77 Days Without Him

  Well, when you put it like that...

On my FB Page a while ago, sometime this week, I juxtaposed the days I have been without Danny with the days I lived with him. ...5,217 with...73 without. It's not that I need to be reminded how short a time it's been, but that sometimes, others around me do. The notion "it's almost 3 months, maybe you need professional help" is pervasive. And truly I do get that, given how dismissive we are as a culture, of any loss - let alone that of a  "mere dog" (said firmly tongue in cheek). So the idea I am still basically in shock, in Stage One, am completely existentially bereft (to use a phrase I read just now, that feels perfect) seems...excessive, to some.  Whereas for me, in my own lived reality, 77 days is nothing; it's so early, I am still so disoriented and lonely and depressed. And that, for me, is as it should be, as is  to be expected in a situation such as mine. 

Not to say that anyone who grieves a shorter time or less all-consumingly is "wrong", or loves less -  this isn't a competition!! just that your story is not my story, and what is appropriate for one may not be for another  - and this is the very heart of grief, of response to loss, of the Mystery of Grace that love brings us and the stark suffering that the death of the loved one brings. We do not all have the same relationships, we are not all the same individuals, and the experience of loss is unique to each one - at the same time it does share some commonalities. In my own journey, I try to process what is unique to Dan and me, and read about, reach out to, and connect with the experiences of others, the true common ground of the bereaved. Today, 11 weeks to the day since I lost him, I am struck with this one image, that pierces my whole being with pain, but that needs to be felt, heard, integrated and experienced, no matter how appalling it is, how it cuts me to the core and how, as of right now anyway, I have no antidote for it, not even a wound dressing or soporific to get me through the night.

All his life long, all our days together, Danny gazed at me with such love, SUCH devotion, as I never knew what I might have done to be worthy of it. He was trustworthy offleash always, because he could not get too far away from Mom (there was that one time, but only one in thousands of walks and he came back pretty fast). He would look to me always on walks, and even out in the yard, even in his advanced old age, he would look up from whatever he was sniffing or digging and just radiate love, beam it from his whole being at me. I have never experienced anything so powerful and so unfailing, so consistent in my life, from human or  other being..and I have had love!  I know Luke and Lila adored me, but Luke was understated and reserved, Lila a clown to the core of her being - Danny, so expressive and so needing of me and so, so sweet. There was something in his innocence, his...Young Soul, that was always reaching out to me, the reason he was never really "naughty", but just a wee boy, the reason I prefaced everything about him with "little" - his little dinner, his little beds and toys, his harness which was simply called, his Little. He was my baby.

This image is perfect. Although I didn't really catch "The Look" on film very many times,  it was sent my way every day. This is a very young (10 months old) version, an image of him that says it all to me.

 I look in the mirror and see the face it was aimed at, and think, well Old Girl, you must be worth something after all, that he loved you THAT MUCH. I know, I know - low self esteem, much? there is some reality as well as a touch of sarcasm there - I know I have value; intellectually, I know I am a good person and have tried all my life to be better (whatever that means to you, it has very specific meanings for me). But the level of unfailing love and need that Danny felt for me, was profound and life-changing, and never, ever taken for granted. Just a  few days before he died I saw it from afar, as he was straining to pass urine out back and looked up to see me in the window - sheer love and joy spread over his face and he trotted back to me, dripping blood, seemingly oblivious.
Because his Mom was there. His rock, his provider, his nurturer, his Person.

And this is where the pain enters, this pain that sears through me was I write these words - ELEVEN WHOLE WEEKS later, this pain that has laid to waste everything I thought mattered (work, goals, house decor, not other animals) and chokes me with its vehemence - because the very last thing I saw before he began to struggle for air, fall over, gasping on the floor, was this look of terror and desperation on his face as he was led from the back of the clinic to the waiting room where I was expecting to hear...different news..gather my boy up, take him home. A look of total panic.  A panic that spread through me and left me unable to do anything other than call for help, and then agree to let him go. To blindly repeat "I love you so much" as he lost consciousness. That look, as he sought refuge in the one place that had all his life been safety, solace, and love, ended on the last day with me being able to  provide only panic of my own and a swift, panic-driven end to his precious life.

SO far from the way I had envisioned it, these past couple of years as we traversed "the Long Goodbye" of his senior years, and I tried to imagine how I would stand it - the call to the vet, the waiting for the vet, his possible anxiety when the vet arrived...but still, it would be here at home, a little sedative, his head in my lap. All my love around him in the place he loved best.  ... but of course, that's not what happened. Very far indeed, for what happened, to this brightest light of my whole life.

