The Anniversary of Edison’s Death

People say, “are you still thinking about your dog? Didn’t he die a year ago?” How insensitive. But I understand. There are those who haven’t a sensitive bone in their body when it comes to any living creature other than human, and sometimes even the death of humans don’t seem to phase them. Let’s leave those kinds of people out, shall we?

 Some people have never lost a loved creature, much less a child. There are many ways in which one can define death, not always physical, but there are other deaths–like bipolar, schizophrenia, dementia, dissociative psychosis, brain damage, comatose, and so forth. These are all valid “deaths,” shall we call them?

And then, there are the deaths of animals that became pets first, then family. And when we lose them we feel the same as when we lose a person we love.

First,  I lost a daughter to bipolar/schitzophrenia. It is as if she died physically, for in her delusions I am at fault for her entire life’s negative episodes, though she has been married to a seemingly cruel and apathetic man for over 25 years. Yet, whatever may have happened to her as a child, it’s my fault, and everything thereafter. So she has purposely died from me.

In my sorrow I replaced her emotionally with a little 3 mo. old toy Yorkshire Terrier, in 2005. He fit into my hand and I immediately purchased him from his owner. He was sickly yet spunky, and very, very tiny. His presence alleviated the sorrow I had been carrying for my daughter. So Edison became the replacement family member I lost. He went everywhere with me; to the office, restaurants, department stores, and even on flights. He was my everything. 

It’s a different kind of emotional tie, I thought. But more and more I began to treat him like a family member. He got special treats, walks, carried everywhere, slept in my bed on my pillow. He became so much to me, I would rather not go out if I could not take him. I even stopped frequenting some stores because they would not let him come in. Even after he died, I still do not go to those stores.

He was my little angel, my little child I lost when I lost my daughter, but not only her. I had two sons, all of them grown up, and Edison became the surrogate child alleviating the “empty nest” syndrome. You can see why he got so much emphasis in my life.

 Edison died in 2017, last year. He  lived for 12 years, he was 6 lbs when I was told he would never go beyond 4 lbs.  

He began to show signs of what I was told might happen: he had a prolapsed trachea, common in those types of breeds. In other words, he was suffocating to death. Just before I had him laid to rest he did not sleep for three days. He stood without rest, because he could not lay down for being unable to breathe.

After his death I cried for days, and sometimes I still do. I had him specially cremated by himself for a higher fee, then given to me with his bones uncrushed in a box, where they await my death: he will be buried with me when I die. That is how much I love him, as my own child.

I suppose psychologists would call it love displacement, but I really don’t care what anyone calls it, I simply call it love.

I know he didn’t want to leave me. I could tell it in  his eyes while he was trying to breathe. I could no longer stand seeing him suffer, thus, I did the unthinkable: I had him put to sleep. In life, I carried him as much as possible, and so I held him in my arms for a very long time thereafter. 

My daughter remains alienated from me for over 15 years now. 

In my sorrow, I decided to write a children’s book about Edison, and afterward about his companion I purchased from another person who did not care for this little female, her name being Chloe, who is portrayed in the pictures with him and in his book. 

I like to say she was his wife. I have her now, and she is truly growing on me. She also is getting older; she is 10 years now and slowing down. I know what’s coming, so this book will tell all about the wonderful things I shared with my two sweet babes, my children.

I have cats, too, and now another rescued little Chihuahua. They all will have their stories told someday as well.

I am still grieving my original anchor, my little hero, and the child I hope to see again, my Edison. I did not know it then, and I did not know it even when he died… But I know it now. He was the only connection I had for the healing of that time… And now, the wound of his departure does not seem to heal, and I cannot–nor want to, forget him…

I still have his partner, I call, his “wife,” and I know, it’s kind of hard to explain. I love her, and I love my cats, all of my pets: I love them very much.

But Edison was the first pet I had after I lost my daughter. I gave him the love and care I wished I could give her, and later I gave him that love just because of who he became in his own right. I was rewarded by his very loving loyalty for those 12 years.

I will NEVER forget you, my little man, Edison… It is coming on two years in February 10th, 2019. I will never forget you, and I pray almost every single day, that God would allow our being once again together in heaven, because I am looking forward to holding you and seeing you again.



Awake, New Year!


I wrote this poem in 2015, when we closed the year before (2014). But it stands on its own, for every year, so hope you enjoy it.

Awake, New Year!

By Lydia Nolan

© December 25, 2014


When I encounter dreams, I wished that I had caused come true,

I realize they had first begun within a universal heart.

And old Hope brings at New Year: Joy, that does abound.

And then, our Dreams don’t sleep away or ever do depart.


Forgive the hurts, repair our souls, and never give way to sorrow,

I hold the good, and learn from it, then I will surely bend.

Give free my love and never hate, and always think tomorrow

The best of all, the truth in all, then we too, won’t offend.


