Waiting for daddy to get home.

"Heartbreak is life educating us."

(George Bernard Shaw)

 I miss my old man. So much that some days I cannot stand the fact that he is really gone, simply cannot accept it. Which seems ridiculous, I realize, as we all know dogs do not live as long as they should. We all know someday they will leave us, always prematurely. My little pack, my  immediate four-legged family, so much a part of my life, so integral, so necessary. A part of me still expects to see him when I get home each day. Sleeping in his bed, greeting me at the door, jumping up and down for treats. 17 years is a very long time and an old dog by any standards. Still, it's not long enough, it's never long enough. My friend pointed out that it's the same amount of time as someone who's kid just graduated from High School. No wonder it doesn't seem real. A tiny black dog seems an insignificant thing in the whole scheme of things. The world is such a noisy, crazy, chaotic place so much of the time. Wars are fought, the stock market crashes and rebounds, the weather gets cold or unbearably hot. The seasons change, holidays come and go, commitments, vacations, regular work days. There are much bigger things to think about in the course of a day. 

I have often lost my way in the world, stumbled, wondered what would become of this choice or that, pondered big life decisions and stressed over little ones. The big things, like jobs and illness, money or trying to find your place, where you really belong, are a constant worry. I think it's exactly why he was so important. He brought only joy. Brought the focus back to what was important, made me relax, laugh and tell stories about him to anyone who would listen. Nothing complicated, nothing conflicted, only joy. He was a true mama's boy. Wherever I went, there he was. When I studied for law school, he slept under my desk until it was time for bed. If I was home sick and he curled up next to me for the whole day, cheering me up, making me feel peaceful even while being ill. Gentle, sweet boy. I would curl my fingers in his soft fur and sleep, feeling quite content. I watched my Kings finally win the final game of Stanley Cup and he sat next to me on the couch while I cheered. A constant, comforting presence, pure and simple love. No matter what the direction my life takes, the upheaval, the disappointments,  the uncertainties, I always steer my way back to what matters. My human family. My husband. My dogs. Is it any wonder I miss him so.

Dogs are my comfort.  They are also my happiness, my worry, sometimes my most important consideration. My dogs are not my "children", nor are they a substitute for children, as many people seem to think about those of us who do not have children, but love our dogs. As if, somehow, we are odd for doing both.  They are, on their own, an important life, a family member, a dedicated friend. Why is it that it is often harder to lose a dog then it might be an actual person? Is it because they love us unconditionally? Maybe because we live our lives intricately intertwined with them, we sleep with them, feed them everyday, take care of them when they don't feel well. They love us without agenda, even when we screw up or lose our patience with them. Or maybe it's because we are responsible for their well-being and ultimately, sometimes for the very  end of their lives, which always feels like such a betrayal. Why do we mourn them so? I was so heartbroken the first few nights that I cried until I couldn't breathe, the pain was so acute. One of those moments everyone has in their lives when the pain fine-tunes your senses, you feel raw and exposed and even the breeze on your face brings more pain. 

I don't buy into the argument that "people are more important". Never have. What does that mean exactly? More important than what? We are also animals, after all, human primates. I contend that love is love, period, we are always better for it, no matter what form it comes in. Dogs are so unselfish, they are relentlessly devoted, forgiving to a fault.  There is much in our relationship with dogs that simply is magical, no other explanation will suffice. Those who love dogs in this manner know exactly what I'm talking about, words cannot and will not explain it. Those who do not will never understand what I'm talking about and in the end, matters not to me a whit. I mourn him, I miss him, I wish he would come back, that I could see him again, that is the truth of my feelings at the moment. I have compassion for myself occasionally, in my brief moments of peace and acceptance. One cannot love deeply without feeling the other end of the spectrum, terrible grief is the price we pay when they leave us.

