Desi

Desi
My Best Friend & Co-Pilot

Wednesday, February 8, 2012

Helping Dispel 5 Common Myths About Grief by Alan D. Wolfelt, Ph.D.

This is the absolute BEST article I have read thus far regarding grief.  The sense of relief I feel from reading these myths that must be dispelled is enormous!!!

Most people tend to use the words grief and mourning interchangeably. However, there is an important distinction between them. We have learned that people move toward healing not by just grieving, but through mourning.

Simply stated, grief is the internal thoughts and feelings we experience when someone we love dies. Mourning, on the other hand, is taking the internal experience of grief and expressing it outside ourselves.

In reality, many people in our culture grieve, but they do not mourn. Instead of being encouraged to express their grief outwardly, they are often greeted with messages such as "carry on," "keep your chin up," and "keep busy." So, they end up grieving within themselves in isolation, instead of mourning outside of themselves in the presence of loving companions.

 

Myth #2: There is a predictable and orderly progression to the experience of grief.


Stage-like thinking about both dying and grief has been appealing to many people. Somehow the "stages of grief" have helped people make sense out of an experience that isn't as orderly and predictable as we would like it to be. If only it were so simple!

The concept of "stages" was popularized in 1969 with the publication of Elizabeth Kubler-Ross' landmark text On Death and Dying. Kubler-Ross never intended for people to literally interpret her five "stages of dying." However, many people have done just that, not only with the process of dying, but with the processes of bereavement, grief, and mourning as well.

One such consequence is when people around the grieving person believe that he or she should be in "stage 2" or "stage 4" by now. Nothing could be further from the truth.

Each person's grief is uniquely his or her own. It is neither predictable nor orderly. Nor can its different dimensions be so easily categorized. We only get ourselves in trouble when we try to prescribe what the grief and mourning experiences of others should be-or when we try to fit our own grief into neat little boxes.

 

Myth #3: It is best to move away from grief and mourning instead of toward it.


Many grievers do not give themselves permission or receive permission from others to mourn. We live in a society that often encourages people to prematurely move away from their grief instead of toward it. Many people view grief as something to be overcome rather than experienced. The result is that many of us either grieve in isolation or attempt to run away from our grief.

People who continue to express their grief outwardly-to mourn-are often viewed as "weak," "crazy" or "self-pitying." The common message is "shape up and get on with your life." Refusing to allow tears, suffering in silence, and "being strong," are thought to be admirable behaviors. Many people in grief have internalized society's message that mourning should be done quietly, quickly, and efficiently.

Such messages encourage the repression of the griever's thoughts and feelings. The problem is that attempting to mask or move away from grief results in internal anxiety and confusion. With little, if any, social recognition of the normal pain of grief, people begin to think their thoughts and feelings are abnormal. "I think I'm going crazy," they often tell me.

They're not crazy, just grieving. And in order to heal they must move toward their grief through continued mourning, not away from it through repression and denial.

 

Myth #4: Tears expressing grief are only a sign of weakness.


Unfortunately, many people associate tears of grief with personal inadequacy and weakness. Crying on the part of the mourner often generates feelings of helplessness in friends, family, and caregivers.

Out of a wish to protect mourners from pain, friends and family may try to stop the tears. Comments such as, "Tears won't bring him back" and "He wouldn't want you to cry" discourage the expression of tears.
 
Yet crying is nature's way of releasing internal tension in the body and allows the mourner to communicate a need to be comforted. Crying makes people feel better, emotionally and physically.

Tears are not a sign of weakness. In fact, crying is an indication of the griever's willingness to do the "work of mourning."

 

Myth #5: The goal is to "get over" your grief.


We have all heard people ask, "Are you over it yet?" To think that we as human beings "get over" grief is ridiculous! We never "get over" our grief but instead become reconciled to it.