So, Come New Year! Give us good cheer to everyone at yonder,

I look upon the end of last year’s chapter as I ponder.

No dream does die, no wondering why, just

Rest our heads in pillows, and the Dreams we had

Return again, each year how we do borrow. 


Heaven brings a cloud of Hope’s fresh brew for us to lavish in …

While visiting old dreams, the dreams that groan deep from within …

which bring New hope at night, as the New Year starts fresh growing …

And don’t forget the love, the touch of everlasting glowing.




Welcome 2018, I think…

Welcome 2018

© by Lydia Nolan

January 2, 2018


Well now, the new year has begun, and if what’s happened so far is any indication of what’s coming, I had better take cover and plan a strategy for survival.

First of all, I was fine all year until the day before New Year’s Eve. I caught that awful flu the news was warning everyone about, as it was becoming an epidemic. It also was told to us by the media that it turns into bronchitis, and if one is not careful, it can turn into pneumonia. Many had already died, young and old alike.

That was the beginning. So I caught this horrible flu and was sick worse than any dog right before the new year celebrations.

Then as I lay dying and coughing painfully, I tried to allay my hideous hacking and desperate need to kill myself, by reading. Of course, it had to be THAT article I found.

I read Vanity Fair, an article about all these TECHIE people, whose view of the world is shallow and stiffening, for they seem to think the world really is their oyster because they are making so much money hand over fist, they can party and do whatever they want regardless of what is going on in the world. You would have to read the article yourself, to get equally as disgusted; I was, in my agony, just trying to stay alive through horrendous pain throughout my body.


These young people have absolutely no shame for their narcissistic, solipsistic lifestyle, but then … what kind of parenting did they ever get?

Earlier, before the flu, my dutiful iphone 6Plus died.

I had to get another one. I did not even get the top of the line, and it cost me over $500! I’m not swimming with cash like those young techies are. But what are we going to do, we’ve got to have a phone, right? I mean, there is virtually NO MORE telephone company for regular phone service and we need so much on our phone, just to amuse ourselves, correct?


I have been feeling sluggish for a long time now, and I’m not talking about my love life. I am talking about in general as one within the masses. All of us struggling with the flu, our jobs, our need to give our families what television dictates, I mean… where does it all end!

Remember the movie, “The Fisher King?” One of my favorites. There is one line I took to heart. It was when Jeff Bridges had realized his irresponsibility on his radio show, after he had unknowingly convinced a madman to murder many people in a restaurant. And three years later, after giving up the show, becoming a drunk and appearing to have PTSD, he in a drunken stupor discusses his sorrow with a wooden doll.

A child gives him a little Pinnochio doll, and he begins to talk to it. He says, [drunk and talking to the Pinocchio doll] “You ever read any Nietzsche? Nietzsche says there’s two kinds of people in the world: people who are destined for greatness like Walt Disney… and Hitler. Then there’s the rest of us, he called us “the bungled and the botched.” We get teased. We sometimes get close to greatness, but we never get there. We’re the expendable masses. We get pushed in front of trains, take poison aspirin… get gunned down in Dairy Queens.”

That movie is one of my favorites because of the writer’s attitude on life in general and the writer’s attitude  through this event in particular!

The observation he poses about Nietzsche struck me when I read the Vanity Fair article, and suddenly I began to feel duped about how the world is playing out. Especially when I know how difficult it has been for me to attain my goals because I was so stupid having acquired so many student loans, but even after all the promises on media and in the schools themselves, I still had no job. Further paying my respects to Verizon, iPhone’s thief mob, MAC, and all the other techies that are creating great wealth on our backs, as we toil further and further into the ground trying to obey the rules and using their products supposedly to help us get further ahead.

I don’t know what to do about it. But for starters I want to get rid of all my websites, social media connection, apps, and whatever follows. Of course, I’m sick right now, so I probably am speaking out of my misery, and will change my tune the minute I am well… But at least it makes me feel better right now.

I don’t mind being called “backward,” because backing out of this joke of a technically advanced life is not, and never has been meant for my wealth or health, but for the few who know how to manipulate “the masses.” We—the masses—are called backward, clueless, fools, whatever, because we still obey the rules of the game and live with a humongous amount of hope and faith. They live with a party after a party of drugs, sex, and ingenious schemes to panhandle us some more.

So welcome 2018! But maybe it’s time for Silicon valley and all those techie sleaze bags to get foreclosures on theirhomes and become homeless, as we nearly did, and many other people I know.  Let them experience the whole bag of adulthood, not just to good part, but the bad as well.  Let them know what other people go through while they are having their sleazy parties and lives. This is my rant for the month. Enjoy it—or not, I really don’t care; I’m sick, let me grieve. Vanity Fair is not going to be on my list of favorites, that’s for sure.