 So why exactly does  it feel like such a betrayal in the end? The feeling the day after reminded me of being young and in love and waking up the morning after the first big break-up, when you first hear the birds in the morning, and for a brief second your mind has not caught up and it still believes all is right with the world, then, it remembers with a crushing reality, it hurts with every breath, the world has  moved on, unchanged, and yet, for you, the universe has shifted and will never feel the same again. On some level you know (without fully accepting it) that your world is forever changed, you will never go back, you will never see him again and you simply cannot believe it. You walk around in a pain-filled fog, watching others go to dinner, laugh, wash their cars, go to the movies, it all seems changed but yet everything, unbelievably,  is the same. It is both a comfort and a travesty.

 I've been so alone without Tom here, the day after we lost Lucky, he went to Las Vegas to a wedding. I thought I would be fine, but I wasn't, not at all.  I cannot remember when I ever felt so lonely. The house is doubly silent, I turn the television on just to have some noise, every time I try to sleep, I'm besieged by thoughts of guilt,  wishing I could take it back, wanting him to just walk around the corner so I can pick him up and put him to bed and hoping, somehow,  he isn't angry with me. I cry and cry, until my eyes swell shut and I feel my stomach clench. I finally sleep a bit, exhausted and drained, clutching his collar because it makes me feel a little bit closer to him. I do whatever I can to find some comfort, whatever it takes to ease the pain.

He lived with me through three houses, a new marriage, an autoimmune disorder, a law degree. He slept beside me for over a decade, his loss makes the whole house feel empty and sad, diminished. We had only been here in our new house for less than two months, I am sad that he will not find a home here as we will, that he will not be part of it. I wish, briefly and perhaps irrationally, that for a minute we are all back in Chatsworth, together again. What is it about our dogs that causes such heartbreak in the end?  Is it actually just love, no matter how you look at it or the fact they are the only animal on earth innately bred to be our best friends? They trust us, plain and simple, their every happiness is wrapped up in us, they depend on our kindness, our responsibility, our love. Their care, their well-being, their happiness and, in the end, up to us to take away their suffering, to give them that last final gift of mercy.  

When we drive him to the vet the last day, he thinks he is going for a walk and does a brief bounce, grabbing at his leash, happy, even though he has been ill for months and just that morning, would not eat at all.   I knew it was coming. I carried him to his bed each night, laid down next to him and stroked his soft head  until he fell asleep. I cried the week up to his death as well, knowing the day  would be soon, looming large, and was unable to conceive it. We slept peacefully, briefly, both of us, on his thick dog bed that he got for Christmas, knowing we don't have much time left. I cannot fathom it and each night I push it away and tell myself I'll think about it tomorrow, all is well for tonight. The last few nights he doesn't sleep, he gets up and walks around, up and down the hallway, unable to get comfortable, aimlessly wandering. He has accidents in the bedroom, disoriented, clearly in some distress. I get up repeatedly, clean him up, put him back to bed, take him outside and stand in the darkness while he walks in circles, unable to do much to help him.

 In the end, he was having a good day, despite being down and so depressed in the morning that he wouldn't lift his head off the bed. He was happy in the afternoon, he walked fairly normal, no sideways, hunched over gait as he had been doing for months, no diarrhea, no bile vomiting.  I am glad for his relative pain-free day, but it doesn't make the inevitable any easier. Once at the vet, he becomes stressed, panting, trembling. I am wishing I had thought even further ahead and called a vet to do it in the comfort of his own home. I am bereft, inconsolable, I can barely explain to the vet what has been happening. He cries a little when they find the vein and I start to yell Stop! I've changed my mind!  Knowing how hard it will be in the days afterward, knowing how final this decision is. But no words come out, my mouth is ready to speak, but nothing is actually said. And then, it was over. My sweet old man was gone. Part of me wishes I had not seem the transition, that I could remember him happy and young and beautiful, but I cannot leave him alone without comfort, he deserves to have us there, despite how devastating it is. I kissed his head and told him how much I loved him, that I would see him again someday, that I was so sorry,  that I hope he forgives me. I sat with him for awhile, tears dripping into his fur, knowing this is the last time we will have together and then, have to run outside to get sick in the parking lot, leaving my poor husband to handle the paperwork. I've never been good at loss. Ever.

