My thriller DEATH OF A STAR was a finalist in the Killer Nashville Claymore Awards, and I’m thrilled beyond words. Here’s a one-sentence teaser:
An Atlanta publisher still grieving the death of her husband finds the body of a film star inside the haunted house she inherited. #killernashville #Claymoreawards
Our beloved P-Nut passed January 24th
The pain of losing her is still so raw. It’s impossible for me to write or talk about her without breaking down in tears. She was our baby, our protector, constant companion, muse, our “Dr. Dog,” and treasure beyond measure.
In the months leading up to her death, I noticed she was slowing down. She seemed to prefer shorter walks, but she still loved to sniff her way along, reading the landscape, deciphering its history.
I thought her failing eye sight may have contributed to her slowdown. I’d planned to have her eyes fixed, but before I could do that, she got sick. She lost her appetite and started breathing heavily, even while resting.
Her labored breathing began during the Thanksgiving holidays. P-Nut’s regular vet was closed, but I eventually found an open vet.
Her diagnosis was dire. “P-nut has congestive heart failure,” the vet said.
“She was doing okay a few days ago,” I said.
“Congestive heart failure can come on suddenly and without warning,” she said.
“But I had P-Nut’s teeth cleaned several months ago,” I said. “Her heart must have been fine or they wouldn’t have cleaned her teeth, right?”
“This disease can come on suddenly,” she reiterated.
The vet prescribed Vetmedin and Lasix, a treatment that seemed to work. P-Nut soon rebounded.
A month later, however, despite the meds, P-Nut started breathing heavily again. The vet, who had diagnosed the heart disease, had closed for the holidays, but I managed to find one open.
Sadly, this new vet gave more distressing news. “If we can’t stabilize her, we’ll have to euthanize her,” she said.
In an effort to save P-Nut’s life, we carried her to the University of Florida’s small animal hospital in Gainesville Christmas morning. Larry and I were hopeful as we drove P-Nut to Gainesville.
They placed her in an oxygen chamber and performed a battery of tests, which included an echocardiogram. We prayed she’d make it through, and she did.
The UF cardiologist prescribed more pills for P-Nut, and he said she might live for several more months if we gave her the heart meds as prescribed.
I followed his advice, which proved to be challenging at times. She didn’t like the pills. I had to fool her by wrapping them in food and coaxing her to eat them out of my hand.
The medicine seemed to work at first, and we were grateful she was still alive and didn’t appear to be in pain. Then two weeks later she started throwing up.
P-Nut and I were traveling at that time, and I was scared for her. How could I get P-Nut to take her meds when she couldn’t keep anything down?
I rushed her to the closest vet I could find. This vet was able to give P-Nut an anti-nausea shot and run some blood test before giving her the prescribed pills. During that visit, P-Nut studied me with sad eyes, as if to say, I’m tired of this. I’m hurting. Empathically, I could feel her sadness and pain.
She had become more lethargic, and I noticed she’d begun to have leg spasm. But most days she seemed okay. She loved to cuddle with me and travel in the car.
The day before she died, she had a spasm so severe she fell over. I picked her up, stroked her and carried her back home. Afterwards, she acted confused. She walked around our house aimlessly. But we still refused to give up hope. Her appetite had returned, and I was able to get her to eat her pills.
But that night, as she was lying beside me in our bed, she began to pant heavily. It was cool in the house, but I turned the air to a cooler setting, because I knew she liked it colder than we did.
I stroked her and told her I loved her again and again. My words and the stroking seemed to relax her enough that she was able to lie down and go back to sleep. But in the early morning hours, she struggled to breathe.
It was raining with loud thunder and lightning, and P-Nut is usually nervous during storms. I convinced myself it was the storm that had caused her distress.
Larry and I talked about carrying her to the closest vet hospital, but at that point, P-Nut had been through so much already. And I worried if we took her there, she might die without us to comfort her.
Did I make the wrong decision? That question still haunts me.
