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Its been a week since having to make the decision that everyone who has ever loved a companion animal dreads and puts off as long as possible. -- The decision to end a life when that life has become so fraught with undeniable and untreatable pain for which there is no coming back.
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And no, it doesn't get easier with time -- either the act itself or its aftermath.
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Tina, my dog of 18 years filled virtually every moment of those days even when in her final months, she could no longer navigate walks in the park and did little more than sleep.
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It was Tina's constant presence, her indomitable spirit and the little things of everyday life that most of us take for granted that are so missed now.
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It's odd not to hear Tina's slow pitter pattering on the floors or to see her going to steal some of the cats' leftover food. Nor am I treated to the smiles of bewilderment and bemusement on her face when Dusty, my cat rubbed himself against her.
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Those were all little things that came with living with a dog of advanced age, but they became part of everyday experience and routine.
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There seems now a huge void of silence and emptiness in their absence -- or more specifically, Tina's absence.
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So many things remind of special memories with Tina of which there were so many thousands over the years:
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Walks in Central Park, Tina's fascination with squirrels, ducks and geese, her easy acceptance of other pets (well, except for one particularly feisty and challenging female Pekingese), her tendency to run off when mistakenly left off leash, her "drama queen" antics when taken to the vet for a simple procedure or stumbling on snow salt. (Tina loved snow, but hated salt in her paws!) So many things. But, most of all, there was always Tina's cheerful and confident demeanor. A demeanor that never changed even when facing death in the pound or slow loss of vitality and strength in her final year.
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Probably the most painful thing to watch in Tina over the past year was not so much her frustration over losing strength and vitality, (she seemed to accept that) but rather losing her sense of independence. She was always such an independent dog from day one and to allow me to carry her upstairs in the last few months seemed to be, for Tina, the ultimate in humiliation and degradation. She fought it all the way and in whatever way her dwindling energy would allow.
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Nor was carrying Tina up (or down) stairs a happy experience for me when realizing the emotional pain it caused her. It was the main reason I cut Tina's daily walks to only one a day and lined floors with puppy pads. I hated stressing her (and myself) out and yet also felt guilty in limiting her walks. -- A situation that not only impacted, Tina, but my other dog, Chance as well.
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While in the past couple of months, I began to take Chance out for separate walks without Tina, this was something that also caused guilt as Tina would see us leaving together.
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One could not imagine or know how Tina perceived this seeming "abandonment" of her and so I kept Chance out for only very brief, short walks.
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But, all that is changed now.
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If there be any "silver lining" in the crushing loss of Tina it is that I have more freedom and time to devote to my other animals.
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This past week, I brought Chance to Central Park again and we enjoyed a comparatively short evening walk around half the Reservoir. Unfortunately, the weather then became very hot and humid and we were not able to repeat the venture for fear it would be too much for him.
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But, it is getting cooler now and I am thus hopeful and anticipatory of stretching out such walks to a comfortable level for Chance who is now also getting on in years at 18.
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It has also been heartening (and sad) to witness grief over Tina's loss in one of my cats, (Dusty) and recognize his need for extra attention and compassion. (Something that has been surprising.)
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Presently, Dusty is definitely making small overtures towards Chance, to the point of even daring to eat out of Chance's food bowl. Surprisingly, Chance did not "correct" this brazen move and seems receptive to Dusty's cautious advances. Dusty in fact, reminds me of a "loner goose" trying to assimilate into a new goose flock. There is realization of wanting and needing to make new connection, but it has to be done with the utmost in respect and care. -- Fascinating stuff.
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But, perhaps the toughest part of all this was yesterday's long walk in Central Park.
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Though citing a feeling of "depression" in an earlier blog posting due to overwhelming crowds and lack of water birds in the park, part of that despair was memory of walking Tina in the same areas around Bethesda Fountain and the Boat Lake. I remember her briefly jumping in the water several times due to her exuberance on seeing ducks (though Tina would never harm any living creature).
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Now, both Tina and the ducks are gone.
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But, not to wallow in the despair of loss, life in its own way, moves on. It is just different.
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I was comforted yesterday to finally find the family of four geese at the Boat Lake and as I write this, Chance is happily napping at my feet -- as always.
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And there is part of me that trusts that somewhere in the grand cosmos, Tina's indomitable spirit is somewhere romping free where there are plenty of ducks, cats, dogs and other animals to entertain and keep that happy smile on her face.
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If only I could somehow "get used to" her loss here on earth.
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Hopefully, acceptance and moving on doesn't require getting used to.
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Life moves on, yes, but it can never be the same again.
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Allow us to treasure and yes, never get used to losing what once brought so much joy, love and sense of freeing fun in our lives.
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Thanking God and technology for the miracle of photographs that can forever keep the beautiful image and memory of our loved ones, both human and animal, alive.
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It is, after all, experience (of having them in our lives) that never dies. -- PCA
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