Love Lost

Anyone who knows me quite well, will know that seven years ago I met the love of my life in the form of a little ball of black & white fur at a pet rescue event. I affectionately call Rory, that black & white Japanese Chin with the tongue hanging out the one side, a Heart Thief. He stole my heart in an instant, and continued to steal many hearts wherever he went – groomers, vets, pet stores, out on the street.

A year ago Rory started displaying worrying symptoms, and a trip to the emergency animal hospital revealed right-side heart failure. Not a good prognosis on that one. Basically no treatment available. But as luck would have it, Rory was able to get in to see a cardiologist that same week, and it turned out that the heart failure was due to pulmonary hypertension. Not curable, but treatable. Thus started a regimen of several pills a day, in peanut butter flavoured pill pockets (no accounting for taste!).

Rory responded very positively to the medication, and was like a whole new dog! Happy, energetic, playing with toys. It was a blessing from God. I cherished every miracle extra moment that I got to spend with him.

But as we know, nothing gold can stay.

And my sweet cinnamon roll, too good for this world, too pure, couldn’t stay forever. Though the pulmonary hypertension and resulting heart failure were responding incredibly well to the medication, the ravages of time reared their head in the form of an aggressive tumour in Rory’s abdomen. With surgery as basically a non-option due to the heart and lung issues, it was time to say goodbye, and make sure that the end of Rory’s life was as peaceful and pain-free as it could be.

I got to hold him in my arms the entire time while he fell asleep under the anaesthetic. So his last awareness was being snuggled by his person, surrounded by more love than he could ever comprehend.

I held him for as long as I could, but then he started having a seizure. It was his heart giving out. A sign that indeed he likely would not have survived a surgery. The vet came in and took him from my arms, bundling him up in the cloth covering the examination table, quickly whisking him away for the second shot before anything went horribly awry.

It was a bit traumatic to see that aspect. His eyes open. His body convulsing. He even made some noises. But the vet was very reassuring that he was not aware of any of that happening. I was a bit grateful for it too, since it forced an endpoint. Otherwise, I may have held him there in my arms for hours, not being able to let go.

Because if it were up to me, I’d never let him go.

But it wasn’t.

The grief comes in waves, like everyone tells you it will. And I think the reality of it is setting in in stages. It’s been a week and a half, and this is the first time I’ve felt up for writing a post about it (though I still cried through writing the whole thing). I think the initial shock that was protecting me from the full weight of the pain is starting to wear off now. I feel the sadness more, but I also feel more present in reality. A little at least.

I know it will be a long road. With many a winding turn, as it were. And it feels a little overdramatic to be so grief-stricken over a dog. But I was recently given a good analogy about grief. Grief and Love are two sides of the same coin. It is because we love that we grieve when the beloved is lost. And someday when the wound is not so fresh, I can take solace in that – in flipping the coin of grief to the love side to celebrate and appreciate the memories instead of wallowing in the sadness of it. But for now, the solace I take is that I am experiencing this level of grief, pain, and sadness because I loved him so deeply, so profoundly, so recklessly, and I would not trade that for any amount of relief from this heartache.

And I think maybe, this is a tiny glimpse into the depths of God’s love for me. Even as I reject him or turn from him or run away. Even as his heart breaks to see me get hurt or in pain. His love still envelopes me. Deeper and wider and stronger than anything I could comprehend.

#depression #God #grief #thoughts