In my last few blog posts I was talking about the five stages of grief and how they relate to dealing with someone who has dementia. But now I'm going through the five stages of grief as someone who has lost a different beloved family member, friend, and loved one -- our pupper, Max.
I don't remember how much I mentioned in here about how he'd been declining in the last few months, but he had been. I think I was purposely not mentioning it much in real life because it seems like everyone was asking about my Dad/parents all the time and it just seemed like too much to point out -- oh yeah, by the way, my dog isn't doing very well, either. Mostly because I didn't want more pity. And because I was afraid that people who don't understand pets would try to challenge me on that one, like how dare I put the pain of losing a pet on the same plane.
Although, you know, no one in my life that I can recall has ever actually done that. I think by this point in my life, everyone knows that my pets are like family, and/or they also know that losing one is a painful endeavor not to be taken lightly from their own personal experience. So maybe I just didn't talk about Max not doing well because it hurt too much. It was all I could do to talk about my parents without crying, I don't think I could've continued to explain the whole Max saga as well, in person. I mean, I know I told a few people, but not a lot.
So, yeah. I don't know exactly what happened. He was 11.5 years old, which is pretty darn good for a Boxer. I still don't want to detail all of what I mean by his declining over the past few months, because I'm already weeping just writing this much. I'll just say, he started showing his age and then had some kind of event in September (maybe a stroke or something?) where he collapsed and wouldn't/couldn't get up for most of the day, and was never really the same after that.
Let's see how much of this I can share without becoming a blubbering mess. On Tuesday, November 21st, I came home from work to find him in the middle of the kitchen floor, twitching and unresponsive. I don't know how else to say it. That day in particular already sucked, because we had to leave him alone for about 13 hours -- hubby had a class after work, and I was going to visit my Dad after work, and we really tried not to leave him (or any of our dogs) alone that long ever but every once in a great while it just ended up that way. And sure enough, this was one of those days.
So I got home at about 7:30pm and it was obvious that he had been down for quite some time, and it was also pretty quickly obvious that he wasn't coming out of it. Bear with me here and do not judge me because you were not there. I was thankful that he was basically unconscious, but I still had to sit next to him and try to comfort him, knowing I was really trying to comfort me. What he had been going through and what he was going through at that time was just awful. It gave me nightmares for weeks. But I also feel very, very strongly that I do not want my beloved pets to die alone, so I stayed right next to him. The whole time. For four hours as he continued to seize non-stop. And yes, I considered taking him to the emergency vet -- not that he could be saved at that point, but to help stop his suffering. But, remember that I said by hubby had a class that night? He wasn't supposed to be home for hours. The emergency vet is about an hour away. I would've had to basically drag my poor dog (who weighed about 80#) to the garage and get him into the Equinox somehow by myself, then drive him there while being a blubbering mess and extra upset because I couldn't be next to him during that time, worried that he would pass away during the drive and I wouldn't get to be with him when it happened. I texted my son, but he has a thing he does on Tuesday nights as well so I didn't expect he'd be able to come over and help me. Plus, I liked to think that on some level, Max still knew where he was, and that he'd be more comfortable just staying where he was and being made as comfortable as possible instead of being dragged somewhere else to die.
And so, that happened at about 11:55pm. I'd like to say it was peaceful, and I guess it kind of was, because he finally stopped seizing and panting for a few minutes first. I was still right next to him, I'd put him on a blanket by then and cushioned his head and tried to cover him and make him look more comfortable, and had settled myself in to stay there all night if necessary. I had my hand on his side. I could feel his breathing stop, his heart flutter and flutter and flutter and then stop. And mine break into a million pieces at the same time.
So, yeah. That's what's been going on here.
It's weird, not having a dog. This is the first time in like 25 years that we haven't had a dog. All of my life, we've always had a dogs. From the time I was born, until I moved out of my parents' house, and then for a few years I didn't because I lived in apartments, but then my hubby and I got our first dog before I even moved in with him, and except for a short dogless time for about five months when the boy was a baby, we've always had dogs. So yeah. I miss Max. He was a goofball. I still think I hear him walking around at random times. 5pm doesn't go by without me feeling like I need to go feed him. We might get another dog some day, but we both feel bad for working so much right now. So maybe after we retire.
============================
The weird thing is, I've had dreams with him in them almost every other night since he died. Usually it's been a while before I have dreams with our dogs in them after they pass, but Max dreams started almost right away. If I was a true believer in dreams having special meaning, I could totally read into that. :) Sometimes I like to think they do have special meaning. Even it if just means that I've been thinking about dogs a lot, lol. He hasn't been alone in these dreams, though; it's usually been Max and Luger, or Max and Luger and Magnum, or Max and Boscoe and Josie. In other words, several of our previous dogs at once. Well, whatever. It's better than having nightmares about his last night, that's for sure.
=============================
So right now, I think the trauma of that night is starting to wear off, because I was actually feeling more relieved than anything for a while. Relieved that he wasn't suffering anymore, that we weren't having to scrub the floors 3-6 times per day anymore, or keep the washer and dryer running constantly to wash every towel we owned all the time, relieved that our house doesn't smell like dog urine anymore, relieved that we can sleep through the night again. Is that horrible? I know it's not; I mean, I loved that dog more than I can ever put into words, and I don't want to sound petty, but, I like my clean house, too. And we did everything we could possibly do to help him with that issue -- trust me on that one. We were all miserable by the time he passed away.
But now, like I said, now I'm really missing the old Max. The fun Max. The goofy, silly, loving Max. Not the sick, grumpy, miserable Max.
=============================
And I'm also suddenly super sad again about the fact that my Dad is in a nursing home, and doesn't get to leave. He won't be coming over for Christmas. He doesn't even know it's Christmas. He doesn't know what day it is, what month it is, what season it is. He doesn't know what's going on in the world. He sleeps 16-18 hours per day. He doesn't get to make any of his own decisions anymore. He eats whatever pureed crap they give him, gets up when they have people available to get him up, watches whatever is on TV when someone feels like pushing him in the vicinity of the TV. He has no effing quality of life. What would he have said 2, 3, 5 years ago if I've had told him what life would be like for him now? Would he have wanted this? He rarely smiles. I can get him to smile, but it's not that deep, prolonged smile he used to have when I'd visit him at home. It's more like a quick flash of a smile that I wouldn't see if I wasn't looking at him. And it breaks my heart because then he goes back to just sitting there, expressionless, and I wonder what is going on behind those eyes. What is he thinking? What does he want to do? Does he want to get up and leave? Does he want to go to bed and not wake up?
Ugh. I gotta go back to work. TTYL.
No comments:
Post a Comment