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It's been close to 40 years and I still have a tough time talking about my first dog Jason. You see, I was 19 years old and due to circumstances beyond our control, my sweet dog needed to be put down.
This is still a major heartache and regret for me, as you see, I was emotionally unable to be with Jason when he needed me most. I rarely talk about this event as I feel ashamed that I just dropped Jason off at the vet and left him to take his final journey on his own. I know many would say, ridiculous, he was just a dog, but he wasn't! I've always been a freak about my dogs, because I have deeply connected with each on a soul level, and all have given me so much joy and happiness in various stages of my life. Jason was my first connection with unconditional love. With my 6 dogs that have followed Jason, I have taken small steps to right the wrong and to slowly learn tools to lean into the pain and uneasiness of escorting my dogs on their final journey. It wasn't until June 18, 2024, that I truly feel I had completely made an amends to Jason. As Lucy was painfully trying to leave her body, I responded only with love and compassion, leaving my thoughts and fears, and focusing on her and loving her through her end. I am so grateful that I could finally be fully present through Lucy's end-of-life experience, cuddling, kissing, crying, and hugging her body, for close to an hour. Our family was able to honor her, even if some of them were not here physically. We focused all of our loving attention on Lucy and her life, while also honoring and expressing our heartache and pain. These memories fill my heart and comfort me, as we were all able to come together, be in the moment, experience the pain, and continue to walk through various and conflicting emotions, one day at a time. Thank you Jason for teaching me what is of importance through end-of-life, and that is for loved ones to bring peace, serenity, and to be fully and emotionally present in these profound life experiences.
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 Honoring the grief.
I want to avoid, push it away, leave it behind and place it in a tidy box hidden deep down, where it won't see daylight. I want to say I’m ok, but right now I am not. The problem with grief denial is that it will catch up and return, eventually. So....I’ve been sitting with it. At times, deep guttural cries. Hyperventilating with grief and disbelief. Honoring the love and the gigantic hole that is in my guy and in heart. My love for Lucy deserves my grief. It's not wrong for me to honor what she means to me, and the void that has appeared since her death. The routine of past 5 years. Staying close. Willingly making sure her needs were met. As these needs changed, so did my routine of care. Im not going to lie, it was hard. There were times when I was overwhelmed with exhaustion and being tethered. But then….Lucy would look into my soul, with those sweet eyes and kissable button nose, and I would witness her willingness to stay around. She bounced back from many near death experiences…. more than a cat with 9 lives. Her continuous desire to live, and find joy, even as her body shifted. She still demanded going for walks…. they just became shorter in distance. She still devoured her food, even on the last night. There was no indication that Lucy was ready. Lucy loved her walk, and of course, when I didn’t dress properly for the weather, this is when Lucy decided she’d stroll for a long time on her “Lucy Highway”, usually in frigid weather. It was the joke in our family that Lucy was always sure of what she wanted, and more often than not, she got her little heart’s desire. I always said, especially in last few years… as long as Lucy wasn’t in pain and she still had joy, I would be her companion, her retirement community, and on occasion her full-time nurse. Then, on the early morning of June 18, Lucy’s body and soul loudly declared that it was time. Luckily Pat and I had talked about EOL options and it was very clear that it was time, and that she needed help to die. Thank God (of my understanding) that our caring vet was able to get here within 45 minutes and lovingly and compassionately helped Lucy to ease out of her pain. Lucy died in my arms, and I cuddled with her for an hour, stroking her hair, kissing her head and loving her until it was time for her to leave to the crematorium. We swaddled Lucy in a warm soft blanket, and I carried her to the vets car, where I gently placed her in the back ,with her head exposed and placed on soft blanket. We all watched, including Kona, as the vet slowly drove away…. Crying the ugly cry for our beloved Lucy whom graced us with her life got the past 19+ years. As heartbroken as I am, I’m so grateful for every moment of Lucy, and I am in deep gratitude that I was finally able to walk, without thinking of myself, with some equanimity to gracefully walk my beloved Lucy home.  We’ve always had two dogs at a time. Our first “two-some” were Tony and Doni. One day, while out of the house, the dogs went outside, via our dog door, into the fenced (and what we thought was a secured) backyard. They had never tried to escape before, but on this day they dug themselves out and escaped.
Tony was hit and killed by a car, and that driver chose not to stop and to help render aid. Luckily a policeman quickly arrived on the scene and found Doni circling, sniffing, and trying to nudge Tony awake. It was too late. For several days after, Doni would go out to the fence (we had diligently secured the hole) where they dug out. He would cry and pace along the fence. He wouldn’t eat, and was visibly distraught that his playmate was no longer with him. Even though we were dealing with our own grief, it also became very clear that Doni was too. After consulting a few “doggie shrinks”, they each said the same thing, "we needed to take Doni to “interview” new playmates asap". So we did. We had many interviews with potential dogs, but Doni did not respond to any of them. Then we met BoBo. Doni instinctually knew that Bo was his gal. He immediately wagged his tail and perked up to his old self. Doni was telling us, loud and clear, that he had found his new playmate. Fast forward 34 years, and now Kona is grieving for Lucy. Lucy literally raised Kona for the past 8 years. He followed all of Lucy’s leads, from laying down to eat, sleeping on the back of the couch, and learning how to walk on a leash. Kona hasn’t known his life without Lucy. So on June 18, 2024, 530 am it became was very clear that Lucy’s soul was needing to detach from her body, Kona howled when she howled. Kona barked when she barked, and Kona sat quietly as the vet eased Lucy's suffering. He sensed something had changed but wasn’t clear to him yet exactly what had. After Lucy died in my arms, we cuddled with her, talked to her and cried for her, and for us. Our crying made Kona nervous, unsure of what was really was going on. He quietly observed and very quickly sniffed Lucy’s body at the end. However Kona walked with us and we placed Lucy in our vets car, and when her sweet body was in the car, Kona jumped up and sniffed her one last time, as if saying I Love You. As we watched the vet drive away with beloved Lucy, Kona didn’t want to go back inside until the car was no longer visible to us. In the first days after Lucy's death, Kona wouldn’t eat and was nervous being in the house. On the night that Lucy died, Kona slept, for the first time, in her bed. We've noticed in the first 48 hours that Kona was happiest when he was out of the house. My instinct is to want to ease Kona’s grief and to immediately take interviewing for a new playmate. I want to bypass his pain and grief. However, as I am sitting with my grief, I am allowing Kona the dignity to be with his grief, and he too, deserves to have this process. Kona’s love for Lucy is deep and profound. With compassion and aching hearts, Kona and the rest of our family, will inhabit grief one day at a time. I know that at some point, our heartache will ease and loosen, but our Lucy will never be forgotten. I have learned that even after death, it is possible to continue to build new ways to connect with your pets. It's an opportunity for me to illustrate that love never dies. Through storytelling, laughter and tears, each us, including Kona, will navigate our grief towards healing, while honoring Lucy and her love of life. |
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