Bixby has not always been in our lives. Our first dog was Bailey, a boxer/pit bull we picked up back in about 2003 outside of Petco. We had dog fever. We had been looking for a dog but had ignored Bailey on the websites because she was listed as a pit. Adam called me at a football game to say he had found the perfect dog. He convinced me to get over my irrational fear of pit bulls. One of the best decisions ever. Bailey was our baby. She wasn’t the perfect dog … we had to learn to be better owners due to her often-unpredictable behavior. But we are glad we learned.
Meka came into our lives two years later. Meka was Bailey’s best friend, and when Steve had to move away and didn’t think Meka would fit in an apartment, we gladly took him in. Bailey and Meka lived happily until Meka passed in 2011. Bailey died in October 2014, and our hearts were broken. It was one of the few times I had seen Adam cry. We held each other for awhile, celebrated her life with friends.
I wanted another dog a few months later. We had Chance the cat, but I wanted to give another dog the chance at a great life. Adam wasn’t sure, but I joked if he didn’t get me a dog I would want a baby. Ha ha! On Jan. 4, 2015, we welcomed Bixby into our lives from OutPaws Rescue in Denver.
Bixby became The Bix. Da Bix. The light of our lives. He is the perfect dog. He is struggling with anxiety now with the changes in the house, but every day he is calmer.
As Adam struggled with his depression and anxiety over the last year or so, Bixby was a solace. He napped with the Bix. He talked to the Bix about his pain. I heard him once when he was out of it and didn’t know I was in the room (had he been drinking? was it the Xanax? was it brain confusion from his disease? I don’t know).
When we knew Adam was not going to make it, I begged the docs to allow someone to bring Bixby to Denver. I thank Dr. Abigail Lara and Stephanie the nurse from the bottom of my heart for agreeing to look the other way and sneaking Bixby up the service elevator. I cannot thank Mike Carsten enough for leaving home immediately to pick him up and bring him.
Later, Adam said I was quite sneaky for getting Bixby in. He smiled. Bixby sniffed him goodbye.
Bixby is why I need to make it. I can’t let Adam down.
Me Without Adam 
Laura,
Thank you for your blog.
To begin with, it’s touching and lovely. And your writing is great. And it makes me feel like I get to be a part of your broader-life, even if I’m not a part of your now-life. And I hope it is helping you, I know writing through my pain was sometimes the best thing I could do to get through the day, the hour, the minute sometimes.
I wrote and wrote and wrote throughout my hardest times, I’m still writing nearly every day. But although I periodically attempted to start a blog, I never had the courage. Because although I wanted to share my pain and struggles (AND triumphs, when I had them), the shame and humiliation of my situation was just too much for me to get over.
But your blog is inspiring me to reconsider. The Truths (with a capital T) that you are telling within your very specific, personal, unique truths are beautiful and universal. I have wanted to hug you with every sentence you have posted so far. Not because I think you need my hugs, but because what you are saying speaks to ME, to my life, to my heart. And I am grateful you are sharing with me. You could have kept your writing to yourself, or you could have shared it just with specific people, but you chose to make it public, and that is both brave and loving of you.
I will never know exactly what you are feeling, what you are thinking, but these glimpses you are letting me have remind me so much of the experiences I had. No, I did NOT go through “what” you are going through, not on the surface. But what you are expressing about how it FEELS, what it does to your mind, your body, your psyche–that I relate to profoundly. Far more than I wish–for me, for you, for anyone.
I won’t tell you “it’ll be ok,” or “you will get through this,” because those things are not givens. (I know you know this.) But I see how hard you are working, I see how you are doing all the right things, and I want you to know that if you keep going as you are it will get better. Less bad. It doesn’t happen all at once, and it’s not a straight line, but bit by bit you CAN feel the progress you are making. Even if you don’t feel it yet, you ARE kicking ass. I know I’m not alone in being astonished by how FUCKING AMAZING you are, how impressive your progress is, in such a short time.
There are hundreds of quotes and sayings and memes and poems and even passages of scripture that I found helpful or comforting during my journey through my hell, but this was my favorite:
Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack in everything
That’s how the light gets in.
(And I didn’t know Leonard Cohen’s work very well, so it wasn’t until his passing that I realized how much his words had helped me. Strange.)
Thank you for sharing yourself with us.
With love and hope and empathy,
Sarah
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Laura,
We have met a couple of times at the Kuntz house, for Thanksgiving. I’m the cousin that drinks TaB, nough said! I wanted to reach out to you to give my condolences and saw this on Barbara’s FB. I was moved to tears by your devotion to your love Adam. What a beautiful way to pay tribute to Adam. If you decide to skip on coffee making 101 (Dennis can teach you how to make the perfect, strong pot), I suggest drinking TaB. I tell my kids its the “Magic Elixir” (you have to say it like Forest Gump, when Lt. Dan got his “magic legs), well maybe not “magic” but it taste damn good!!
Hang in there girl. You have a great support system behind you. Keep writing, and remember two things: no such thing as too many fuck words, and never ever stop laughing.
All my best,
Jill Keizer
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I knew when I saw that goofy face of doggy love that he was the one for you and Adam.
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