We do not resolve or recover from our grief. These terms suggest a total return to "normalcy" and yet in my personal, as well as professional, experience, we are all forever changed by the experience of grief. For the mourner to assume that life will be exactly as it was prior to the death is unrealistic and potentially damaging. Those people who think the goal is to "resolve" grief become destructive to the healing process.

Mourners do, however, learn to reconcile their grief. We learn to integrate the new reality of moving forward in life without the physical presence of the person who has died. With reconciliation a renewed sense of energy and confidence, an ability to fully acknowledge the reality of the death, and the capacity to become re-involved with the activities of living. We also come to acknowledge that pain and grief are difficult-yet necessary-parts of life and living.

As the experience of reconciliation unfolds, we recognize that life will be different without the presence of the person who died. At first we realize this with our head, and later come to realize it with our heart. We also realize that reconciliation is a process, not an event. The sense of loss does not completely disappear yet softens and the intense pangs of grief become less frequent. Hope for a continued life emerges as we are able to make commitments to the future, realizing that the person who died will never be forgotten, yet knowing that one's own life can and will move forward.

About the Author

Dr. Alan D. Wolfelt is a noted author, educator and practicing grief counselor. He serves as Director of the Center for Loss and Life Transition in Fort Collins, Colorado and presents dozens of grief-related workshops each year across North America. Among his books are Healing Your Grieving Heart: 100 Practical Ideas and The Healing Your Grieving Heart Journal for Teens. For more information, write or call The Center for Loss and Life Transition, 3735 Broken Bow Road, Fort Collins, Colorado 80526, (970) 226-6050 or visit their website, www.centerforloss.com.

Friday, February 3, 2012

Desi's Spot

ser·en·dip·i·ty
[ser-uhn-dip-i-tee] Show IPA
noun
1. an aptitude for making desirable discoveries by accident.
2. good fortune; luck: the serendipity of getting the first job she applied for.

Monday, January 23, 2012

2 months today...

Desi has been gone for two months now and it has honestly been the longest two months of my life.  And at the same time it feels like he died just yesterday.


Since I knew how hard today would be on me I went to the gym first thing in the morning and then to a meeting.  I wanted be sure to do productive, healthy, positive things to keep me from allowing the grief to completely take me over and swallow me up whole.


I spoke about losing Desi, 60 days ago today, in the meeting and how he had been my "recovery dog" for the last 14 years. I shared that Desi had taught me how to care for something outside of me and that he was my only real family.  I spoke about how his Legacy is for me to continue to care for myself the way I cared for him.  I shared how I get this feeling from everyone that I should just "get over it", "move on", "live my life" and all the rest of the things people put out there both verbally and with their non-verbal energy.  I emphatically stated that I know myself well enough to know that I will never just "get over" this.  I just don't "get over" things.  It's not something I am able to do.  I truly wish that I was...but I am not.


Afterward, a lady came up to me and acknowledged a lot of what I had said which was comforting, touching and also slightly annoying.  But mostly, because I knew she was coming from such a pure place, I accepted her slight intrusion.  She said that she also had a "recovery dog" that had died and told me that Desi had taught me all I needed to learn about how to take care of myself so that now I could take that gift and go out there and SHINE!  That was really nice to hear.  She also said to "go out there and find my family".  I heard her.  Deep in my core I heard what she was saying to me.  She told me to feel what I was feeling - not get over it - feel it.   And when I repeated that I would not get over it - she told me to "open my mind" or something along those lines.  Again, slightly annoying, but completely well-intentioned.  And actually - quite helpful in a way.  I'm surprised she was able to break through that wall I have up around the loyalty I have to my grief over losing Desi.


Intellectually, I know that death is part of the Circle of Life.  Emotionally, however, I really don't give a shit.  It's easy to say or understand that philosophy from a distance.  When you are not part of the Circle.  It's perfectly understandable when I look at older people and animals or even plants and other living things in nature.  It's obvious to see when they have reached the end of their life cycle and are withering away towards death.


