The Other Side of Grief

It has been a little over a week since Guinness crossed the Rainbow Bridge into Heaven.  To say it's been one of the worst weeks of my life is a vast and valid understatement.  My heart has not hurt like this since losing my father 10 years ago and my dear friend Judy nearly one and a half years ago.  But this hurt is a different kind of hurt.

If you've never loved an animal you probably cannot at all relate to this type of hurt.  Loving an animal encompasses all that is right and good in this world.  It is to love a creature whose mere purpose in life is to love you, unconditionally, every minute of every day.  It is to be greeted with a wagging tail and kisses when you are at your best as well as at your worst.  It is to have a willing witness to all of your joys and grief.  It is to love a creature that makes you a better person because you are entrusted with its care.  Guinness was more than "just a dog".  I know everyone thinks their dog is the greatest, smartest, cutest, etc. and that is because of the mutual love between pets and their owners.

Losing a pet is a shallow earthly pit of loneliness.  For me it is having to realize I no longer need to look where I am walking so as not to step on this loyal pet - or to put the foot part of the recliner down so as not to smash him.  It is to learn to pick up pieces of chopped food I accidentally tossed on the floor because Guinness isn't there to snatch it up.  It is learning to go to bed without doing the last time outside, or waking up to the first one in the morning.  It is about going to bed without carrying him and enjoying the kisses on the way.  It is about not having to be careful not to kick him off the bed when I am tossing and turning over some new worry I have.  It is about coming home and not calling out his name, or retrieving him from the closet, his favorite hideout.  It is not having to feed him in the morning, a task I never knew I'd miss so much.

While we quickly removed things that we knew would bring us endless sadness - his bowls, his bed, his blankets, his toys - I couldn't bring myself to wash one blanket that still kept his smell on it.  When I want to feel him near me I pick it up for a quick reminder of how much I loved him, as if I ever will need a reminder.  I have yet been able to begin work on a scrapbook of his life and how much happiness it gave us.  My days have been spent trying valiantly, and not successfully, to make it through one day without crying.  Family members and friends have been so supportive, especially those who have been privileged enough to own a pet and been witness and willing participants in unconditional love.  Some don't know what to say but a hug speaks volumes, even if it is a virtual one.   Some send messages, cards, "like" something I post on Facebook, and some have called.  I thank all of these people from the bottom of my heart.  In some way you have helped me in this journey called grief.

I write his not to elicit sympathy or empathy.  I write it to heal myself.  I write it to immortalize my love for one special little dog I had the privilege of being caretaker to.  I write it to help others who haven't had a pet to love.  I write to share with them the sheer joy of pet ownership and the sheer pain felt when the pet they love has taken its last breath.  I never want anyone to minimize the loss of a pet, and to know how much it hurts.  I also do not want to minimize a human being's passage, but this is a different loss.  People communicate their pain, while animals cannot.  They entrust us to be there for them, to help them when they are sick or dying.  This is what pet owners sign up for when they bring their pet to their "forever home".  It is a commitment of love and trust, both by the human and the animal.  It is a bond between two souls, a loyalty that some humans cannot even bring forward.

What sustains me now and gives me reason to wake up and face each day is the hope that soon I will get to the other side of this grief - the side that allows me to smile when I think of Guinness.  The side that encourages me to talk about his adorableness, his incredible personality, his human qualities, his ability to make non dog lovers actually like a dog, his tolerance of what a "helicopter mom" I was to him.  Guinness left this earth knowing he was loved. I know this.  How could he not?  Yes, we  pampered, coddled, spoiled, and entitled him.  But his love did the same for us.  Get me to that other side of grief sooner than later, Lord.  I want to be able to celebrate Guinness' life, not grieve for his passing.  I know he is taking over Heaven right now.  He is yapping, he can hear again, he is no longer suffering, and he has made his way to my Dad's lap on the softest recliner in Heaven.  Rest well, sweet little dog - my "Beeza", my Guin Guin, my Guinnie Poo, and all the other crazy names we bestowed upon you over your 14 wonderful years of loving us.