I was confused and scared. I didn’t know what to do.
At that point, it had been almost 12 hours since she’d taken her last dosage of heart meds, and I kept hoping that if I could get her to take her pills, as prescribed, she’d feel better and rally. In looking back, I should have known the meds had stopped working.
Why did I try to make her swallow them? Why didn’t I just cuddle and comfort her instead?
I made a horrible mistake, I know that now, because as I was trying to get her to swallow her pills, she fell over and died.
I blame myself. I wanted to save her. I wanted to help her, not hurt my precious baby. God knows, I loved her so much. I would never purposely hurt her.
“It was her time,” Larry and others have said in an effort to ease my guilt and grief. “She’s in a better place now,” daughters Andrea and Rene say.
But I miss P-Nut terribly. I’m at a loss to express how much her loss hurts.
Larry built a burial box for P-Nut’s body. We wrapped her in a little blanket with some of her toys before burying her near the Gardena bush and magnolia tree. On her gravestone is P-Nut’s beautiful picture and a message, thanking her for her unconditional love and telling her we will forever miss and love our precious angel. I used to sing to her “’You are my precious angel sent from up above….”’ to the tune of, “You Are My Special Angel.”
We invited a few friends and family over to celebrate her life. We all shared our memories of P-Nut. We agreed she was fiercely loyal, but she didn’t like everyone. Sometimes she could be downright rude to strangers, but she loved all children.
I just hope she knew how much we cherished the 12 years she blessed us with her presence.
At her memorial service, I shared the time a little boy asked his mom if he could pet P-Nut.
“Is it okay?” his mom asked.
“Yes, P-Nut loves children,” I said.
To which a little girl, standing nearby, replied, “I’m a children.”
We often called P-Nut “Nutty P,” and I even wrote a little song about her, which she seemed to love to hear me sing: “P-Nut, I love you, P-Nut, P-Nutty, Nutty, Nutty P. I love my P-Nut. My precious P-Nut, P-Nutty, Nutty, Nutty, P-Nutty, Nutty, Nutty, P-Nutty, Nutty, Nutty P…”
She could be so loving and adorable but also complex, cantankerous and stubborn. Whenever we attempted to remove a sandspur stuck near her mouth, she growled and tried to bite us.
In the presence of other dogs, she saw herself as the alpha canine. She didn’t seem to realize how small she was. Only 11 pounds but she’d take on a great Dane or Saint Bernard or German Shepard without blinking an eye. Yet, she made friends with cats, and cats were drawn to her.
If a stranger came to our house, she’d bark loud enough to scare them away. I had to hold tight to her to keep her from attacking the air conditioner repair man.
Yes, she had plenty of fierce attitude, but we loved our “little lion” shih tzu dearly, attitude and all.
She followed me everywhere and traveled with me all over. She loved to ride in the car. She thought it was her job to guard it and me.
She was a great listener. She’d hang on to my every word. I felt like she knew my heart and shared my worries.
If I made a wrong turn on the road, and lost my way, she’d jump up and look out the car window, as if she could help me navigate.
Not long after she passed away, I was in the bathroom, sobbing, looking down at the turquoise mat– where she would usually wait for me to shower and dress. When I spotted the bathroom door moving back and forth, I felt a warm tingle.
“Is that you, P-Nut letting me know you’re still with me?” I asked as if she could hear me.
I’ve dreamed about her quite a bit since she passed. In one of those dream, I’m in our back yard. I can hear Larry playing the piano. His music is filtering through the air. In the dream, our yard is filled with the most beautiful flowers I’ve ever seen.
I’m admiring this paradise, when I suddenly see P-Nut leading a pack of dogs. She’s young and covered in gold dust.
I scoop her up to caress her. “Why are you running around loose with all these dogs?” I ask her and call out to Larry to let him know, “P-Nut is alive. She’d not dead.”
The dream seem so real, so colorful.
