One last day
Other beings give you moments your entire life; it’s what sustains us and makes us dynamic. Sometimes it can be addicting: the joy, sorrow and aliveness that comes from those spaces. I just came through one with Willy. Choosing to sit and have a picnic with him and lay in the shade of a cottonwood tree.
The idea came to me while I was clearing out the planters trying to be productive. Will ambled over with the heavy Gabapentin in his bones and laid on his bed while I worked. Three nosy chickens couldn’t even stir him. I realized while pulling the tall grass how much more enjoyable it would be to lay down and love him while I still can. I made some lunch and grabbed a blanket and we sat in the shade eating turkey together. I knew that our first picnic would also be our last, so I set in to just being with my good buddy.
I noticed a looseness in the skin under his eyes. I can’t deny he’s been slowing down, catching moments where his back legs give out or his eyes give me a painful, hollow look too hard to ignore. Andy keeps reminding me he has been trained to power through much pain. All I want is to do right by this dog, who has such a good, sweet heart. I like to think we both needed this day and it makes me wonder how much more I should slow down and create space to just be.
He’s snoring now. I have shifted under the shade, most likely getting a little sunburned while we lay head to head under the tree. I’ve cried often this morning - and laughed too, thinking Will might be harder to let go of than my mother. I reasoned she was gone a long time ago and just left behind work and upkeep, which I won’t miss. Will has been here with me through it all and on many of the walks when I was processing her demise. Now he will be gone soon.
When my dad and Ginger died it was all about me and the impact that had on my world. With Will and my mom, it seems to be about walking them home, removing any pain, creating the space to be at peace, and making the hard choices to let them leave naturally. It’s also about standing with my kids, hugging and supporting them, and doing my best to show them what I know about death.
Will has such a good loyal heart and still so much spunk, he would carry on for years just to be with us. We all know he’s on his way out. We all fall silent in the face of any real conversation about how he’s been acting. I’m so glad I found my way to this space today so I could cherish him and his presence in a way I never did with Gingy. I feel like her memory helped me get here.
The Physical Realm
I sit in the backyard most mornings surrounded by the crisp, summer air and the calls from birds in the trees. We sent Will on his way last night. I just kept watching the blades of grass swaying in the wind, each individual one part of a greater whole and yet wholly all its own.
I didn’t sleep well. I didn’t want to wake up this morning. The silence was too unbearable. The sky is overcast and I feel sadness right away. I’m just letting it roll through me, like the clouds, knowing it will clear up later. I find being back here makes me feel better, as if Willy will return or is still here somehow, ready to clear the yard and hunt for bunnies. The bunnies are here, perhaps they know it is safe now - no bird-dog to run them out.
I can’t help feeling sorry for myself about losing my best friend, the being I spent most of my time with the past three years. Grief is no stranger; I’m not surprised by any of these feelings. Watching Amelia wander through the landscape of death for the first time yesterday was hard. Seeing her face wrench at the newness, we knew she would be forever altered. Maddie wouldn’t even come outside. She was so traumatized by Gingy’s passing. She had the morning alone with him and sat inside the back door with Wills collar wrapped around her foot. We all just cried and cried. The old boy just laid there, he was ready to go.
I like to think his sweet heart is being cradled by the universe now and that he will come back to visit. I already crave the moments I have come to love so much: him cuddling on the couch, the most gentle kisses to my nose, tapping his toes to go out, chasing a ball and fitting so many items in his mouth before he returns for more, and of course, bounding through tall grasses and pointing in the finest form. He was such a beautiful being inside and out.
This morning I keep anticipating his steps on the floor, his presence in the grass, or on the concrete by the garage door. I keep hoping he is laying in the sun and weathering the day until we go for a walk, alone together just feeling free. The hardest part might be releasing anticipation of any more of these moments. The house feels empty, and my heart feels slow. I keep eating sugar to quicken it’s beat and propel me out of this funk. I realized this morning, Gingy left two months after I started working at Delta. I’m glad Will got to leave me before I left him.
Walking on alone
I took a walk at one of Willys favorite places, a bird preserve wrapped by the Highline Canal. I let my hand run across the tops of the tall grasses lining the trail. I cried. I moved my body. I was lost about which way to go. I sat by a pond that he always wanted to look out over. I ran through the spaces that Willy would run when I would let him off his leash. I never could keep up with him. All this time, I was looking forward to his older years when I would finally be in step with him but he seems to have out run me once again.
When we first got him, Willy would bound off in a field or track into the mountains or swim out across a lake chasing a bird he caught sight of... we’ve spent hours chasing down that dog. I was so frustrated, knowing he was completely lost in the hunt, completely lost in the joy of just being his true self. I couldn’t ever really be too angry at him because it just was in him to go. With his last peaceful breath, I like to think his energy moved on at warp speed; fast and fluid like he was in his prime. The thought makes my heart so happy and so sad at the same time.
A hummingbird crossed my path today. It made me feel better to have one flit by me again. Saturday when D and I took him for a final walk, the teeniest humming bird flitted right by us as Will trotted ahead on the trail. We were so confused and delighted once we figured out what it was and watched it on the power line.
Willy was such a good boy. I thanked D last night for bringing him into our world. His crazy energy, which I thought was entirely too much at the time, proved to fill in our home with so much love. I miss him: his big spirit and all the joy he gave us. How lucky we are that he swooped into our lives and ran rampant with our hearts.
P.S. The music is speaking to me these days. I was considering Joy of My Life, covered by Chris Stapleton, to encompass all the feels around his passing and then thought it was too much about romantic love and kinda weird. Completely unsolicited, D came to me to take a listen on his new headphones to the original version, which I had never heard before. It seemed utterly suiting since Willy countlessly tip-toed in the room. Also, I always thought Willy would be a banjo player in another life so the steel guitar twang seems suitable.