Grief

Grief....that’s all I feel, taste, and breathe today and our friend, Rookie, is still with us. We’ve been preparing, or trying, to prepare ourselves for what Tuesday holds for us. After nearly 15 years of a full and adventurous life, Rookie will be leaving us. For the past several years we have been bargaining with a higher power to just simply allow us to get him out of the North so he could retire to a life of leisure lounging on the deck, watching life go by. And that higher power did pull through for us but it seems it wasn’t long before we were bargaining again, this time with one another. Around Christmas time, Rookie had another bout of vestibular syndrome and while it did not seem as dire as the first episode he suffered up North, he has not made much progress in his recuperation – he has no balance. He falls on the hardwood floors, he falls on the tile floor, he falls up and down the 3 short stairs to get outside and he falls while he’s walking. Thank goodness the ground is covered with snow. In true Rookie fashion, he figures since he has already fallen, he might as well make a few snow angels while he’s down there.
So adding his current situation to his growing list of ailments – deafness, blindness, arthritic, lumpy, anxious and somewhat delusional – the inevitable has become our reality. Once again, I had secretly called out to that higher power asking for one more favour. Please take him from us so that we don’t have to make the decision for him, but that wasn’t to be. I suppose we’ve asked for too many wishes over the years and this one wasn’t going to happen. His condition continued to deteriorate and Ev & I, individually, started to consider the unavoidable – having Rookie put down. We occasionally would bring the subject up to one another when we’d had a bad day or night with him but it was always quickly dismissed until one morning when Ev brought it up and there was an imminent seriousness to his tone. Me, I just burst into tears and the conversation was done but the message was clear. It was time. A couple of weeks have passed since that morning, but I know we have both been preparing ourselves.
Odd thoughts have come into my mind. This will be the third time for me that I’ve lost a pet who leaves behind a furry companion. My childhood cat KoKo and her offspring, Horse, my heart Megan, and her psychotic sidekick Misha, and now Rookie and Ernie. In both previous instances, the surviving pet only lasted a year after the passing of their partner – heartbroken, I suspect. So I wondered what the surviving pet thought when one day their companion was there and the next, gone. You know when you watch those shows on Animal Planet and a mate or the offspring of an animal dies and the survivor grieves the loss and then moves on? Well it started me thinking – if you have your pet put down, do you bring their partner along so they understand what has happened? Do they truly understand? If we do bring Ernie along, will his need to always be the centre of attention get in the way of peacefully saying good-bye to our dear old friend? Will Ernie be scarred by bearing witness to Rookie’s passing as I know Everett & I will be? I am haunted by witnessing Megan being put down, even though she was basically comatose but the prospect of Rookie having to be put down without the comfort of Ev & I, with strangers in the room, is even harder for me to accept.
I digress – my next step of acceptance was that I wanted to call the vet’s office to ask some questions about the process but I still couldn’t bring myself to do it. Ev was off for a couple of days and as we chatted about what he had on his list to get done, he said it. Out loud. He had to call the vets to make “arrangements”. And I shut down. I tried to distract him all day but he was determined. In his effort to protect me, he suggested I go take a nap. I knew what he was doing. Trying to protect my heart. I could hear him on the phone. I could hear that the person on the other end was taking down information and I could hear that someone was going to call him back. When the call came, I could hear some of his conversation but his voice was very low. What I did hear was the last thing I wanted to – Tuesday at 11:30. Tuesday. At 11:30.
Now, I feel guilt even thinking it but to say it (type it) out loud, but Tuesday can’t come fast enough. Every moment is agonizing. My heart breaks each and every time I look at him. And when I am crying uncontrollably and it’s Rookie that is there to comfort me, nudging my hand with his muzzle for just one more pat, does he know? Does he know that I’m grieving for him? Does he know that his time is limited? Is he trying to reassure me that he is going to be fine? I just don’t know and I just can’t bear to be apart from him right now. Even when he’s asleep, I can’t seem to tear myself away from him.