Resiliency Through Hard Times: The Loss of my First Dog
Posted by Cristen Fitzpatrick in blog | 0 comments
Happiness
One of the happiest days of my life was the day I was able to bring home my new King Charles Cavalier Spaniel puppy who was only 8 weeks old. He was so sweet and affectionate, I decided to call him Buddy. He quickly lived up to his name and followed me from room to room. He would fall asleep on my lap and quickly learned how to play fetch. Taking him to obedience school was a lesson for me in how to communicate clearly and give feedback immediately. When he learned to run to me across the lawn when I called his name, I felt elation and joy at both his enthusiasm and accomplishment. Who doesn’t want to be greeted with that kind of happy, unconditional love?
Soon, Buddy was the talk of the neighborhood from our daily walks. One time, a woman stopped her car and asked to take a selfie with him! As Buddy got older, he just became more and more affectionate and fun to be around. He became my personal companion as I went through the transition of being laid off from my job to working for myself from home. He soon became my co-worker. (Who says you can’t have a “co-worker” fall asleep on your lap when he only weighs 10 lbs?)
Loss
About two months before Buddy’s 3rd birthday, he suddenly seemed tired and wasn’t interested in eating. He would often let out a yelp for no reason at all. I took him to the vet and he said, “Let us keep him overnight and we can give him fluids and a shot to see if he will get better.” The next day, the news was not good. “He is not responding the way we hoped. We have to do an MRI to see what is going on.” The news got worse as the results showed he had SM which is a rare genetic disease that causes the brain to grow bigger than the skull. It is painful, which explained the yelping. There is no cure.
The decision I had to make was to let him suffer or put him to sleep. This was especially painful for me because I had to make a similar decision for my Dad just 4 years earlier, who at 83 year old had a gradual decline leading to being in a coma in an ICU. He had me as his POA, and I had to tell the staff to stop care as he didn’t want to live like that anymore. But the decision to stop someone’s pain and suffering is never easy and one that can make you second guess your decision long after it is done.
Struggle
My struggle to understand what had happened to Buddy was confusing and made me feel like my world didn’t make sense. What was fair about a small little dog, who only gave love, having to give up his life so soon? I had dealt with loss before: loss of a job, loss of a loved one. But nothing prepared me for this type of loss. While I told myself that I can cope as I did with other losses, the loss of Buddy haunted me in a different way. I felt like I was losing my connection to my source of unconditional love. The question of “who am I?” without my job took some getting used to as I adjusted to a new norm. The question of “who am I?” without my dad was a big adjustment as I took a long hard look at my own sense of mortality and asked myself the tough questions, like “Am I doing what I want to be doing?” But “who am I?” without my dog Buddy seemed confusing and profound in a way I did not expect.
To help clear my confusion about why this was so painful, I wrote down 10 things I learned from Buddy:
- Stay in the moment. Let things go instantly, even if they are scary things.
- Accept people for who are they are. Greet everyone as a friend.
- Find joy in simple pleasures: belly rubs, sitting in the sun.
- Don’t fear the future.
- Don’t think about the past.
- Expect the best from others but forgive them if you don’t get it.
- Be grateful for what you have: food, kisses when you come home.
- Take naps.
- Look people in the eye.
- Learn new tricks.
I realized that these were my own lessons about myself I needed to learn. For instance, I needed to learn to stay in the moment more and forgive faster and find joy in simple things. When I realized this daily reminder was a big source of my grief, I started to begin the process to heal.
Revelation
A friend suggested I write Buddy a letter to express my gratitude as part of the process.
Buddy,
You took me to a whole new level of love. You kept me company in my lap as I launched my podcast and went on morning runs with me to get our day started out right. From you hopping on my stomach when I stretched out my back to climbing all over me at night to get your treats, I will miss your constant affection.
Seeing you wag your tail and having you run into my arms always put a smile on my face. You showed me how to trust that the world is a safe place full of love. You treated everyone with love and respect and were happy to roll on your back for a belly rub at anytime.
To say you will be missed is an understatement. You really lived a life of quality over quantity and opened my heart up forever.
I Love You,
John
Then I asked myself, What if Buddy could write me back? I sat quietly and imagined what he would say and here is what came pouring out:
Dear John,
Thank you for loving me so much you let me sleep rather than experience more pain or surgery.
You made me feel so loved from the very first day.
You worked so hard to find food I like and hand-fed me when I didn’t care about eating.
Sleeping with you made me feel safe and loved.
We had so much fun playing Fetch.
You had me meet so many other people (who all loved me) and dogs to play with.
I loved sitting on your lap and sleeping while you worked.
I am free and will love you both forever.
Whoever is in your life is loved and know I’m with you always.
Love,
Buddy
I realized I had been trying to “bury” the loss and put it in my past. It is like driving fast, hoping the pain was in my rearview mirror and would disappear. But until I wrote that letter and got an answer from Buddy, the pain did not disappear. After, I finally started to have some peace of mind.
Lessons Learned
Ironically, three months later, the owner of Buddy’s brother, Coco, contacted me. He said he could no longer keep Coco and, “If anyone should have Buddy’s life, it should be his brother.” I knew Coco because he and Buddy would see each other often for play dates. So while it was never about replacing Buddy, it was a comfort to have Coco and part of Buddy’s DNA in my life.
What I missed most was seeing them play together, so four months after that, I got Coco a companion I named Pepe, who is also a King Charles Cavalier Spaniel. I have gone from the depths of despair taking walks by myself after Buddy passed to having two dogs now that love and support me and play together all the time.
My vision is a world where people can find their own way back from loss and exercise the resilience muscle rather than grief being so all-consuming that it seems like it will never end.
Writing a letter to the person or dog that you lost is similar to a practice Jungians and indigenous people use. Jung called it “active imagination.” The word “imagination” refers to one of the three major ways in which we access what Jung called the “unconscious” and indigenous cultures would call “the invisible world.” The other two tools are dreams and visions.
When we allow ourselves to dream and reconnect with the soul and love of the animal or person we lost by actively writing a letter of lessons learned, we can start to repair and rebuild up our resilience muscle as we heal our heart muscle.
A friend asked me that if I knew Buddy would die before he was 3 years old and I would feel this sad, would I do it all over again? I said yes! The joy and life lessons are so profound and a life that has no sadness has no joy either.