Sometimes, out of necessity, sadness comes crashing in.
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Living the Life of Holly |
Column # 153 I Didn't
See It Coming |
| Sometimes, out of necessity, sadness comes crashing in. |
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My tears started. Oh. No. I didn’t want to see this. Oh God, no. I was home in Woodstock, NY visiting with my family for a few days. Really. I’d rather not witness such sadness. Why had I agreed to drive my mother to her appointment? I could’ve stayed home with my father, hung out in my fuzzy slippers, and sipped hot tea. I didn’t see it coming. My mother let out a slow sigh. “I was hoping…” The doctor cut her off. “He’s lost twenty pounds. He’s down to seventy two pounds now. The lymphoma’s so bad that he must be in tremendous pain. If his kidneys haven’t shut down already, then they’ve started to.” My mother looked at her dog. “I thought that since he was still eating snow that he was ok. He loves to eat snow. And we can still get him to eat a bit of dog food, too.” Dr. R waited. He had been the veterinarian for my family’s various pets for well over twenty years. “If you want I can give him a cortisone shot. That way you can take him home for a few days to say goodbye.” That snapped my mother back to reality. She started crying. She would never make a dog suffer for any reason. “You know.” She said. “Moses’s fourteen years old. That’s not bad for a Standard Poodle.” “I thought he was ten.” The Doctor said, checking his records. “No.” My mother said, as the tears poured down her face. “I realized this morning that it was ten years ago that I adopted him. Remember? I was the forth owner. He was four years old when I agreed to take him.” Dr. R shook his head remembering. “That’s right.” My mother pet Moses quietly. “There’s no reason to wait. I know he’s ready. Usually I know when it’s time. But he got sick so fast. I didn’t see it coming.” Dr. R rang for a nurse to help, then methodically reached into a drawer and pulled out the supplies. I felt sick to my stomach. Oh, no. God. I don’t want to watch this. I’ve never seen this before. I never would have come along for the ride. I didn’t see it coming. My mother rubbed her dog softly behind his ears. The goodbye pet is the worst, worst pet on earth. If only there were more time. More time to love this dog. “Too bad it has to happen here.” I said. “Moses hates the vet’s office. Nothing against you, Dr. R.” “He never did like me much.” Dr. R agreed, attaching the drug to the needle. Moses lifted his leg, requesting a stomach rub. “Yes. Old boy. One more tummy rub.” My mother smiled as she rubbed him down. The Dr. waited. “I’ll never forget this dog.” He said, as he shook his head slowly. “I got calls for years because the animal hospital’s phone number was on his ID tag. He kept running away from all those homes he lived in before you took him. He was in New Paltz. He was in Woodstock. He was in Newburg. He was in Saugerties.” “He didn’t like any family he ended up with.” My mother laughed as she pet vigorously. “He kept running. I considered him a traveler, like my Holly. That’s why I named him Moses, because he liked to move around. But. Once we adopted him, he stopped running. He liked us.” Dr. R moved closer to give the shot. Moses locked eyes, let out a low, menacing growl and flashed his teeth. I sat up. “Come on Moses.” I leaned forward, encouragingly. “This’s your last chance. You always wanted to bite him. Do it. Come on. NO CONSEQUENCES!” Everyone laughed. My mother moved up to his head to distract him. “He never did like needles. Guess he knew they were no good.” She continued her campaign of making sure that each of his last moments would be filled with long, loving rubs. The nurse moved to his lower body and pet his legs. “Good boy.” She murmured, quietly. The doctor took the center position. “I’ll never forget this dog.” He said, as he released the needle. A silence filled the room as we waited for the drug to work. There was no going back. Cancer was cancer. It was too big. Too gone. Too much. No amount of operations or wishful thinking could have made the dog healthy or young again or what we wished and wanted him to be. Nature had her way, again. My mother leaned over the shaking body and spoke softly. “Don’t fight it boy. Let go. You’ve had a good life. Well. The last ten years were good. Let go. Just let go. It’s time. Let go.” He did. We waited. We had to. To be sure his heart had stopped beating. “It’s strange the way some fight it and some go peacefully.” My mother said, teary eyed. Dr. R nodded. “This is going to be awful for my husband.” My mother cried. “It’s his dog. Moses always laid out by the kale plants while Henry worked in the garden all summer long.” Dr. R put the stethoscope up to Moses chest and listened for a moment. He nodded his head then stood awkwardly. “What do you want to do with the body?” The dog that had walked into the office and growled at the doctor had become a body. I mean. I was thankful for the drug that could end his life humanely, but it was a lot to take. For death to be that immediate. “We’ll take it. Henry’ll bury him in the garden.” My rental car became the hearse. My father had to use a pick axe to dig a grave in the frozen garden. He covered the fresh dirt with red pepper so no wild animals would dig up the body. We tried to ignore the absence in the house. We tried to ignore the other dogs searching for him. We tried to ignore that he wasn’t there to bark at the mailman. We tried to ignore my mother’s parrot calling for him. “Moses. Moses, come.” In my family we try to handle death by ignoring it. And we might have succeeded had we not gotten a card in the mail. It was from Dr. R’s office. “Dear Family Winter. We are so sorry for the passing of Pearl. We want you to know we’re thinking of you and your loss here at Dr. R’s office.” It was signed by each of the people in the doctor’s office, including the doctor. My mother opened the card and screeched with laughter. “What? Who? What?” My father and I fought to read the card next. “Dr. R’s office seems to have some issues with MY death.” My mother managed between fits of laughter. My father read the card and burst out laughing. “Ma. I think you better take the hint and up your vitamins.” I read the card. “Heck with Moses.” I said. “Here’s a veterinarian’s office that can tell the future. Mom. Maybe they’re plotting YOUR death.” We couldn’t stop laughing. “Or. Maybe it is one of those things where Moses traded places with you, Mom. And. So. They’re right. Pearl is dead. Moses lives…” “They meant to write Moses’s name, but they messed up and put my name in there.” My mother laughed. “That’s a pretty big mistake.” “Maybe it’s not a mistake.” My father laughed. “Think about that.”
“Thanks for your concern. I may LOOK dead. I may FEEL dead. But I AIN’T dead yet.”
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