The Toughest Two Days....And Infinite Love Before, During, and After

My dogs are no longer here by my side...

We said goodbye to Daisy on March 6. She passed at home, in her bed, with the assistance of an in-home hospice vet with her family by her side. As the process began, she sat up, licked Claymore’s eyes (which she had done a million times before) as he began to lie down. She put her head on Claymore and he stayed with her until after she was gone. She had taken care of him since he joined our family—it was comforting to see him take care of her as she left this world.

Claymore was here with us almost exactly 48 more hours. He passed Monday with the assistance of the veterinarian who had cared for him (he had many health problems before cancer) for years. Though we were not at home, it was the first spring-like day here in Virginia and we were able to say goodbye outside in the sun. We used to call him Claymore Seeker of Sunlight.

Our hearts are shattered. I have felt physically sick and every part of my day feels completely wrong. They were the absolute best. I miss them more than words. I am so grateful they spent their lives with me. I am thankful for BARC, the rescue organization who helped them find us. My family needed them—I needed them—they needed each other. I will carry their love and lessons and laughter with me for the rest of my life. Everyone who knows their bond is not surprised that they left this world so close together. And, since they did, we requested a private cremation for them together...and they will be returned to us in a single velvet bag. (We have never had ashes returned to us before, but somehow this felt like the appropriate thing to do.) Our plan is, when we are ready, to take a trip in their honor. They lived all over the country with us. And we would like to return them to some of their favorite places, together, forever. Maybe I will right about that journey...

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I shared the posting below on my Facebook page on March 9. I still want a place to come back to, if I need help remembering (though I can't imagine I would ever forget) or to move forward with processing this overwhelming grief:

No words can even begin to do justice to how lucky I am or how much brighter my life is because Daisy and Claymore shared their lives with me. I want to tell their stories, of their adventures and all of the love. Of how they were the most bonded pair I could imagine AND two unique individuals—a yin and yang that fit perfectly together and completed our family. They loved their human family members as much as they loved each other. And we felt that every single day. And then, I realize, because of the outpouring of support, people DO know quite a bit of this. I find comfort in the fact that they made so many people smile and laugh and feel the love, whether they knew them through Facebook or in person. It is my hope that others will continue to be reminded of them, perhaps when they see pure unconditional love and friendship in any relationship, or any of their other unique characteristics that made them so amazing as individuals. To say one is “a Daisy to another’s Claymore” or “a Claymore to another’s Daisy,” (or a Daisy or a Claymore in their own right) in my opinion, would be the highest compliment among family, friends, or partners (or to an individual).

Saying I miss them so very, very much is an understatement to say the least. I read the quote below in a book recently and it resonates with me... I will take the pain—I only feel it because of the love...so much love. Maybe one day I will find my own words to better honor their lives. But that is beyond my abilities right now and it also seems an impossible task for a human to ever put into words the pure love, life, and joy they embodied. So for now I will thank you all for seeing them and loving them...and for being there for my family during this time. I believe their love was so infinite that the compassion we are being shown right now is my two best buddies still finding ways to spread that love to help me through these tough days.

“Moonlight beams through his eyelids and he can see, as if it’s the lake in front of him, the pain and loss he’s been swimming in for years. In the moonlight, though, the pain is revealed to be love. The emotions are entwined; they are the two sides of the same gleaming coin.”

From Dear Edward by Ann Napolitano

(Picture from February 2018, San Diego)

Grief and Goals

 

My dogs are dying.  (Yes, I know "we are all dying..." My dogs are terminally ill--with cancer that's rapidly advancing.)  It feels unbearable.  I could go on and on about how they are the most bonded pair I have ever met, how they were diagnosed with the same (rare) lung cancer exactly two weeks apart, the expenses and guilt of choosing palliative care for this senior pair, the rollercoaster of the past four months, the lack of sleep, the INTENSE anticipatory grief that won't let up and the fact I know the grief to come will be even worse, the fact that these dogs saw me through over a decade of military wife life as my constant companions in a world of chaos...  I realize that many people are struggling and I am fortunate to have so many privileges (like the financial ability to do all that I can for them and a flexible work schedule to spend time with them).  But these dogs are my family--they have pulled me through some tough times.  My time and energy have been dedicated to them in so many ways (especially recently) and my self-worth and comfort, I realize, are largely wrapped up in that bond.  I am so lucky their lives have been spent with me--we've had so many adventures and wonderful times.  I used to say the only time I was ever truly happy and in the moment was when I was walking my dogs.

All of this comes down to the fact that I hurt physically and mentally in a way I have never have before.  I have lost dogs before--dogs that I loved deeply.  I have never lost two dogs at essentially the same time, with a full-time demanding career, with huge family commitments, during a global pandemic where I have been isolated for a year.  People have suggested I journal about my feelings.  I don't like feelings/emotions--especially the ones that are so hard to feel.  But I do realize that I USED to write about my trials and tribulations with my pups.  I realize that I once found a blog about a dog who had the same disease as my Sampson, and reached out to the author who gave me some solidarity and support during that tough journey.  Maybe this will help me.  Maybe somehow in some way someone will find this and it can support them.  Or maybe I'm just rambling with no reason or purpose because I am so desperate.  Regardless, here I am--after a LONG hiatus from this virtual space.

I'm trying to figure out how I am ever going to make it through this still standing.  It seems impossible.  But I have a daughter (and husband, career, family, and friends)--so I have no choice other than to try--not just try, but stay "still standing."  I'm searching for any way for some GOOD to come from this tragedy.  I can't fathom how that is even possible, but I have to hold on to something to keep me putting one foot in front of the other and functioning on some level these days.  I am working on living in the lessons Daisy and Claymore have taught and continue to teach me, not the least of which are to live in the moment and love unconditionally.  I hope I can come out on the other side of this stronger somehow.

Speaking of strong, the one thing I have been making sure I do during this time is exercise.  I've always been dedicated to fitness, but it has taken on new meaning.  We got a Peloton last year (I may have joined a cult but that's for another post...) and back in December I committed to trying to do at least one activity every day for a year.  That doesn't mean I have to do a hard bike ride, but SOMETHING Peloton offers--even if it is a 5-minute stretch or meditation...something that forces me to focus on that goal at least once per day.  So far, I've kept it up.  Today, the weather was actually nice (after a ridiculous month of insane winter weather) so I went for a run in my neighborhood with the Peloton app.  I've been riding much more than running these days.  (I am now 40 and my knees and below often feel like I'm way older than that.)  But I thought about the fitness goals I have had before.  I wonder if I could run a half marathon again?  Not for speed or time or even in a formal race, but just to have a goal to help push me through this grief.  So, that's (maybe?) my goal...by my 41st birthday.  I'm putting it out there.  And I will try.  If I fail, I know I can do 13.1 miles on the bike.  I just hope I can make it through this seemingly unbearable time still standing...