Bereavement time, for a dog loss
Near the end of 2016 I wrote about publishing a series of "learned lessons" here, after a year working as my family's business second-in-charge. While I attempted to write over Christmas break "life happened" and plans changed. Our beloved papillion, Peanut, who has traveled with us before, didn't take too well to the warm weather in Mexico.
Coming from Boston, she developed a cold within days of arriving and we, her furry parents, were left to find a vet and start treatment for the two weeks we were there. The hope was to get Peanut as healthy as possible, mucus gone and appetite increased, so that she could travel back to Boston and be admitted upon landing at our regular animal hospital. After 17 years with us, my Peanut seemed invincible. One of my girlfriends even dubbed her "the Final Destination dog" thanks to her resilience.
She had already withstood herniated disks, eye infections, dental surgery for complete tooth removal, a fall which resulted in seizures, and the side effects of aging and having doggie dementia (yes, it exists). We'd done it all with Peanut, washed, gauzed, injected, fed, cradled, night-watched, prayed and asked for healing vibes on Facebook through all of these episodes. A cold wasn't going to take our dog on a holiday, we were not emotionally prepared to let that happen.
As the days passed and our return date loomed, though, Peanut was still not eating on her own, continued with the nose discharge, and slept most of the day. We were blessed to find a veterinarian who tried different metabolism boosters, antibiotics, surgery-grade food, and even a respirator to clear her lungs. He wasn't ready to give up either because he saw just how much we wanted to bring our little old baby home. If my Peanut were to leave us soon, I thought, she should be in the place she knows the most, in the bed she loves, and in the ambience she's used to.
The thing about "life happening" is that it's meant to throw you off your plans- even your death plans.
Peanut didn't get better. Two days before leaving, the vet who fought so hard with us to make her healthier told us the cold truth. We could travel with Peanut, but she probably wouldn't survive the trip. If she survived, as soon as we got to the cold weather she'd probably get worse and die in hospital. Did we want to risk her dying on the plane or alone in a metal hospital cage? We opted not to do what we selfishly wanted to do. Peanut wouldn't pass at our home, with us laying next to her, stroking her gently as she took her last breath naturally.
Instead, our newfound vet came to our house with all that was needed to put her to sleep. Our family, made up of lifetime dog lovers and owners, organized a quiet, kind service to pray and send off our sweet girl in peace, surrounded by love. Around 10 a.m. on January 5th my Peanut passed away, held by her furry mom and grandma. She came home with us in a beautiful porcelain urn. Her ashes are at home, surrounded by her name tag and a stuffie.
It may seem stupid to some, but until right this moment, as I write this, I haven't wanted to write or get back to my projects. I've worked, sure, I've seen friends, I've laughed, but for most of the past months I've thought of my Peanut, daily. I know my family has felt this way too, because even if we don't speak of it we still get home and innocuously search for her, still get her food at the market, talk about our future activities with her involved, or just forget she's no longer physically living. We have been in bereavement.
Admitting that it is over a dog leaves us... embarrassed, shocked, worried perhaps. But why so? Is it truly so hard to believe that a living being whom we cared for, like a child, for 17 years is so gravely missed? The reaction I've had to telling people I've been in a mild depression over my dog's passing has been disparate. Everyone has said, "oh too bad, sorry," before going in one of two very different routes: 1) adding commentary about "it" being "just a dog" 2) adding commentary about loosing "part of your family."
I fully know it is not right to mourn an animal's passing like the deaths of refugees escaping Syria, or your grandmother. Really, I get it.
Still, for me, in my daily life, it has been a hurdle to jump over. The pain is real, it was worse and it's become manageable, but it is real. I long for my animal, my non-speaking loving companion, and I cannot imagine what people without a circle of support or who depend on service animals go through when they lose their own beloved furry companions.
What I managed to learn in these months without my Peanut is that human loss is not the only loss that deserves to be observed, or respected. In this big'ol world I am sure there have been farmers or shepherds who have mourned a loss of their favorite horse or sheep or herding dog, too. I know of a dear friend, may he rest in peace, who's life was changed thanks to his service dog while battling the demons of PTSD. People dedicate their lives to protecting endangered species because they realize every living being has the right to live, not just be mastered by humans.
Mercy, patience, love can be learned from animals.
Perhaps companies can't, and may never, offer days off for the loss of a pet. Perhaps animals will continue to battle for their rights through human allies. Perhaps therapy can't ever be replaced by a service animal. Perhaps you'll read this and agree with some of these points, or think I am a crazy future cat-lady. Or, perhaps, this is all just for me to understand I'm ready to get back to "life happening."