Transitions: Filling in the Gaps

As many of you know (and I thank you from the bottom of my heart for all your warm wishes), Tim’s life came to an end today. Apparently, what is said about renal failure is true: once it starts, it progresses quickly. Yesterday at lunchtime, Tim was tired, but otherwise seemed okay; last night he vomited unceasingly, and all I could do is stand by helplessly, watching his poor thin body wracked by retching, until I thought my heart would explode. Being unable to help someone you love is torture of the worst kind.

Eventually, my body demanded that I attempt to get some rest, and when I finally crawled into bed, Tim made his way downstairs. In truth, I was relieved that I couldn’t hear the pitiful sounds of him being sick, and his restless tossing and turning. But this morning when I awoke I couldn’t find him anywhere. He wasn’t in the Command Chair, on the Settle, in his little square bed, in Star’s crate, or on what had become his absolute favorite blanket of all time - the one that Jolie Banks made for JoLee when I adopted him. I finally put on my headlamp and went out into the darkness of the back yard. Twin green glowing spots pinpointed Tim’s location - he was underneath a juniper bush. Now, I know that dying animals will often crawl away to somewhere secluded to die, but neither Harry nor I could stand the thought of Tim dying under that bush, cold, sick and alone, so I fished him out and made the call to the vet who saved Tim’s life, so long ago. At 8:20 a.m., on this Thursday, February 17, after we had time to sit on the porch together and enjoy the warm morning sunshine (amazing at this time of year), Tim gently slipped away to whatever future awaits him on the other side.

I had called work to tell them I would be late and why, but that I had no idea exactly when I would be in, and I had texted my sister, warning her that I would be physically unable to talk to her for a while, so she might as well not even bother calling me. After the deed was done, I dropped Harry off at the house so he could get his car, started driving to work, and then turned on my phone to let my sister know that Tim was gone. A voicemail waited - it was the office, telling me that I shouldn’t try to come in, and I should take the day off to recover. As you can tell, I work for one incredibly awesome law firm. One quick U-turn later, I was headed back to the house, where I went immediately upstairs, changed into my jeans, and no more than ten minutes after that, was headed off to Branched Oak with JoLee and Star.

Some people crave companionship in times of grief, and some crave solitude. I’m one of those who craves solitude and finds it in the companionship of my dogs. Some solace awaited me at Branched Oak. We didn’t go to any of our normal haunts - that would have been too painful. We hiked in an unfamiliar area and walked for more than two hours, and that, itself, was some of the best therapy for me. I’ve always dealt best with stressful situations by being active. I think the dogs were the same way. They’ve known Tim was sick - I mean, heck, even I could smell the sickness in him, and their noses are a whole lot better than mine. And they knew Harry and I were distressed, and that distressed them, too. After our hike, we relaxed in the sunshine in the back of the Dogmobile and watched the geese fly overhead. I kept expecting to see Tim’s little form come bounding up over the ridge of a hill, his little ears flapping, a big terrier grin on his little face.

Some heartaches aren’t easily salved.

As I sat, I started wondering why Tim’s death has affected me so deeply. I mean, he’s a dog. An animal. Why would I be so emotionally invested in an animal? As a dog-lover with a whole slew of friends who are like-minded, I know there are others who feel just as deeply for their “pets” as I do, but how would I explain it to a person who didn’t share that feeling - one who thinks of dogs as animals?

As Star would say in her journal on Dogster - I pondered on that one for a while. Here’s what I came up with. When I adopt a dog, I see past the fact that he or she is an animal. Winnie had her own personality, as did Mikey, Sparky, Tim, and in the present, Star and JoLee. Each one of those personalities is totally different from the others - and some strike a resonance with mine. In Winnie’s case, she was aloof and elegant, while still being loving and kind, and when Winnie passed, I was saddened, but I knew none of the deep grief that I’m dealing with right now. This grief is akin to that I passed through when my first dog, Mikey, died. Tim and Mikey had a lot in common, when I think about it - and they shared a lot of common personality traits with me. Fiercely independent, sometimes goofy, incredibly loving, and nobody’s “pet.” What I lost today was not an animal. Tim was my friend. My companion.

There’s a big gap in my life right now, and much like when one has had a tooth suddenly and swiftly pulled out, I can’t help but explore the vacant space, test the pain, feel the loss. But I know that, with time, the pain will dull, the space becomes just a space, and life goes on.

Thanks again for all your friendship, warm wishes and the waves of love I felt when reading them. I know I’ll feel this pain again. One day I may even get to the point where I don’t think I can handle it again - I was almost there this time, with Tim. But until that day comes, I will continue to adopt my canine friends and companions and continue to enjoy them, with all their quirky personalities and silly antics.

I mean, how else am I to get through the tough times? I need my friends!