - "
"Angus's human companion is a nurse - we could have got you - "
"EDWARD!"
Finally, I succeeded in silencing him again. "You don't understand." I barked, as gently as I could. "I didn't find out about it two months ago. I've been ill since at least the summer. I mean to bark that the date given for my death was two months ago. I'm on borrowed time."
Eddie sat down suddenly on the pavement, the ghost of the word "No" formed on his lips.
"It's alright, Ed." I smiled. "It's really alright. I'm not in pain, just tired all the time. And I'm ready."
"But J*s*s Chr*st, Jazz," whimpered Edward, looking stricken, "You're younger than me!"
"Yeah," I replied, with a shrug and a sad philosophical smile, "Mad old world, isn't it?"
"Is there anything I can do?"
"Ah, you're a good man, Eddie." I smiled. "You just look after Angus, old son." My friend nodded. "And let him have the odd pudding now and again, eh?!"
Eddie strained to poke his large snout through the posts of my fence and planted a gentle kiss on my snout.
"See you around, dearheart." he smiled and, with that, he turned and ran back to his own house without glancing back.
I am growing increasingly tired. I can still get up and down my stairs unaided, although sometimes I do require a little assistance to jump into bed or my car. Do you recall the time of my partner's Jane Austen play? (If not, see here: Jane Austen). The piece closed with the letter written by Cassandra Austen to a niece, describing the last moments of her beloved younger sister. At the time (2007) I could not understand why anyone should wish for such things...
Now, I believe I understand what Jane Austen meant...
But be of stout heart, dear reader, for I am not afraid.
Good afternoon.
"Erm..." I hesitated and then sighed heavily.
"There it is again!" Edward looked at me, frowning. "It's not - it isn't coming from you, is it Jazz?"
I looked up at him. "It is!" he barked. "It is coming from you! Whatever are you doing?! You're not channelling the spirit of some ghastly hell-cat, are you darling?!"
"Actually, Ed., I'm not that well these days. Very poorly indeed, if I'm honest." I took a deep breath. "I've got cancer, Ed. I'm dying."
"No!" gasped the Rottweiler. "No, no, no! I mean, I know that you've been losing a lot of weight lately - I thought you were trying to set a good example to dear Angus..."
I smiled sadly. "Well, what are you waiting for?!" continued Edward, his lip trembling, "You've got to get yourself to a hospital! Get it out; get it out of you now!"
"I can't." I replied. "It's too late. There's nothing anyone can do."
Eddie was temporarily rendered speechless - quite a feat for any dog, as Ed generally always had some (usually scathing) comment to make.
"How long?" he whispered after a while. "Have they said?"
"Um, about two months..." I began.
"Two months!" spluttered Eddie, "Two months! J*s*s, Jasper, you've known about this for two months?! Why the h*ll didn't you come and scratch at my door - or at least leave a weemail on my fence?!"
"Ed - no - "
"I mean, I don't know what I could have done, but I'd have tried to do something for you!"
"Eddie, no, it's - "
"Angus's human companion is a nurse - we could have got you - "
"EDWARD!"
Finally, I succeeded in silencing him again. "You don't understand." I barked, as gently as I could. "I didn't find out about it two months ago. I've been ill since at least the summer. I mean to bark that the date given for my death was two months ago. I'm on borrowed time."
Eddie sat down suddenly on the pavement, the ghost of the word "No" formed on his lips.
"It's alright, Ed." I smiled. "It's really alright. I'm not in pain, just tired all the time. And I'm ready."
"But J*s*s Chr*st, Jazz," whimpered Edward, looking stricken, "You're younger than me!"
"Yeah," I replied, with a shrug and a sad philosophical smile, "Mad old world, isn't it?"
"Is there anything I can do?"
"Ah, you're a good man, Eddie." I smiled. "You just look after Angus, old son." My friend nodded. "And let him have the odd pudding now and again, eh?!"
Eddie strained to poke his large snout through the posts of my fence and planted a gentle kiss on my snout.
"See you around, dearheart." he smiled and, with that, he turned and ran back to his own house without glancing back.
I am growing increasingly tired. I can still get up and down my stairs unaided, although sometimes I do require a little assistance to jump into bed or my car. Do you recall the time of my partner's Jane Austen play? (If not, see here: Jane Austen). The piece closed with the letter written by Cassandra Austen to a niece, describing the last moments of her beloved younger sister. At the time (2007) I could not understand why anyone should wish for such things...
'When I asked her if there was anything she wanted, her answer was she wanted nothing but death, and some of her words were: "God grant me patience, pray for me, oh, pray for me!" Her voice was affected, but as long as she spoke she was intelligible...'
Now, I believe I understand what Jane Austen meant...
But be of stout heart, dear reader, for I am not afraid.
Good afternoon.
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