Hell - I can even see it in myself!  I now have grey hairs growing in, not just on my head, but in my eyebrows too!  In my own face, I can see the deepening lines under my eyes that have developed - especially over the past year.  I see the aging faces of my mother and father and I can tell by looking at them exactly how I'm going to age.  Even my younger siblings are starting to show aging and they're - younger!  The point is that I clearly know that death is inevitable for all.


There was an elderly man in my neighborhood who had an elderly dog that he would walk every day.  They actually looked about the same age.  I used to think of that story of the "Crooked Man who Walked a Crooked Mile" when I saw them.  Neither the dog, nor the man were able to stand up straight.  And they walked so slowly they were barely walking at all.  I would very often keep watching them out of the corner of my eye to see if they would make it across the street before the light changed.  Thinking back, I believe the man crossed the street in such a way as to gain the most ground in the least amount of time. It was a compromise, shortcut, adaptation, which he may or may not have consciously chosen.  More about adaptations in a sec.


In my very non-compassionate thinking, I wondered why he kept 'holding onto' the dog when the dog was clearly half in the grave.  I kept thinking to myself "that dog is on his last legs" even though I wasn't really clear on what that expression actually meant.  It's been more than six months now, since I've seen the elderly man and his elderly dog so I assume that the dog died and obviously the man doesn't walk him anymore.  I could be wrong.  The man could have died and the dog could have been given away.  But it is most likely the more obvious reality that the dog reached the end of his life.  Who knows?  Maybe they're both dead.  I think it would have been great to die at the same time as Desi.


A few months ago, another man, who had been ritually walking up my street, stopping periodically to take breaks when he got too tired to continue, had stopped close by Desi and me.  He asked me how old Desi was and I told him he was 13 and would be 14 in December or something to that affect.  I always wanted Desi to seem like a trouper for being old but didn't want anyone to think he was on death's door which this man obviously did.  He said, "It's hard to let them go isn't it"?  I'm not sure what my verbal response was.  I think I was so shocked that he said what he was thinking out loud and I wasn't really interested in getting into a discussion with him on the subject.  I mean he was practically a total stranger.


The truth is - I was afraid he was right.   It didn't dawn on me that within only a year or so of seeing the Crooked Man and Crooked Dog, Desi's lifespan would race rapidly to that same age.  I couldn't believe how quickly the aging process takes place in a dog.  Especially in his last few weeks, it seemed he was aging at a pace that was beyond accelerated.  It was so disturbing and confusing at the same time.  It felt like an episode of the Twilight Zone because I knew that he was approaching death but I wasn't sure how much longer he had left.


There were several "botched" attempts of putting him to sleep, a euphemism I loathe, by the way.  I kept telling vets and family members that I think today is the day I need to say goodbye to Desi.  On one of those occasions, I discovered that if I took him for a really long walk, he was less agitated and more relaxed.  He actually sat on my lap for the first time in months for a brief time and was content that day.  I took photos with my cell phone so that I could remember that this was the day I did NOT say goodbye to Desi.  My photographer friend made me promise her that I would physically print this one photo in particular which I still haven't done.

Me & Desi down by the Hudson River
October 7, 2011

Finally, in the last week or so of Desi's life, I learned the EXACT meaning of the expression "on your last legs".  Desi literally couldn't stand anymore because his hind legs kept giving out on him.  It was HORRIBLE to see him try repeatedly to get up only to have his legs not cooperate with his mind.  His physical self was deteriorating so badly and so RAPIDLY that he could not even stand long enough to eat his food.  In the last few days I had to hold the bowl for him.  I didn't mind this at all, but I know Desi was not so happy about it. And who would be really...


