Farewell

I received an unexpected, but welcome, email over the weekend. A long-time friend shared his sympathies and some much needed advice. I hope he doesn't mind, but I thought I'd share a part of my response to him--I just don't think I can write another version of events without going into another fit of crying. Not that there's anything wrong with that, but I'm tired of crying. For today.

As the subject of your email suggests, arrivals and departures are the way of the world. I, of all people, should be able to grasp this concept. Intellectually and spiritually, I know this is as close to a fundamental truth as I believe exists. Emotionally, change hurts no matter how much we've thought out the various processes and scenarios. Still, your email reminded me of all the things Bishop has given freely, the lessons he helped me learn and the difficulties he helped me survive.

So, I made the best of the long weekend, spent tons of time with Bishop, thanked him repeatedly for offering his unwavering love and friendship, and made him as comfortable as possible. Unfortunately, we couldn't entice him to eat and by Monday evening he wasn't drinking any water. We spent Monday night watching movies, Bishop's head in my lap. Sitting there, I realized it was the last evening I'd spend with my dog.

I'll spare you all the details but we took him to the vet this morning and had him put to sleep. I was bound and determined to save him any undue suffering. All three of us were in the room with him; I held him as he slipped away. I figure I owed him that much. Wagging his tail until the very end, he drifted off to sleep.

Despite the traumatic events of this morning, I'm feeling far better today than I did over the weekend. The anticipation of the loss was killing me. Today, I'm dealing with it. Having lost her partner six years ago, STK is amazingly wise in matters concerning loss. She's quick to remind me that we never really get over the people who leave our lives. Instead, we learn to live with the absence. Feel the pain. Cope. Get up tomorrow. Repeat.

And I'm sure that's how things will play out presently. I turned to look for Bishop several times today, my eyes welling up when I realized I wouldn't find him. I swear I saw him move through my peripheral vision earlier this evening. Tomorrow, I'll probably look for him less and the tears won't come as often. By this time next year, thinking of him will evoke more happy memories than sad (although a twinge of sadness will always accompany fond memories).

Farewell, my friend. All other dogs who enter my life, and there will undoubtedly be another one or two, will be judged by your standard.* You gave me so much. I can only hope I gave enough in return. Rest well.


*The subject of another dog came up this evening, in fact. We'll likely hold off until summer, when we're around to watch and train a puppy, but I wouldn't be surprised to see a new addition to our menagerie.