GOODBYE

Here is grief again.  I could sit and count how many times I've cried over death, human and animal, but this is one thing that doesn't seem to get easier with experience.

Our dog, Toby, is gone.  I wrote about him last September, when we got his diagnosis of larynx cancer.  Since then we have showered him with affection as we kept close watch.  We faced each set-back in his ability to swallow with ease with more and more creative ways to prepare his homemade food so he could get it down.  Still, we noticed the gradual loss of weight.

And yet, there he would be -- greeting us with wagging tail, eager for outdoor adventures in our big yard, making the rounds to his favorite spots, lying for long periods on the front porch, keeping tabs on the neighborhood, fetching the newspaper each morning as was his habit, then running to the kitchen cabinet for his treat.

Yesterday was no exception.  But late last night, he started to gasp for breath.  It seemed to come out of nowhere, this interruption of breathing.  Perhaps the tumor had migrated a fraction of an inch, encroaching on the trachea.  What we had dreaded was happening.

For two hours we tried to comfort him, tried to get him to drink thinking there might just be a bit of food lodged in his throat.  But we saw he was agitated, confused, tired and uncomfortable.  We knew. We called the Emergency Vet and made the short drive at 11:00 p.m.  Hub and Son-Two stayed with Toby for the overdose of anesthesia.  This time I just couldn't do it.  I've stood by for all our other pets' end times, but this time I gave myself permission to wait outside the door.  When he was at peace I went in to say one final goodbye as a family, bound in grief, in this most difficult of life transitions.

This morning, in the early dawn, I walked down the long flight of our front stairs to bend and pick up the morning paper, barely able to see through my tears.  The first of the "life goes on" activities that will remind me of him with a stab of pain, until that passes and fondness and joy can return with such a simple act of remembrance.

The house is so quiet today; feels empty.  Empty not just of a physical presence, but a presence of spirit.  I hope he is floating free, his essence moving on, reincarnating to a higher self.  How could it be any other way?  He was a special being.  We loved him.

At least, that's the view from here....©

Our Toby

7/10/02 -- 2/4/13