If you ask most people, one of the greatest gifts is the gift of life. However, death too can fall into this category. When suffering becomes so great that it removes one's verve for life, being able to let go and send someone home is a gift beyond compare.
I write this about 1 1/2 hours after we had our dear little Scruffy euthanized. It's never easy saying goodbye to a member of the immediate family -- human or otherwise -- even when you know in your heart that it's for the best. The pain begins almost immediately as a being you valued is no more.
As with most all of our animals friends, I was there in the final moments. My wife couldn't bear the thought (not so soon after losing Becca this past summer), so she sat in the car with our remaining dog. In all truth, I actually didn't want to be there for myself, but since Scruffy has been MY dog, first and foremost, I knew I had to put my grief aside and be there for her.
Even though I've experienced this event several times over the past four decades, it doesn't get any easier. In a manner of speaking, it's kind of surreal. You're standing there talking to the veterinarian like you have many times before -- ours is a very, very gentle man -- while he shaves a portion of one of the dog's forelegs. In the next instant, he says, "Are you ready?" and then, when you are, he inserts the needle into the dog's leg. As you watch the plunger slowly inject the liquid, your dog calmly lays down her head and that's it. Within a few mere seconds, your friend and family member is dead.
At times like these, I almost wish I believed in heaven! If I did, then I could look forward to the time that I could be reunited with all my pets and lost loved ones. But alas, I don't believe in heaven, so I soothe myself with the thought that Scruffy is no longer suffering and that she is now one with Tao.
Now, I'm going to go have a good, long cry.
I write this about 1 1/2 hours after we had our dear little Scruffy euthanized. It's never easy saying goodbye to a member of the immediate family -- human or otherwise -- even when you know in your heart that it's for the best. The pain begins almost immediately as a being you valued is no more.
As with most all of our animals friends, I was there in the final moments. My wife couldn't bear the thought (not so soon after losing Becca this past summer), so she sat in the car with our remaining dog. In all truth, I actually didn't want to be there for myself, but since Scruffy has been MY dog, first and foremost, I knew I had to put my grief aside and be there for her.
Even though I've experienced this event several times over the past four decades, it doesn't get any easier. In a manner of speaking, it's kind of surreal. You're standing there talking to the veterinarian like you have many times before -- ours is a very, very gentle man -- while he shaves a portion of one of the dog's forelegs. In the next instant, he says, "Are you ready?" and then, when you are, he inserts the needle into the dog's leg. As you watch the plunger slowly inject the liquid, your dog calmly lays down her head and that's it. Within a few mere seconds, your friend and family member is dead.
At times like these, I almost wish I believed in heaven! If I did, then I could look forward to the time that I could be reunited with all my pets and lost loved ones. But alas, I don't believe in heaven, so I soothe myself with the thought that Scruffy is no longer suffering and that she is now one with Tao.
Now, I'm going to go have a good, long cry.
May Scruffy be at peace.
ReplyDeleteAnd may you receive peace also.
In focusing on the ocean rather than the waves, we are all one in the Tao. I wish you peace.
ReplyDeleteI held my rabbit Benny when he was put to sleep. My rabbit Honey died while I was out. It was harder to deal with Honey's death. Scruffy went quickly and calmly, with you holding her. I'd like to offer a shortcut to grief, but there is none.
ReplyDeleteScruffy will be missed.
I must admit that I jumped over here to flip you some crap. Can't do it.
ReplyDeleteSorry for your loss. As one that has lost many a pet in the past six decades I must admit. Every one of them left with a piece of my heart and left me with a piece of theirs.
Thanks for having the courage to hold your friend on his passing. It shows character.
Ouch, that's a tough way to start a new year. So sorry to hear about your painful loss. We just went through that with our little dog two months ago (after losing his big sister ten months earlier), and the grief is overwhelming at times. But it is also transformative, when we allow it to overwhelm us. So I hope you find the time and space now and then to go ahead and be overwhelmed.
ReplyDeleteThanks for all of your kind comments!
ReplyDeleteTo Chuck specifically: What I think this goes to show is that ALL people have more in common than what separates us. Regardless of a person's political perspective, belief system, age, gender, nationality, etc., we all experience great losses and joys.
When we relate to each other as fellow humans (without all the labels and trappings), we can share another's sorrow or happiness and truly understand it.