My sister Alice Kay interprets my dream as a signal from P-Nut. “She’s letting you know she’s okay,” Alice Kay said. “And she’s waiting for you.”
Larry agreed with AK interpretation.
So far Larry hasn’t dreamed about P-Nut, but I’m convinced she inspired him to write this lovely poem:
You were our precious angel,
Who filled our hearts with joy.
The moment we looked at your face,
You were our only choice.
You were our precious angel,
Your devotion had no bounds.
You protected us at any cost,
With no thought of backing down.
Much more than any canine pet,
You gave us therapy.
You never held a grudge on us,
Your love was pure and free.
You were our precious angel.
Now you’ve moved to a new world.
No matter how much time may pass.
You’ll be with us, little girl.
I’ve been living here fairly long—
Twelve years and it’s where I belong.
Folks are friendly; they’ve welcomed me from the get-go.
I dig so much of this scene,
The music, the pool, and greenery is all stellar.
One thing I have learned, though, is wherever I go.
Shellfish isn’t a highlight, and I miss that so.
I’d love an oyster poboy
With tomatoes and lettuce, smothered in mayonnaise.
Yes, an oyster poboy,
Stuffed with those gems from Apalachicola Bay.
I could eat them everyday.
I love the folks ’round here.
Their vibes bubble with cheer.
I have caught an ornery snap from no one.
Flooding’s no threat at all,
And hurricanes aren’t the hazard from times I recall.
Ocala’s a great place to live, and terrific as it is,
I still long for cuisine from dear New Orleans.
I’d love an oyster poboy,
Sides bulging with crisp, juicy lumps galore.
Mmm, an oyster poboy—
This treat that’s relished in just a few places, I’m sure.
And the Crescent City’s where they were born.
I’d love an oyster poboy.
I would be thrilled just to taste a half dozen, now.
An oyster poboy—-
Six is a start, but I’d eat thirty more for my chow.
I’m an oyster-holic and proud.
Happy Pappy’s Day, Dad,#Ocalaguy,#Jeresemerad,#Tromboneman
I’m remembering my Daddy, Ira Hodges, on Father’s Day
As a child, I was afraid of monsters and would often sneak into my parents’ bed at night. After I fell asleep, Daddy would carry me back to my bed. One time he didn’t.
That was the night he died.
The next morning, I found Mother crying in the living room. Our house was full of people. Many of them were crying, too.
“Where’s Daddy,” I asked Mother.
“He’s gone away,” she said.
Later at the funeral home, a man asked, “Would you like to see your daddy?” He carried me to a shiny casket and hoisted me up.
Daddy looked handsome, but asleep, and I didn’t understand he wouldn’t wake up. I soon learned he died of a heart attack.
I was seven when he left this earth, and unfortunately, I don’t have many memories of him. I do recall pestering Daddy once when he came home early from work. I sat on his bed and chattered while he was trying to nap. I can still see his camel cigarettes on the bed stand.
Daddy worked most of the time. He wanted to provide his family with the finer things in life: a huge brick home, a fishing pond, a swimming pool, tennis courts and our own merry-go-round.
But I would have gladly traded all the luxury for more time with him.
I’ve told my daughters and granddaughter he was a great man. Although I wish they could have discovered his greatness on their own. I’ve told them of the time when I was a teenager, a strange man was wandering around our house. I called the police because Mother wasn’t home and I was afraid.
When the police questioned the man, he said he used to work for Daddy many years ago: “Whenever I needed work, Mr. Ira would always give me some.”
Another man told me Daddy repaired the windows in his family’s house for free. “It was cold and we couldn’t afford to pay,” he said.
I’ve shared these stories and many others like them with my daughters and granddaughter because I want them to know he tried to help others. I want them to know he was generous in giving of his time and money.
I only wish I could have had more time with him, and I know my sister Alice Kay feels the same. We’ve missed not having him in our lives, and with that thought, I’d like to wish all of you a Happy Father’s Day. #HappyFather’sDay.