Category: Pain

In Life and In Dying

trE

Part III: There is no routine anymore; we just wing it

Part II of the previous video: Jernee and post-breakfast-time|the treat.

I called Jernee’s Vet yesterday, Monday, September 08, 2025, and made sure the Intake Receptionist changed our upcoming appointment to reflect an End-of-Life visit and not to simply discuss it.

Since my last post, several other things have taken place, including Jernee developing a head tic and now walking robotically and in calculated steps. I wish I could describe it much better, but this is how I see it come to life in my mind when I think of how to describe it to others.

She also snapped at one of our neighbors and almost bit her this past Saturday, September 06, 2025, and then did the same thing to me on Sunday, September 07, 2025. Let me be clear… Jernee has NEVER done this. She loves our neighbors and is such a welcoming presence to anyone she meets.

I can only imagine what my baby girl is going through, how her world must look and feel incredibly foreign to her. I was assured by the Intake Receptionist that everything I told her about Jernee warrants euthanasia. She is only going to get worse.

Below are the documentation notes I emailed to our vet, and I also shared two of the six videos I recorded of her. The Vet who is going to perform the service will review the information and prepare herself accordingly:

Saturday, August 23, 2025, at 10:15 AM, Jernee urinated in her bed while staring off in a dazed and confused state. I had just given her a bath and placed her in her bed because she couldn’t get there on her own.

Monday, August 25, 2025, at 5:17 PM, Jernee fell while standing up while waiting for me to open our door.

Thursday, August 28, 2025 at 05:52 AM, Jernee ran full speed into our coat closet door right across from our bedroom entrance while I was tidying up her crate’s bedding.

Same Day: At 7:24 PM, Jernee urinated on the concrete path directly in front of our building’s door. She has never done that.

Saturday, August 30,2025 (time, unknown): Jernee urinated on the living room rug while I was away at work. This is not something she does normally.

Same Day, 5:55 PM: Jernee ran head on, full speed into the wall of the elevator.

Sunday, August 31, 2025, at 3:55 PM: Jernee pooped in the middle of the street.

Monday, September 01, 2025 at 09:22 AM: Jernee urinated in the street/pathway to our grassy areas of our apartment community.

Same Day at 6:06 PM: Jernee pooped on the sidewalk. She has almost no control over her bowels anymore.

Thursday, September 04, 2025 (time unknown): Jernee urinated in the middle of our living room floor. We have hardwood floors, and there are always 2 pee pee pads down for her in front of our fireplace.

Saturday, September 06, 2025, at 3:50 PM: Jernee snapped at one of our neighbors while she was gently petting her. She loves our neighbors, and was typically very open to being petted by them.

Sunday, September 07, 2025, at 07:57 AM: While outside, Jernee stared off into the distance and barked twice. Nothing was there.

Same day, at 7:40 PM: While on the elevator in our building, I attempted to stroke Jernee’s head, and she snapped at me, and tried to bite me.

I have the box that Jernee will be buried in, and I will wrap it in all brown wrapping paper. I’ll place her on a towel and blanket, and put her stuffed monkey in the box with her.

Friday is just around the corner, and my baby’s last days are, in fact, last days.

How will I be without her? Who will I be without her? What will I do without her?

I foresee a lot of sad days ahead after this coming Friday, but I will also reach into my memory bank and pull out my fondest memories of her, of us. I have known the best love a human being can know; one without conditions, judgment, or manipulation.

I am so blessed.

Part I and Part II

pigeonholed & sidereal

trE

Two poems shared on Substack notes

pigeonholed

I never wanted to be
pigeonholed into a
category ill-fitting for
what and how I write.

I don’t know where I
should be or why, but
I do know I can write
whatever I am
assigned. I always
have been able to
create and build
characters out of
thin air.

Poetry is my salve.
Fiction is sustenance.
Nonfiction is time
delegating a few
memories to those
willing to consume.

I am a bustling soul
linked to ancestors
who told stories
about lifestyles and
enslavement.

I am my great-grandmother’s
twin; I have her eyes,
her lips, her walk,
and her mannerisms;

I’m the walking dead.

sidereal

she is out of this
world–a sidereal
creature crafted by
the best God I’ve
ever known.

a crush I’ve crushed
on, and probably will
until time leaves me
breathless. we hang
on every word that
pours from our lips.

I’ve become
complacent in the
knowing of her
presence–she’s
steadfast in being
here, and the
moment I shift my
presence, she glues
herself to everything
I’m connected to.

I would typically
leave, a ghost with
nothing to lose, but
she has galaxies for
eyes, and I am
forever cursed by
her.

I’m stone, unable to
be chiseled, unable
to break.
and secretly, she
loves it.

Have you gotten your copy of my new book: a collection of serial tales & flash fiction, Séduire (E-Book and Paperback) yet?

I recently signed up to write on Substack as well. Poking the Bear’s Belly for Fun is a place of healing as I speak about the most recent events with my place of employment, as it pertains to racism and discrimination. I welcome your visit.

pulse

trE

a stranger cupped my
hand in hers at the curb
of the crosswalk, and looked
at me pleadingly.

I am funny about touch if
I don’t know you, and sometimes
even when I do, but I knew
something was wrong
when I saw her eyes dancing
like they were running away
from terror.

I tilted my head and leaned
into her personal space and
smelled fear.
caution warned me not
to turn around, so I didn’t,
but I could hear him
breathing.

a cop–woman, stood by
her cruiser a block away,
and sitting shotgun was her
partner. I looked at her, raising
my tethered hand, and then
looked at the silent woman,
and the cop knew.

the man started running
as soon as their eyes locked.
the silent woman sat in
the backseat, and closed
the cruiser’s door.

I walked two blocks home,
dangling my hand at my
side, twiddling my fingers,
feeling the lonesome lack of
the woman’s grip.

I prayed for her safety as
my pulse quickened.

This was my dream from last night. I hope it isn’t a premonition or a vision into what will happen.

Weird Dan

trE

Sunday Microfiction #10

Pictured Microfiction. Weird Dan: Sunday Microfiction #10 Created with Canva.

Have you gotten your copy of my new book: a collection of serial tales & flash fiction, Séduire (E-Book and Paperback) yet?

I recently signed up to write on Substack as well. Poking the Bear’s Belly for Fun is a place of healing as I speak about the most recent events with my place of employment, as it pertains to racism and discrimination. I welcome your visit.

the carelessness of the few & a griseous morning

trE

Two poems written on Substack notes

the carelessness of the few

if millions of breathing beings
proscribed evildoers and those greedy
enough to shake down the poor and
oppressed, we wouldn’t be dancing
in a pit of flames, trying our best to
outrun the burn.

but here we are…
walking on lit coal, struggling to stay
sane, and clapping away fire that aligns
itself with our truths.
we had the tools to succeed politically,
however, many were afraid to see how
well they worked.

and now, we’re all
drowning in this
inescapable Hell.

a griseous morning

morning isn’t sashaying over to
me as it’s done the
past few days.

it appears sullen,
griseous, and
downtrodden.

I don’t have the
words to heal the ache it feels, but
I offer a few anyway.

it wanders around my home,
anxious to see which one of us
will break first.

I’ve got news for it…
it won’t be me.

Have you gotten your copy of my new book: a collection of serial tales & flash fiction, Séduire (E-Book and Paperback) yet?

I recently signed up to write on Substack as well. Poking the Bear’s Belly for Fun is a place of healing as I speak about the most recent events with my place of employment as it pertains to racism and discrimination. I welcome your visit.

finding my way to the light & greedy, nasty men

trE

Two poems written on Substack notes

finding my way to the light

the day nearly got
away from me, and
I remembered I
hadn’t poeted yet.
hadn’t penned
something that
would set me free.

although I feel
dislimned, I press
forward and find my
way to the light. I
will not give myself
permission to break;
I’m allowed to bend.
I’m allowed to
stretch.

but I damn sure
better not break.

there’s much work to
still be done, and
those of us with
stones as strength
know we have to
build ourselves up.

we are the crumpled
up pieces–rock hard
and steady. when the
weight is heavy; we
bear it with the
world hanging on to
our hearts.

the blood of our
ancestors wave in
our bones. we can
hear the maker
calling us home.

we’re getting ready.

greedy, nasty men

I believe TACO feels
that keeping all
exculpatory information against
him from the
public can stick.

but people will
remember the
moment their hearts
broke. people remember losing
trust in human beings.

it is the pain that
connects us all–the
suffering that binds
us. from starving
communities to
burning cities to
the coal-filled hearts
of men who call the
shots…

we will remember.

Have you gotten your copy of my new book: a collection of serial tales & flash fiction, Séduire (E-Book and Paperback) yet?

I recently signed up to write on Substack as well. Poking the Bear’s Belly for Fun is a place of healing as I speak about the most recent events with my place of employment, as it pertains to racism and discrimination. I welcome your visit.