Thursday, November 22, 2012

Fiona Apple's Sweet Farewell

Seen in the L.A. Times  (letter was posted on Fiona's Facebook page);

"It's 6pm on Friday,and I'm writing to a few thousand friends I have not met yet.
I am writing to ask them to change our plans and meet a little while later.
Here's the thing.
I have a dog Janet, and she's been ill for almost two years now, as a tumor has been idling in her chest, growing ever so slowly. She's almost 14 years old now. I got her when she was 4 months old. I was 21 then, an adult officially - and she was my child.

She is a pitbull, and was found in Echo Park, with a rope around her neck, and bites all over her ears and face.
She was the one the dogfighters use to puff up the confidence of the contenders.
She's almost 14 and I've never seen her start a fight ,or bite, or even growl, so I can understand why they chose her for that awful role. She's a pacifist.
Janet has been the most consistent relationship of my adult life, and that is just a fact.
We've lived in numerous houses, and jumped a few make shift families, but it's always really been the two of us.
She slept in bed with me, her head on the pillow, and she accepted my hysterical, tearful face into her chest, with her paws around me, every time I was heartbroken, or spirit-broken, or just lost, and as years went by, she let me take the role of her child, as I fell asleep, with her chin resting above my head.
She was under the piano when I wrote songs, barked any time I tried to record anything, and she was in the studio with me all the time we recorded the last album.
The last time I came back from tour, she was spry as ever, and she's used to me being gone for a few weeks every 6 or 7 years.
She has Addison's Disease, which makes it dangerous for her to travel since she needs regular injections of Cortisol, because she reacts to stress and to excitement without the physiological tools which keep most of us from literally panicking to death.
Despite all of this, she’s effortlessly joyful and playful, and only stopped acting like a puppy about 3 years ago.
She's my best friend and my mother and my daughter, my benefactor, and she's the one who taught me what love is.
I can't come to South America. Not now.
When I got back from the last leg of the US tour, there was a big, big difference.
She doesn't even want to go for walks anymore.
I know that she's not sad about aging or dying. Animals have a survival instinct, but a sense of mortality and vanity, they do not. That’s why they are so much more present than people.
But I know that she is coming close to point where she will stop being a dog, and instead, be part of everything. She’ll be in the wind, and in the soil, and the snow, and in me, wherever I go.
I just can't leave her now, please understand.
If I go away again, I’m afraid she'll die and I won't have the honor of singing her to sleep, of escorting her out.
Sometimes it takes me 20 minutes to pick which socks to wear to bed.
But this decision is instant.
These are the choices we make, which define us.
I will not be the woman who puts her career ahead of love and friendship.
I am the woman who stays home and bakes Tilapia for my dearest, oldest friend.
And helps her be comfortable, and comforted, and safe, and important.
Many of us these days, we dread the death of a loved one. It is the ugly truth of Life, that keeps us feeling terrified and alone.
I wish we could also appreciate the time that lies right beside the end of time.
I know that I will feel the most overwhelming knowledge of her, and of her life and of my love for her, in the last moments.
I need to do my damnedest to be there for that.
Because it will be the most beautiful, the most intense, the most enriching experience of life I've ever known.
When she dies.
So I am staying home, and I am listening to her snore and wheeze, and reveling in the swampiest, most awful breath that ever emanated from an angel.
And I am asking for your blessing.

I'll be seeing you. "
Love, Fiona


Anonymous said...

Rod, what a beautiful story! I was very touched by Fiona's letter... and her words so reminded me of my own desires during the two-year-long journey with my husband's brain cancer. All I wanted to do, was to be there FOR and WITH him. Nothing else mattered.

As my husband's life was visibly waning, we yearned for young life in our home. We bought a wonderful little Vizsla puppy, 12 weeks old, whom my husband named "Ready"! They had 14 weeks together...

Ready is now just over two years old and my constant companion. He is sleeping by my feet as I'm writing this and reminiscing my husband's parting words: "When I'm gone, please remember that whenever Ready snuggles up to you, it is a hug from me, and whenever he licks you in the face, I am sending you a thousand kisses".

I loved my husband so much; he was my best friend and my soulmate. Being there for and with him to his last breath, was both beautiful and sad. I truly can relate to Fiona's story.

Now, my future story will be with Ready, who won both of our hearts, and is my link to my late husband, Bob Fritz.

Thanks for sharing the story, Rod! And, a continued Happy Thanksgiving weekend to you and your family... Including the little red-heads!



Kitty Tsui said...

Your words touched my heart.

I lost my 13 YO Vizsla, Kia/Meggie Too2, to cancer 2 weeks ago. For the past 4 months, she had had several health issues. At the beginning of October, I noticed a slight bump on her throat, this just days before she was scheduled for surgery to remove a tumor. In 3 days the bump grew hard & was the size of an orange. Vet pronounced it to be inoperable cancer.

I spent the next 30 days taking care of her: making meatballs w/ rice, ground meat, grated veggies bound w/ an egg; hash browns; poached mahi mahi & chicken, & hand feeding her. When she could no longer climb the stairs to our 2nd story home, I made a safe coral in the livingroom & tended to her 24/7, doing alot of laundry & picking up her poop. Cleaning blood, pee & poop. Slept in the livingroom w/ her, waking when she stirred to feed her or clean her or give her meds. Inconvenient? NO. She was a beloved family member & I practiced DEVOTION. My Red Dog loved me unconditionally. She was a Rescue & I vowed I would NEVER abandon her. & I didn't. We went to the end when I had to let her go. I knew when it was time. I would never let her suffer.

Run free, my love, fly high. Until we meet again.

Rod Michaelson said...

Kitty, what a sweet and touching farewell to your red dog. She will always be in you.