So, we made adaptations.  I carried him to certain areas outside and put him down in the areas where he could actually walk.  I kept him in diapers so that he wouldn't pee all over the place.  When he couldn't walk up the doggy stairs any longer I bought him a new flat bad that he felt more secure using on the floor.  When he couldn't eat hard treats any longer I bought him softer treats.  When he couldn't eat those, I bought him Puperoni treats. When he wouldn't eat his dry food with the added wet that I heated for him in the microwave, I added a cooked egg.  We just kept adapting and modifying to find solutions for every problem that arose due to aging.  And finally, when Desi couldn't stand long enough to eat, I held his food and water bowls in front of his face so he could eat and drink.  I had done this for him many times in the past when he was wearing the cone after an eye procedure.  I loved feeding Desi by hand.

The pix below were taken on October 18th, only 5 days before he died.  In these shots I can clearly see how, even moment by moment, he goes from looking pretty "bright eyed and bushy tailed" to looking "long in the tooth" - two more lame euphemisms that ring true.  That was one of the most difficult things about the last few weeks.  He was constantly wavering back and forth from moments of lucidity and function to moments of confusion and dysfunction.  Dr. Palma called this "rallying".  In the shots below he wasn't able to stand and eat so this was clearly not a functional moment.  But there are moments in some of these shots where he seems completely alive and content. 













I constantly battled with what was best for HIM - not me.  I know Desi would have hung in there as long as he could still breath.  But five days after I took these pix, I had to make the hardest decision of my life.  Which was, to not allow him to continue to struggle and suffer with his mental and physical deterioration.  The end was coming and I hastened death for him which I now know is the meaning of euthanasia.  There is nothing pretty about it.  Aging and dying are cruel, hard, cold and brutally painful facts of nature.  The actual moment of death is not peaceful.  I don't care what anyone may say.  Desi was in my arms staring into my eyes.  When the doctor gave him the second shot, I felt the life go out of him.  His eye remained open and staring.  And the presence of Death was in the room.  It was the creepiest, most macabre moment I have ever experienced.  I felt like my insides were going to all come out and I would puke my guts out until I died too.  It took everything I could to hold it together.  It still does...

Saturday, January 21, 2012

The Grief Never Ends..

On Thursday I saw this post online from the actor Tom Hanks:

Monty Hanks
 "Monty. Deep brown eyes, noble demeanor, finest dog ever. A sad day. Goodbye Big Boy. Hanx http://t.co/32Q3durN -- tomhanks (@tomhanks)"

My reply:
@tomhanks Very sad day. Very beautiful doggy. There are no words. Said bye to my Desi on 11/23 Worst day ever. No getting over it. So sorry. -- DennisLarkin (@DennisLarkin)

And still today I am grieving as if it just happened.  It will be 2 months on Monday and every time I think about it, I feel like I'm going to hurl my guts up.  The pain has NOT LESSENED A BIT. It's less frequent but ONLY because I can't go there because I am concerned I will not want to come back - ever.  I do still want to be in that tin with Desi.  It's not that I don't think there are still beautiful things in life to enjoy because I do.  I was thinking about how nice it was to be out on a cold winter's night watching all the people milling and fading about enjoying their lives and time with friends and loved ones.

But underneath was - is - this deep sorrow, sadness & disappointment that persists and remains pervasive and constant.

The most maddening thing of all is that people want me to just get over it!  Or they think it will lesson with time.  And I know myself well enough that I know it won't!!!  It makes me so angry.  It reminds me of that dance sequence in 42nd street when a guy get shot and everyone stops for a second and then continues with their dance.  And slowly the dance resumes it's pre-murder, full frenzied routine.

It was shocking and scary to me back then and it still is now.  To see that life still goes on in spite of horrible things that happen.  It seems so cruel to go on.  I feel so disloyal.  I feel such guilt.  But mostly I just feel sad and I miss him - so very much!

And I really don't care what other people think about that.

I love you my sweet, fierce & feisty, BEST friend I ever had, beautiful, little, Desi Dog...








Tuesday, January 17, 2012

Always something there to remind me...

