Grief and Healing

Tony and my youngest bro in 1998..I love this photo!

If the hardest experience I’ve ever had to go through in my 29 years was losing my dog, then in some ways, I’ve been blessed. But talk to anyone who has lost a beloved companion, and they will understand that such an experience is much more heart-breaking than it seems.

Tony and I–we gave him a name that started with a T, just like the children’s names–would go jogging together every day, regardless of the cold or heat. He would always be there to greet me when I drove up to the house. He would hang out by the pool when I swam during the summer. And when he turned eighty in dog years and lacked the vigor to do the same activities, I cared for him even more. I gave him medicine and made sure that his life was still worth living. I thought that if I took good care of him, he would live forever. Logically, the idea was false but, in my heart, I believed I could keep him around for as long as I wanted to.

Each month as I discovered more signs of his faltering health, I cried all over again. As alert and intelligent as he still was, I could not deny how much weaker his body had become. Yet, I honestly embraced the hope that he would make it through a few more seasons.

When it came time to let him go, I was rendered by a deluge of tears. I said good-bye to him for the last time and kept saying his name over and over again to reassure him–and myself–that he would be okay. My father and brother gave him a warm bath and wrapped him in a blanket like a baby. I reminded them to keep his leash and collar for I needed a physical reminder of his presence. He had no awareness of our heavy hearts, or the strength it took us to remove him from his place of refuge.

Even after all this time, I can still hear the pitter-patter of his four paws as he scurried across the garage. I can see his cute, perky ears and how his spotted tongue would stick out when he smiled at me. I have to stop myself from filling up his water dish or sneaking some leftovers into his food dish. Each time I open the door, I expect to see him waiting for me, but he never is and never will be. I have to accept that he really is gone.

I am comforted by the belief that Tony is no longer ill or suffering. I imagine him frolicking with other dogs amongst the green pastures of heaven, as silly as that sounds. And I imagine that someday we will be lying next to each other and we will go jogging around the park again. I will be able to touch him and tell him how much I have missed him and loved him all these years. The fond memories from the thirteen years that we spent together will always remind me of our unwavering bond. It was these thoughts that allowed me to heal and seek solace and peace as I grieved for my loyal companion.

Throughout the turmoil of that particular week and months thereafter, another part of acceptance and healing also came from Buddhism and remembering the Four Noble Truths. After raising my dog for so many years, I had seen him at his strongest and at his weakest. I saw him run, jump, and wag his tail happily. Then I saw him bewildered, catatonic, and practically lifeless. I saw him when he was a playful puppy, growing into a rambunctious teenager, then as an old man who could no longer get up and take care of himself. He was born, lived an active life, then he aged, suffered, and died nearly right before me. And though he was just a dog–my unruly, stubborn, adorable best friend–he taught me of the eventual suffering and death that we will all go through.

Paradoxically, his death brought to life the impermanence of our existence and how the greatest and truest love that you could ever give to anybody is in their darkest moment—the moment when they need you the most. Whether it’s your children, parents, or even a dog that you love and cherish with all your heart, you carry that love and compassion with you into your next life.

I hope that in the last moments of my life, I, too, will be surrounded by loved ones who will brush my thinning, white hair, bring in some boxes of chocolate, retell funny, familiar stories, and not part with me until I take my last breath.

This entry was posted on Friday, September 4th, 2009 at 10:21 am and is filed under In Society, Reflections. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed.