Grief

 I have been spiraling these last few days,. . . 

I relived a vivid memory of a conversation with my grandpa while I was driving home from the Hospice Center last night. I was just getting done being a sophomore in high school and our family dog was about to have a litter of puppies. From what the vet said, she was going to have quite a few which was unusual for a chihuahua. So, ma and dad told my sisters, brother, and I that we would be able to have a pick of the litter. 

When I was visiting Grandpa one afternoon after we were told we could have one of the puppies for our own, he had a serious conversation with me. He said that owning a dog was a big responsibility and that to them I was going to be their whole world. I was their food and their safety and their gauge of what was dangerous and what was safe. I was the one that would give them affection and discipline and fun and presence. 

After talking about how this dog would be an every part of my life experience, he said a phrase that I truly didn't understand as a 16-17 year old but I do now. It still punches me in the gut today - - - he said, "Remember, dogs don't live as long as we do. "

The first time he said it I just responded, "Ok, grandpa."

He said, "Dogs don't live as long as we do. That means that someday, years from now, you will have to be ready to say goodby to this dog. You may even have to make the choice to put them to sleep. Are you ready right now to bare that kind of choice and loss?"

I said, "Yeah, Grandpa, I will be able to handle it. "

God, that was such a stupid thing to say. 

And then my dog was born on the fourth of July the summer between my sophomore and junior year of high school. I name him Blitz and he and I were inseparable. We had an almost movie like relationship. He was with me through the death of my grandpa and college and marriage and the birth of my first son. he was my side kick and with me everywhere I went.  He literally was with me all the time. He was with me as I grew into the man I am today basically. After 14 years with him..... 14 years...... I started to think about what Grandpa said to me all those years back - "Remember, they don't live as long as we do. You will have to let him go someday." And as I watched Blitz age more and more, I kept coming back to those words and thinking to myself about how I missed the weight of them - how I was so naive and clueless to what those words grandpa was trying to instill in me actually meant. I was so young and the future was this vague thing that was coming but it seemed so far away that I didn't have to really deal with the emotional reality of what I just heard.  

But that day was coming closer and closer. And I was having a crash course on loss. It was like losing grandpa again. I was learning very quickly what it would be like to be with someone you loved dearly as they lived out their last few months and days. Finally, that day did come. The day when I had to make the choice. . . will I choose to force him to suffer or will I help him to move on . . . . 

The memories of the day. It was in the morning, and I took him to the vet. He was laying on the table and I was sitting to where I was in front of him with his muzzle cradled in my hand so that he would be looking into my eyes. I wanted my eyes to be the last thing he saw before he went on. He just laid there all still and comforted by my touch and soothing words just like he had for his entire life. He gave no sign of the needle at all. And I sat there talking softly to him as he went to sleep and his head became heavier and heavier in my hand. And after years of time that probably was only less than a minute. . . . the assistant said it was done and they left the room to give me time. 

I wrapped him in his crate blanket that he had for years and gently placed him in the carrier. I took him home and went out to the back of the property where the others were buried. I started digging. some of my family members offered to help but I had to do this myself. And they respectfully left to give me the space I needed. I had to finish what I had started. I had to get it all out, the denial and the acceptance and the anger of how stupid I was to think that I could be ok with this. I stabbed the earth in my anger and I drop tears of grief into the soil. I dug until my hands had blistered and my muscles screamed in the pain my heart felt. 

And in a moment of exhaustion, on my knees in front of a hole, those words came back to me, "Remember that they don't live as long as we do. Will you be ready for that?"

And time is a thief that never gives back. 

I laid him in the hole and said a last goodby. Then I filled it in. I sat on the fresh earth for a few moments weeping and missing him. Then when I had no more tears to give and no more strength. I stood up and closed that chapter of my life. 

I am writing all this out because I am currently going through losing my mother-in-law. She is in the care of hospice right now and all these feelings and grief are washing over me again. I need to talk about it but I just don't think I am ready to talk about the loss of her. . . . so I am talking about my first ever dog I grew up with because I think it hurts less. . . or I am just trying to work through the grief and loss and have no idea how to get through it. 

"Remember, they don't live as long as we do."

I guess since I have already gone through this with Grandpa and my Blitz, that I will be ok and I will move on. It sure doesn't feel that way right now . . . just like it did back then with the others. But. . . . . 

I am just now getting to being Ok. And that is the best I can do for right now. And that is OK too. . . . I guess.