This past Sunday I went to my Dad's to welcome my Grandmother back home from Florida.  She asked me to put her suitcase in the basement so I did and when I started walking back up the stairs  I saw something I had stashed away under the stairs that made me stop dead in my  tracks.  

These two sets of bowls, the brown plastic ones on the left and the porcelain ones on the right, are Desi and Mona's bowls.   I kept them under the stairs for Desi & Mona when we stayed at my  Dad's and it really tore my heart open and made me very sad to see them...




  

There was also the last jumbo bag of Desi's Puperoni treats that I had just bought him, and that he hadn't finished eating, sitting on the kitchen counter next to Desi's big treat jar filled with Milk Bone snacks which he also hadn't gotten to finish.


I left before I had a chance to take a picture of them but it's just as well.  It's all so depressing to me.  It's not even two months yet and I feel like it was two years ago.  Not in the sense of any kind of  healing of my emotions by having distance from the event, but in the sense of this is the longest I've ever been away from Desi and his physical memory starts to slip away from my a little more each day.  It just tugs at what little heartstrings I have left to tug at.  My emotions are spent in the way that happens when something is beyond painful and far too much to bear anymore.


As I'm typing I'm sitting on Desi's part of my coach which still smells like urine from his constant incontinence.  He actually always kind of peed in the house since he was a puppy and that is honestly the ONLY thing I can fault him with behaviorally.  But the truth is that he was in the pet store from 6 weeks after he was born in December through May 8th 1998 when I adopted him and brought him home.  I'm sure they didn't bother to clean his kennel regularly and that he just got used to peeing where he slept which normally I'm told is not the case with animals.  

I feel so good about adopting him when I did.  I knew I had to rescue him.  And again I must say HE was the one who rescued me and kept me safe all these years.  It's still so raw and painful for me in spite of the fact that I am frightened I will stop remembering what his physical presence was like.   It's probably just another phase of grief and loss that I'm not familiar with and not comfortable feeling.  Overall, I'm left with an outlook that is the bleakest one I have ever had in my life.


I think the hardest thing for me is that HE IS NOT HERE TO COMFORT ME through all this.  He has ALWAYS been here for me and now it's just me.  I have to be honest and admit that my friends and family have not been truly able to be there for me and even if they could be there for me like I sometimes feel I need them, they could NEVER be there the way Desi has ALWAYS been there for me.  In the end, it's just me.  All I really ever have is myself.  I guess that's the way it is for everyone.  But this realization is hitting me so hard and making me feel so incredibly apathetic to relationships in general whether they be human or another pet.  I don't really want another pet.  I just want Desi.

Thursday, January 12, 2012

How do you know when it's time?

That question still plaques me!  Haunts me to this day.  I woke up thinking about it this morning.  The more I look at pictures of Desi the more I question my decision on his final day.  "The Worst Day." Steven King used that phrase in "11.22.63" about an incident involving a man murdering his family.  And there is a part of me that has always questioned if I am that man.  Did I kill my own dog.  I clearly authorized death to occur.  Whether or not I have or had the "right" to make the decision to end my dog's life is STILL a struggle for me.  It's a HUGE decision.  It's THE MOST DIFFICULT DECISION I have EVER made in my life.  I don't ever want to have to make that decision again for another animal or human.


I grew up with a very religious mother and I keep thinking about her views on euthanasia.  I haven't discussed it with her regarding Desi because she can be extremely ignorant, nonsensical and quite frankly insane!  I didn't want her crazy opinions affecting the way I cared for the most precious creature I have ever had in my life for as long as I had him in my life.  I wanted my judgment to be as clear of guilt and shame as it could be which is no easy task for a person in my position.  I wanted my judgment to be clear for Desi.


When I look at pictures of Desi even one month or a week prior to his death, they don't actually tell the full story.  I took him as often as I could at his best and at his cutest.  I didn't take shots of him when he struggled to get up continually and simply could not.  The strength in his hind legs was gone.