I have not been able to sleep much, I am up all night, the minute my head hits the pillow and it's dark, I cannot bear the emptiness and have to get up, pace, walk around, read, turn the light back on.  I move his bed away from his spot and then put it back again. I get up in the middle of the night and still try not to step on him. I continue to sleep with his collar and bits of his soft fur next to my bed and I wonder if others feel so lost and heartbroken when they lose a loved one. I think about how he was here and then suddenly, gone, and how I will never see him walk around my house or come to greet me again. And it is so hard to believe, I can feel my heart breaking with the loss. I think of him sleeping in the sun, the way he loved ice cubes in his water and his funny way of bouncing up and down on his front legs when he wanted you to throw his ball. He would play ball for hours, talking up a storm if you didn't throw it fast enough, running back and forth until the hair on his head would stand on end. How, in past few years, his hearing and his eyesight were failing and if you called him, he would walk in the other direction, not quite sure where you were calling him from, still trying to get to you. I cry until I fall asleep completely spent. And I wait for my broken heart to start healing.

 I continue to cry each day, the pain hovers right at the surface, I get up every morning and press on, hating to be alone, wishing someone would call to check on me, ask if I'm okay, let me cry. I don't call anyone either, I simply have no energy or desire to reach out whatsoever, what do I say that makes any sense? It is only my grief, and mine alone to bear. It is my baby who is gone, even when others who try their best to comfort but have never even met him, hug me, give me cards and condolences, say they understand. There is no hiding from it, no wishing it away. I question myself and wonder if he still had more life in him, if I acted too soon,  I cannot change it now and I desperately hope I did the right thing, tortured with doubt and regret. Which I realize doesn't help anything but I cannot seem to stop the thoughts. The vet said I needed to be ready, to come back when he was having a "bad day" if I needed to make peace with it. I'm thinking she was right, I should have done that, because now, in those first few days, I cannot find that peace, only pain and guilt. Even while knowing on some level there is no perfect time, friends tell me stories of making the decision too late, how horrible they felt and still feel, about waiting too long, allowing their babies to suffer so they wouldn't have to be sad.

Lucky at 7.

Why does losing him feel like such a terrible blow? I literally can barely function, wiped out with exhaustion and grief. Perhaps it's because I'm 52 and wondering where in the world I fit in. Who is friend or foe, what makes my life important and relevant. Am I still relevant at all? Was I ever? Feeling vulnerable, unsure, having lost much confidence. In the past two years I have had so many changes. I lost a job, moved, stopped playing hockey, almost lost a horse to colic, watched him go through major surgery,  got a new job. To lose a job in such an ungracious way, abruptly and without warning or cause, watching others left in the same position with far less experience, passion, dedication, trying to make sense of it when there is no sense to be found. Wondering why I have worked so hard, studied so hard, given everything I had, only to be back where I started, starting over. Struggling with my weight, something I never had to do for over 30 years. Deciding whether or not to tackle the Bar Exam again, giving myself time enough to actually study and succeed and fulfill a dream of working in Animal Law. I am mostly unanswered questions these days, instead of answers. But one thing I always knew, I loved him. as I love all my dogs.

Maybe all of these reasons are why it's so hard. Why the loss seems even bigger, more crushing. Because life is about love and loss, acceptance of the inevitability of death, of pain from all kinds of loss, and all loss hurts. Each one, big or small, accumulates and, like a snowball gathering speed,  gets bigger and bigger as they go along down the road, never really being healed, adding to the pain with each new loss all the others that have gone before. All our doubts and fears, disappointments, insecurities wrapped up together. Still, I would have it no other way, I am a lover of dogs and I will not live without them. One little dog is gone, but I loved him, this is what I know is true.  Rest in peace baby, I'll see you again someday and we will both run together in the grass, free of sickness, fear or loneliness. You came home today, and will now live with the others above the fireplace, where you can still be with your mama for the rest of my days. I love you Lucky Luck. I always will. 

"Death ends a life, not a relationship." (Jack Lemmon)

All three of my dogs when they were young. Lucas is only about 5 months old.