July 6, 2013—seven months and seven days ago today—was an unlucky one for me. It was the day my dog got run over and killed. It happened in my driveway on the Cape while I was in the backyard. It was an accident, I know, and Duffy was no pup. Nonetheless, I was devastated, and so was the driver. My devoted companion of almost 14 years was gone and I never even got to say goodbye.
Shortly afterwards I received a condolence note from my
boyfriend’s mother. “I’m sure it cast a pall over the entire weekend,” she
wrote. You have to admire someone who has so thoroughly mastered the art of
understatement. I handed the note to her son to read.
My youngest daughter, who had shared a dorm room with two
contraband kittens her sophomore year, isn’t what you’d call a dog person
either. But she and her boyfriend had recently broken up; she understood loss.
A couple weeks later I was wrestling with the tricep machine
at the gym when one of the trainers commented, “Wow, those muscles are getting
really buff!” The remark caught me off guard. It was so absurd I burst out
laughing.
“It’s good to see you smile again. I know you’ve had a cloud
over your head for the past week,” he said. 13 days, actually. Tricking me into
laughing was a low blow, but it worked. Then he mentioned the bit about God
closing a door and opening a window. I was looking for one even slightly ajar.
I’m generally a cheerful person, except when I’m not, and I
definitely hadn’t been lately. I would make I through the workday okay, only to
come home to my Duffy-free domicile and be assaulted all over again by his
absence. When I railed against my loving and patient partner he calmly observed,
“You’re just going through the grieving process.”
How very reassuring, I thought. I must be entering the anger
phase right about now. Emotionally speaking, it would appear, I was right on
track.
But one can wallow in self-pity only so long. I had retired
Duffy’s dishes but couldn’t quite bring myself to put away his bed, or his
stuffed bunny. I might be about ready, though, to try focusing on the positive
for a change. Wouldn’t it be a nice keepsake to compile a scrapbook of favorite
Duffy stories and photos? Feeling almost upbeat, I emailed my four daughters
and former husband asking them to share some memories of the dearly departed.
I received an abundance of sympathy in response but no
actual anecdotes. So one day I sat down with Katie, the daughter with the
closest connection to Duffy but probably the worst memory (besides mine), to
commemorate the life of our little canine.
“He sure was adorable, wasn’t he?” I began.
“The best, Mom. He was an angel, and now he’s a real one.”
“Remember how we used to play Paw Pad? How did that go again?”
“I think we just picked up his paw and kissed it a bunch of
times.”
“And then we’d try to kiss his nose really fast before he
could lick us back,” I added, smiling at the memory of our silly games.
“What a sweet little boy,” she sighed.
“The best,” I agreed.
And that appeared to be it for the Duffy album.
Looking for a little more closure, I was curious what the
library had to offer on the subject.
“Goodbye, Dear Friend: Coming to Terms with the Death of a
Pet,” by Virginia Ironside, recounts the experiences of famous figures such as Freud
and Sir Walter Scott as well as regular folks like us. Offering understanding
and solace, the author acknowledges the depth of our grief and assures us we
are not abnormal or maladjusted for mourning the loss of a much-loved family
member.
I also liked what New York Times bestselling author Jon Katz
proposed in “Going Home: Finding Peace when Pets Die.” Before making the heart-wrenching
but compassionate decision to put down his beloved border collie, Katz planned
the Perfect Day, packed with Orson’s favorite foods and activities, as a way to
transform an otherwise sad experience into a joyful and memorable one.
Anticipating the time I would have to make that agonizing decision myself, I
had envisioned spending my own Perfect Day with Duffy. I wish I had done it
before it was too late.
Browsing the shelves, I came across “The Truth about Grief:
the Myth of its Five Stages and the New Science of Loss.” Ruth Davis Konigsberg
maintains there is no validity to the traditional stages proposed by Elisabeth
Kubler-Ross, nor is there a “how-to” when it comes to grieving. That was a welcome
discovery; losing my Paw Pad partner was tough enough without being totally predictable
about it.
Finally I spotted a book dedicated to “my current precious
darlings—Balooga, Biscuit, Troy, Sasha, and Soldier” and “to my past beloved
pets—Kristen, Misty, Chewy, Mitzy, Jolie, Thor, Crystal, Flower, and many
others.” That was my first clue that this one could be a little out there. In
“All Pets Go to Heaven: the Spiritual Lives of the Animals We Love,” the late psychic
Sylvia Browne describes firsthand, and from decades of research, how animals
live in the after-life, whether we will see them on the Other Side, and where
they fit into the whole of Creation.
While nothing can take away the pain of losing your
four-footed friend, checking out some of these books might make it just a bit
more bearable. And who knows, some day Duffy and I may get to share our Perfect
Day in doggy heaven after all.
