Nothing Left But Memories

As I awoke this morning I did what I do every morning laying there half-awake.  I gently moved my legs around to see where my little Daisy was sleeping.  This morning she wasn't there, nor will she be ever again.  We had her put down yesterday.

As those close to us know, Daisy was diagnosed with oral cancer this past May.  I asked the vet if the cancer would metastasize and she said no.  This was a bit of a blessing since the cancer would not ravage my little girl's body.  We were given two months; we got four.  What finally put us over the edge was that little Daisy could no longer eat.  We hadn't seen her eat anything in two days.  The cancer had grown to a point that she could not get food past the mass.  Her head was drooping (the vet told us that this was a sign of a potassium deficiency), she was wobbly when she walked, and she was becoming even more lethargic.  Once Ross pried open her mouth we knew that the inevitable had come.

Yesterday was a beautiful day-the sky was blue with big puffy white clouds, there was a nice breeze blowing, and the temperature was in the seventies.  Once we knew what was to happen we brought a sleeping bag out to the back yard next to the flower garden; Daisy loved to lay on the rocks in this garden.  I called the vet who said he would come to the house for this, and Ross and I took turns laying with Daisy. The picture above is the last picture taken of Daisy; it was taken about ten minutes before the vet arrived.  She slept next to both of us so peacefully.  What was to follow I will leave out because I feel that these moments are hard and emotional yet special, and words can never do them justice.  Afterwards we said our goodbyes, and the vet took Daisy away so that she could be cremated.  We held each other for a moment and then life began again.

When I was in high school we had to meet certain requirements to graduate, but there were many elective classes that one could choose around the core curriculum to meet the necessary standards.  For my health class elective I chose Thanatology-the study of death and dying.  I know it sounds a bit morose, but the teacher was cool.  And, I heard there were no tests.  The no tests rumor was confirmed on the first day of class to everyone's great glee until the teacher stopped us and said that there were no tests in the class, but we would be tested someday.  The basis of the class was not the study of death but how to live with loss.  I can remember the teacher saying that everyone will lose something important to them- a job, a marriage, a loved one, and what will be left behind is grief.  This grief will be like a measuring stick; it will show you the measure of how much you loved what you lost.  As an example, you might hear on the news about the tragic loss of someone you don't know, and your heart goes out for their family.  Although you felt something your life still goes on because you had no investment in that poor, lost soul, while that family you don't know's lives have just come to a screeching, sudden stop because their dear loved one has died.  Love is measured in grief; the more you love the more your grieve.  Plain and simple.  What isn't simple is how you grieve.

Shortly after losing Daisy I went back to work stripping paint off the columns in front of our garage (the task I've been working on this weekend).  Ross called his family for support.  Back when Daisy was first diagnosed with cancer I became acutely aware that Ross and I were a mismatched set when it came to grieving.  Ross reaches out to others to seek comfort while I withdraw from the world.  The interesting part of this behavior is that normally Ross is more reserved, if not downright shy, and I am the more gregarious of us two.  As I sat there working, all I thought of was Daisy and how much I already missed her.  I was using a heat gun to remove the layers of paint, and afterwards I could tell each time I started to cry because I ended up scorching the wood from leaving the gun in one area too long.  I felt, I still feel bad-bad for Daisy for having had cancer, bad for me because I feel so crappy, and bad for Ross because he feels bad and needs me while all I want to do is go away (yes to all of you crying out avoidance-I know I know...).  We'll muddle through somehow.

To conclude this most sad entry I will leave you with a thought I had while sitting there charring my column, with pain in my heart and tears rolling down my cheeks.  I thanked God for allowing me to feel so bad because it allowed me to know that what I had was special, and it mattered.  It was good and will be missed.

I love my little Daisy, my Doodlebug, and I hope that I never stop trying to feel for her every morning, half-awake, with my feet for the rest of my days even though I will always be left with disappointment.