Hard to say Good-bye

I received so many great comments on last week’s blog post that I was inspired to write more on the subject. The comments really made me reflect on pet ownership. And pet loss. My friend Carol and I once tried to decide whether the love and joy you get from a pet is worth the pain and suffering you go through when they die.

I already knew my dance friend, Elizabeth (who is also from Kentucky) is crazy about her two pug dogs. I don’t think she goes so far as to take them shopping in strollers, but she does dote on them. She left the comment, “Ha! I’m one of the animal lunatics you describe. As an only child my (numerous) pets were my siblings. When my beagle Boots got hit by a car (no, there were no fences yet anywhere in Bowling Green) I wailed “Why couldn’t it have been Nana or Papa?! They’re OLD!” 

Nick’s cousin, Shirley, wrote that one day, as she and her husband were driving down the driveway to their house in Virginia, their usually very smart cat kept walking directly toward their car. Shirley said “Ken, you’re going to hit the cat!” Ken said, “Well, if it’s too stupid to move, then too bad!” (I can imagine this whole scene because Ken must have the same sense of humor as the rest of the Searcy clan and was, no doubt, joking!) “He ran right over it and I watched in horror as our two children screamed and ran to see if they could save it. Of course, they had to bring it in the house and watch it die.” Ken will hear about this for the remainder of his life.

Nick’s sister, Mitzi, remembers Nick running over her kitten when she was a kid. Nick came in to break the news and they sat and cried together. It eased their pain.

There is something so heart-breaking and tragic in losing a helpless little creature who loves, trusts and depends on you. I’m sure every person I know has a sad story about the death of a pet. My friends at the Grief Recovery Institute realized that losing an animal companion was such a major loss that they wrote a whole book about it — The Grief Recovery Handbook for Pet Loss. For decades, they have worked with grievers to help them “complete” every kind of loss. And loss of a beloved pet is no exception.

Fortunately, one of the authors of the book, Russell, was our long-time friend and mentor when Nick and Omar started talking about adopting Kobe and Wally. Russell was at our house watching a football game when Nick began telling him about our plan to acquire new dogs. When Nick took a break to get another beer, Russell followed me into the kitchen and started whispering frantically to me, “Leslie, you can’t let them get new dogs. Neither of them are complete with Clifford’s death!” I knew what he was talking about. Nick and Omar were still reeling over losing our beloved and brilliant Clifford, a 13-year-old white terrier mix we had adopted from the Burbank Animal Shelter when he was seven. Even I liked Clifford. He mostly followed directions and he looked at me like a long lost love. All three of us were doing what Russell warned against in the book, “Replacing the Loss.” (If any of you had parents who chose this technique, you’ll know it’s ineffective.)

A couple of months earlier, I’d noticed that Clifford was sleeping in a weird place under the table, then I realized that he had grown lethargic and then I noticed his belly was swollen. Nick and I rushed him over to the emergency vet and after an examination, the vet told us Clifford had a vascular tumor which would take his life. The vet then offered us a $10,000 surgery which could possibly extend that life three to four months. No guarantees though. Nick reached for his wallet. 

After I had talked some sense into him, we called Chloe to bring Omar over to say good-bye to Clifford. I had done enough Grief Recovery work to know the good-bye was important, that sparing Omar the pain was impossible. Buckets of tears were shed as the four of us gathered around Clifford’s limp, white, 17-pound body to see him into the next life. Just before the final injection, Nick threw himself on Clifford and wailed, “Good-bye, Buddy! You were my best friend!”

“Nick and Omar need to get complete with Clifford’s death so you’re not trying to replace the loss,” Russell had said.

“Do I get them to write completion letters to him? The amends, the forgivenesses, the significant emotional statements? The whole nine yards?” I asked.

“Yes, and they can read them aloud like they are communicating them to Clifford. Just like in the seminar. I wouldn’t even consider a new dog until then.”

Oh boy. Somehow, I have misplaced those letters. I wish I could convey word-for-word what they contained. Just believe me when I tell you Nick could barely get through his when it was time to read it aloud. He told Clifford he was sorry for not throwing the ball to him more, for not taking him on more car rides (Clifford could roll down his own window), for not letting him play basketball in the driveway more often (Clifford rolled the basketball like a circus dog), for not taking him on more walks, giving him more treats, for not loving him enough. He forgave Clifford for destroying all the custom-made window blinds (he didn’t say custom-made, I just added that.) He forgave him for scratching a hole in the front door trying to get out, for howling with loneliness when we left him in the yard and went to the movies. He wanted Clifford to know what an amazing dog he was, one that was able to escape from his locked crate, pull the latch down on the dutch door, jump out, jump over the front fence and be waiting for us in the driveway when we returned from the movies. He wanted Clifford to know that he was the best and smartest dog on the planet and that there would never be another one like him and that he would miss him every day. I couldn’t even understand what he was saying when he said his good-bye. It was brutal. 

Omar guffawed at his Dad, then put a little smirk of irony on his face while he read his completion letter. But I could tell he was choking back tears as he made his own amends and forgivenesses and told Clifford how much he missed having a little pal to sleep with. 

We had Clifford’s body cremated and added the wooden box to the existing stack on the bookcase — gold plates reading Jasmine, Daisy, Sadie and Clifford. 

You know the next chapter of the story. Clifford had made us believe that Terrier mixes were smart and obedient, so Kobe and Wally moved in a couple of weeks later. Not all terriers are created equal. 

I’ve supported friends and loved ones as they navigated losing their babies. Dave and Thomas, our next door neighbors, had to say good-bye to the most amazingly well-behaved dog on the planet, Mama. They had friends drop by to say good-bye before she was gently put to sleep there on the living room floor. They could barely function for weeks. I cried with and for Chloe when her little rescue kitty, Kimmy got a premature diagnosis of a kidney disease, then cancer. She and her boyfriend, Josh, held a Shiva where their friends stopped by to mourn the cat’s passing. They watched a slide show and said things like, “Kimmy was fancy and didn’t like toys.” Deb lost the kids’ scrappy little dog Buddy, then immediately had to start cleaning up messes in the middle of the night because meek and sweet Ginger became incontinent in her final weeks.

My friend, Ted prepared himself for his boxer, Holly’s death by imagining it for years in advance. He didn’t want it to take him by surprise, to overwhelm him. Little Ivy, the beagle that wandered onto his farm to become Holly’s second-in-command, brought him the comfort he needed. Years later, Ted’s dad passed away at 91. A few months after, his mom, Anne followed. I worried about Ted, who is an only child, losing his only family. Within two weeks of his mom’s death, Ivy, Anne’s only grand-dog, the pup she liked to share chili dogs with while watching Downton Abbey, passed too. “Seriously, God?” I said in my prayers. “Ivy? I mean, come on! How much can one man take?”

When my friend, Carol’s dog, Bilbo Baggins died, I just listened on the phone as she cried in pain and confusion. She asked me if I thought the love and joy we get from our pets is worth the pain and suffering we go through when they die. I think we decided yes, it is.

Find the book, along with the other Grief Recovery Institute publications at: www.amazon.com/Grief-Recovery-Handbook-Pet-Loss/dp/1630760145