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.
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| 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.
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