And, you know, I pour this out in the hope I can exorcise a little of it, but I also aim to completely "get" the lesson,  find whatever meaning  can going forward -  so that the last terrible hour - swift though it was, it has scarred me deeply - can serve as a catalyst for some change, growth in me. Much as that feels like rationalization.

Here is why it happened that way.

Very simply put - I was trying to save him. That is a phrase I utter a dozen times a day or more - when I speak to him across the Great Divide, when I try to justify myself, when I look for a place of self forgiveness...that never comes. "Danny" I say over and over" "I was trying to save you".

I really was, 11 weeks ago today, trying to save him. Speaking in the strongest Love-language that I know - that of the Mother and Warrior - I took my boy in for a test that caused him pain and panic, and resulted in his death, because he had blocked up three times in three weeks, was passing huge blood clots, and I simply had to know what was causing it and what we needed to do next.

Next.

I expected Baytril or other antibiotic along with his Zeniquin; I expected a possible crisis but if it happened, he was in a vet clinic. It all happened so fast, and with the information he had advanced bladder cancer,spread to the spleen, and GOLPP, it flashed through my whole spirit that taking him home meant potential pain, suffering, an even worse end...so this was inevitable and had to be done fast. I let him go. I still don't recall everything, I still flashback with huge anxiety. But the "next" I was envisioning was nothing like the next that happened.

Even as I write these words I have flashbacks - not of that awful hour, but of so much glory - Dan and me on our sunfilled daily forest hikes; Dan running around (the zoomies!) in our  field out back; that time we walked on a new trail and I wound up ankle deep in poison ivy; that time we drove way down Parent looking for elder and found viburnum! he was as excited as I was...the huge mullein haul we found all poisoned the day right after I harvested it...the many times I had to leave him in the car for a few seconds and dash into la Foret or the Bakery- hoping no one would find me rude that I simply couldn't chat.Oh and all the stair-kisses, so many many times a day and he never failed to turn around and kiss me smack on the lips(or that general direction).  SO many flashbacks of happiness. Not a total absence of regrets, but the joy and goodness outweighed the bad, always.

And then that last day.

I berate myself because he died in panic. But the alternative was, for me to let him go without that test, the ultrasound, and that would have meant euthanizing a still-bright eyed, hungry, slightly naughty old man whom I THOUGHT had severe bacterial prostatitis. In no universe anywhere was that going to happen. And although I may think now, it might have been best, with the information I had then it was unthinkable. So, the bottom line truly is, 11 weeks ago today (we'd have been sitting in the clinic waiting for the ultrasound tech to arrive) I was on the front lines for my boy, seeking answers, help,  relief, more time. Doing the very best I knew how to do. And he had an end I cannot shake, but an end to a life filled with unwavering love and a couple more years than many of his breed ever see. He was going to die shortly no matter what I did and while that little face haunts me, I cannot let that one last  frightened look erase and invalidate the years and years of joy.

I am very far from the human being I wish to be, but I fought to the end for Dan, and if I'd done it differently there would be another set of regrets - did I let him go too soon? If I'd brought him home for what Alex pithily calls "a Sarah McLachlan farewell"  I don't know how I'd have summoned to will to do it, given how normal he seemed at home. Waiting a few hours too long might have meant a much more horrific passing if he went into crisis here at home.
And so on.

So Dan - my baby rabbit, my monkman, my heart - wherever you are, whatever happens to souls of such ultimate goodness in the vast Mystery beyond - I can only say what I always do (beside, I love you, I miss you, thank you for loving me, and 'you're my baby')...and that's this; I was trying to save you.

When I started writing this I had a set of goals in mind - to write out all the things I can take away from it - what to learn - how it can enrich me going forward...etc etc. Spiritual Self Help and all that. But as I wrote it became so clear to me - I did what I did because of who I am, who you are to me, faced with the same situation I would do it again, likely. When I look back over the years there is plenty I'd do differently and that's another story, entry, chapter in the book.But the terrible haunting of that day - even down to me being so steeled in the car, not making a fuss, because I was in fear and worry and didn't want to convey that - it was all just me doing what I needed to do for you. I wish I had  not disassociated, I wish I had been able to get on the floor, I wish I had asked for some time alone o the table before they bagged you. In no way was that last day anything close to what I'd have asked for. But I understand myself better and I will try to forgive myself for not being perfect. In my heart, that is what you always deserved. The best...which I was not, but there is one thing I can say without hesitation, today and always. 

I love you with all my heart and being, and that will never lessen in any way as time passes.
You're my baby...and you always will be.