The Saddest Goodbye - January 22, 2014

Nearly fourteen years to the day, our house became a home with the addition of one tiny Yorkshire Terrier puppy.  For weeks we had driven past a sign on Route 59 advertising the sale of Yorkies.  I begged and pleaded with Artie, but he kept saying no.  One day, whining again as we drove past the sign, he gave in.  He told me to call.  We visited the home on 59 and walked in to see a tiny, very shy but adorable little ball of fluff.  He hid under the table, but I scooped him up and from that moment on I was in love.  We took him home and deliberated what to call him.  Wanting to come up with a proper British name, "Guinness" came to me.  Artie liked it, and so it was.  It didn't matter much to me when I learned a few weeks later that "Guinness" is an IRISH beer, but by then the name stuck and we loved it.

Having had two very large adopted greyhounds prior to this little ball of fluff, we fell instantly in love with this frisky, big eyed, Teddy bear nosed little powerhouse of a dog.  Part of my begging ritual to Artie when I was trying so hard to get this dog, was that I wanted a "Purse Puppy".  Guinness was never really that dog.  He wasn't content to be a froo froo.  He was rough and tumble and thought he was much larger than he was.  He was playful, funny, bossy, completely uncooperative with housebreaking, and we loved it all.  Guinness took over the house, but mostly took over our hearts.  We often said that our house and our bed were indeed Guinness' and that he let US live in them.

Over time Guinness continued to bring us joy in the simplest things - getting a toy when he wanted to play, barking at his bowls when he wanted food or water, curling up in our laps when he wanted to be cuddled, expecting his afternoon snack on time and vocalizing to remind me when it wasn't.  And oh, there were those days when he barked incessantly, sometimes for no reason known to us.  And the way he snarled when someone stepped on him.  Guinness always amazed us with how he could be in a room full of people and stay out of harm's way.   We loved it all.

In May of 2013, following routine blood tests, it was discovered that his kidney values were abnormal, indicating early onset kidney disease.  At that time the vet asked us to monitor it.  We tried special food, but Guinness would have no part of it.  We continued to keep an eye on him and nothing was changing or getting worse.  He seemed to be drinking more water and having trouble controlling his urges to urinate.  We attributed it to advanced aging and thought little of it.  Recent blood tests indicated his values had elevated a bit, but were still OK.

On December 3, 2013 Guinness turned 14.  We celebrated yet in some ways we dreaded that birthday because it meant he was closer to leaving us, just based on average longevity of dogs.  When his birthday came he seemed very healthy, except for some hearing loss and a little less energy, and we heaved a sigh of relief and joy.  Unfortunately within a couple weeks that all changed when he somehow injured his ACL and developed a pronounced limp.  Guinness had arthritis and we usually picked him up and put him down when he was on the couch.  Apparently he jumped off in our absence and hurt himself.  Surgery became an option but we decided to wait it out.  Small dogs often heal from this type of injury and he eventually seemed better.  Around Christmas time our little angel began having gastrointestinal issues and we began a series of vet visits.  He was given many meds but didn't seem to improve.  Our vet suggested he be hospitalized because he wasn't eating or drinking.  Guinness spent three days in the hospital, getting IV fluids and meds.  The vet at the hospital told us Guinness' kidneys were filled with cysts, and those cysts would eventually shut down his kidneys.  There was no way to know how long it would take, but we knew we wanted to bring him home so he could be comfortable and in less stress.

When he was finally cleared to come home, he was a shade of the vibrant little dog he was.  Artie and I decided to continue with IV fluids at home, and injected him twice daily.  Each day he seemed better.  Yesterday he was almost his normal self and we spent a great day together.  I kept him at my side on the couch, took him with me when I left the room, and just enjoyed being with him.  That all changed this morning, when he seemed to deteriorate.  We called the vet and they said to get him in immediately.  In our hearts we knew we had to make a decision.  In the car on the way there we decided it was time to put an end to our sweet baby's discomfort.  Friends told me that if we loved him we had to let him go.  Guinness left us peacefully on his little bed in the vet's office, with Artie and I both holding him and telling him how much we loved him and what a wonderful dog he was.

If you have ever loved an animal you know what a void is left in your heart when you say goodbye.  I have never loved an animal like I've loved Guinness.  There will never be a dog like him again.  He was loved by many and I just know he's taking over Heaven right now.  I am hoping he found his way to my Dad so they can cuddle together for eternity.  Someday I will see him again to get more of those daily kisses I know I will miss so much.

Goodbye sweet Guinness.  You loved so unconditionally and so completely and we hope you know we loved you with all our hearts.