It’s been a week (to the hour) since you passed. I wanted to share some thoughts I’ve had this week while mourning you and experiencing my first real taste of absolute, gut-wrenching loss.
- This is so very worth it. I would change nothing. There wasn’t a day or even a span of hours in your life when you were taken for granted. There wasn’t any show of love that wasn’t reciprocated tenfold in either direction. This was the upside of having two dads that work from home and it’s why we’re all (yes, still) as bonded as we are. You resided mostly at our feet, helping us accomplish whatever task was at hand. You’d spend a couple hours in Dave’s office, then prompt him to let you come out to my studio for a bit, then reverse and repeat all day, every day. This was never a nuisance, never got old and never failed to fill us with as much joy as it did you. Naps were always the best and you were the best partner in the crime of day sleep. I’m having a lot of trouble napping on the huge beanbag - which you LOVED - without tears happening first. It’s been hard for both of us to sleep at night without you at the end of the bed, alternating whose legs you’ve got your back pressed up against. The prospect of bed-sharing is partly why I insisted on a non-shedding breed - the reason we were led to you - but I had no idea what else we were getting with the package.
- I am starting an entire, possibly larger, second phase of learning everything you were sent to teach me. It’s an awful lot and it’s weird to realize that in 40 years of living, some of the most basic things a human needs to know about themselves and the world can be non-verbally communicated through a uniquely gifted non-human like yourself. But then, you kinda were human. Given the amount of human activities we included you in, it’s not surprising that you practically changed teams. You never really fetched, had only a brief interest in any dog toys (certainly not for lack of us continuing to buy them), stayed closer to us off-leash than on, and try as we did with the food training, you just preferred to eat when we were eating. Like family. A couple times a day, you’d see or hear a squirrel and need to be immediately let out so you could run full bore at it, which was the most doglike activity you engaged in. (Wheatens are an Irish breed that chase vermin out of barns and off properties for their hardworking farmer/owners, so there it is. Who’s a good boy?!?)
- I keep thinking about an evening - around maybe 4 or 5 months of having you - when we were still crating you anytime we left the house. Because we were around so much, there was some separation anxiety to contend with early on. Dave remarked “He is 100% emotionally dependent on us and I guess we’ll have to address that.” Funny now to realize who was actually emotionally dependent on who, and how thoroughly you tricked us. I later taught you the phrase “You’re gonna stay here”, which made it easier for you to swallow the news of your not coming along with us wherever, find a comfy spot and enjoy some solo time. Because we all need solo time. That’s when you tended to do your heaviest sleeping, as you tried to be awake as much as possible when we were home. It was really, really hard to catch you with your eyes closed; maybe happened 3 times for me in those 10 years. (I have one picture of it, but this isn’t it. That one’s strictly between us.)
- Sneezing was your version of standup: it happened in groups of 8-or-so. But yours were as violent as my own, which both you and Dave can attest to. Your head would nearly shake right off of your neck, and between each one in the series you would have around 3 seconds to look right at us with a very concerned “Umm…what the HELL was that?” with all the hair on your face sticking out. Then onto the next until the fit subsided. You’d end up looking like mid-1980’s Tina Turner and it took you a few minutes of primping to get all the hair on your face back in place. Oh, we’re gonna miss you, you goof.
- Grieving- turns out we had no true experience in this department and you are teaching us a tremendously important life lesson. We’ve gotten into it. We’ve welcomed it, embraced it and let it run its course. No, I’m not done with it yet, but having surrendered to it the moment you passed, I’ve found it to be a pretty beautiful process. Don’t get me wrong, this is a kind of pain I didn’t know existed and I’m not excited about its next visit. I’ve now lost all 4 grandparents - the last one just a month ago, which hey…thanks for getting me through that, man - and 3 of them lived long, fruitful lives. There was an equal amount of celebration folded into the grief because of that long, full life. But Junes…you let us know something was wrong literally on your 10th birthday. (I’ve been having many bizarre thoughts about that, by the way.) Most sources told us that the Wheaten life expectancy is around 14-16 fully energetic years, so we had planned to do so much more with you. More trips to wine country, more trips to the beach, another NYC sublet for a few months, more dog park visits, more walks, more 3-mile runs and endless patio dining experiences all would have happened. And you wouldn’t have missed a beat so long as we were all together. Sure, we were lucky to not have lost you for whatever reason any sooner, but still. The bizarre, unforeseeable suddenness of your passing paired with your early exit has added many layers to our grief. Again, you are totally worth every exhausting moment of it, little man. And since you suffered only the briefest, if any, pain in the end, we have no problem bearing that load for you.
- Thank you for helping make Dave and I the people and couple that we are. It’s like your 12-week-old self showed up, said “These guys are doing pretty well, but they could use a little help; I’m just the guy for the job.” and just went to work. You sniffed out our incredible sensitivity the day we met you - which is why your sensitive self chose us - and once we became a family, you set about expanding our hearts while always filling them to the point they might burst any moment. It was love for each other and for you. My entire body has ached in flu-like fashion throughout the past week of grief, and I think it’s because my heart finally did burst and scatter throughout my being when you left us. We’re wrangling the many pieces of our hearts back into our chests and piecing them back together. The portion of it that binds the two of us stayed in place, is as strong as ever, and that’s partly your doing.
- Thank you for also growing so many others’ hearts. It’s impossible for non-owners of a dog - certainly for non-dog lovers - to have the same experience or connection its owners do, but you certainly gave that a run for its money. A few friends were lucky enough to housesit for us and get a glimpse of how little you asked for and how much you gave. When it was time to be happy and excited, you were. Otherwise, you just wanted to chill out together. You preferred smaller, more intimate hangs, but handled life in our ‘revolving door/borderline community center’ home with aplomb. When numbers got up there, you’d stick close to us or find an introverted soul hanging in the margins and cozy right up to them. I can think of at least 4 friends who began the search for their own dog after spending a little time around you and experiencing our family. You taught some of their dogs how to play and always shared your home with them remarkably well. We watched a variety of dogs for friends and you were a champ at making them feel right at home.
- Oh, buddy boy, I could go on forever. But it’s time to wrap this up. The thought of saying another Thank You or Goodbye instantly fills me with tears and heartache due to the finality of it. We already did that a week ago when we last got to touch you, smell you and clip a couple locks of hair from your ears. But if we’re to make these happy tears at some point, we have to accurately define your current and future status. We have to focus on the fact that you’re always going to be here with us. No, we can’t touch, smell, see or hear you anymore; those suddenly feel like selfish acts anyway. I now realize your real presence has always been just as strong, if not stronger, in the non-physical sense. You’re irremovably in our hearts, minds and souls. You will continue to live there, forever doing your best, most loving work.