I didn't take pictures of how picky he got with his food and the fact that he wouldn't eat unless I doctored his food with some new taste like a cooked egg.  He wouldn't eat any treats except the soft Pupperoni's and then would eat as much of them as I gave him only to puke it all up.   I didn't take a picture of the fact that he couldn't and wouldn't climb his doggie stairs anymore.  That he didn't want to lay on my lap anymore.  That he used objects to hold his head up.  That I had to hand feed him because he no longer had the strength to stand in front of his doggie bowls long enough to enjoy a meal.  If dogs even enjoy meals.


The downward spiral and decline in health had been occurring since he had his eye removed in 2009.  After that, his vision was so bad he wasn't able to play fetch the ball anymore.  That had been his ABSOLUTE favorite thing to do.  Fetching and hiking.  Desi loved both.  He also liked to chill out but was really a great outdoor dog.  That's where he came to life.


After his eye surgery, he wasn't able to, couldn't or just plain wouldn't bark anymore.  I didn't realize it at first and then one day it dawned on me that he had stopped barking completely.


The only time he came alive was when I took him on walks.  It was like all of his youth and vitality came back because of the air, the smells, the earth beneath his feet.  It was actually an amazing transformation to see.  It was a phenomenal change that occurred that kept making me ask:


"How do you know when it's the right time?"


Most people would say to me "You'll know".


Or they would say "You have to listen to him".


Well the truth is the answer was not that simple.  I didn't ever just KNOW and Desi certainly wasn't in a position to tell me.  And what Desi was telling me was that he wanted to go on in spite of everything because that was the kind of dog he was.  He was a Wounded Warrior dog.  He would have stuck it out as long as I allowed.


The answer is "You don't ever really know when it's time."


You make the best decision you can based on your specific knowledge of your specific pet and what you know in your heart is the best thing for your beloved companion. 


Through it all I kept telling myself that I WOULD NEVER ALLOW HIM TO SUFFER.  That was where I was going to draw the line.  If he was suffering I would know it was time.  But the suffering came and went and almost every time I took him outside he was in love with life and living again!  He simply came to life.


On "The Worst Day" he was out of his mind with agitation and confusion.  He didn't know what he wanted to do, where he wanted to go.  He wouldn't sit in my lap but he wouldn't lay on the pillow.  He wouldn't want to stay in one place but he couldn't get comfortable and kept walking to find something, anything to bring him relief.


That last moment was the absolute worst.  Even before that last moment when they brought him back with the  IV PIC in his right leg and I had to say goodbye I could see there was more confusion in his demeanor than acceptance or understanding that this was just another normal visit at the Vet.  I actually felt guilty and continue to feel guilty about all the grieving I did in front of him.  I couldn't help myself but also kept thinking I wonder if he knows what I'm doing here.  I wonder if he feels betrayed.


The rational, grounded intelligent part of me knows that dogs do not feel or perceive betrayal as an emotion.  Or, if they do, certainly not in the way human beings feel and perceive it.  Desi has always trusted himself in my care.  And I have ALWAYS done the ABSOLUTE BEST JOB when it came to caring for him.  I WENT ABOVE AND BEYOND AND DESI ALWAYS KNEW THAT.  He could always sense my co-dependency.  I'm sure of it.  He was confident in the fact that he had me wrapped around his little paws and then some.  He was spoiled and knew it.  And he felt he deserved it.


It's me that keeps doing the questioning in retrospect.  When I see the cutest little picture of him like the one below it's hard not to question myself.  It's hard not to remember how bad his ability to enjoy life had gotten by "The Worst Day".  It's hard not to want to have him back so that we could enjoy all the good, fun and beautiful times we had together.  It's hard NOT to miss him beyond belief, beyond words and in the very pit of my heart and soul and entire being.


Desi was quite simply the Best:

Stuck in the Cracks?