One Word at a Time

11/6/2011

I want to thank you all for your comments to my last post. In my heart I wanted to reply to each one of you and thank you for your kindness. And for sharing your own stories. But as I read your words all I could do was cry. So, know that everything you said touched my heart deeply.

I agree that we think we'll never recover from the loss of a pet. And I suppose I shall. But my heart is still broken and this particular death, as with this particular animal's life, will take me much longer than usual I suspect. But what you've also said is true, and that is that we think it can never get better than the one we love right now. And somehow it does. Or a new life alights on us and offers the most amazing new personality and ability to love back.

The ferals in particular provide such a unique and painfully beautiful relationship. They have to work so very, very hard to adapt to our lifestyle. I know that Jeevsie worked very, very hard to learn what it was to be calm and safe in a house. And believe me, it took years to get to how he lived right up until he died. But I am grateful for the gift he gave us in that. I knew he'd be safer, warmer, and better fed if he spent more time in and around our house. But what a leap of faith it was for him. He couldn't tolerate the sound of a door closing, nor could he understand what that thing was that we'd sit on to look at that box with the moving pictures. But eventually, he figured out that these were good things. Other pets are born into such a world. The Wild Things have to learn so much more. And I'm so glad he did because his life was truly a gift to us.

Onward. I've managed to watch a little football, though I don't recall what I saw. I watched Mrs. Madoff on 60 Minutes and have some thoughts on that. So I'll put up a post on that as soon as I can marshall my thoughts. I hope you'll weigh in so that I can know if you all felt what I did.

And finally, I need to close by saying this: we came together on my blog because of our intense dislike of a woman who shot animals for fun and who poisoned the national well for pleasure and personal gain. But what I've discovered is that we share big hearts and abundant love for our most innocent "people." That's a beautiful lesson to learn. Though, I might have guessed that about all of you anyway.

Again, my heartfelt thanks for your kindness and grace.

DiOR

11/6/2011 04:21:38

Two months ago, my little dog died unexpectedly. She was my first dog, and I loved her so much that it scared me a little. She was really special. Everyone who knew her was crazy about her. A few days before she died, I was reflecting on how she was getting older and probably would only live another 5 or 6 years. I didn't know how I would bear it when she died. Then I suddenly found out the answer, which was that life goes on but without a piece of the happiest and best part of me. I will never get that back, but I have a new puppy and that relationship will eventually acrete new layers of love and memories. There are many people who don't understand loving a pet that way. I find it somehow comforting to know that there are so many other hearts that recognize and honor the sorrow that comes from a pet's death. I hope it helps you, too, as you mourn your loss. There are many of us who cry for you as we cry for ourselves.

Laura Novak

11/6/2011 04:27:24

Well, I understand, DiOR, and I think many others here do as well. It is almost scary the passion we can feel for these little people who give us so very much. They seem to have an infinite supply of what we need. And Jeevsie really possessed an almost canine like gratitude. Yet when they leave us suddenly and/or violently, we cannot find meaning in that. We simply cannot. I thought he'd outlive us all, but then that worried me too. Your words DO help me a lot. I thank you for writing. And you have my deepest sympathy on your loss as well. I hope time has helped you heal.

curiouser

11/6/2011 06:05:50

Laura - I've been worried about you. I hope that your mourning is eased by others bearing it with you.

When life is seemingly cut short there's no answer to our 'Why?' about the 'how' or the 'when'. I fear that an horrendous aspect to Jeevsie's death has made it so much more difficult for you to bear the loss. One of my personality flaws is difficulty letting go. My heartaches don't seem to ever go away completely but they do eventually recede and the pain only resurfaces sporadically and at a lesser intensity. And life and love go on. And love is infinite. The love you had for Jeeves won't diminish your love for another and there will be another creature who will need the love and care that only you can provide and who will enrich your life in return. Embrace the mystery.

curiouser

11/6/2011 06:38:10

Love, loss, grief are the same no matter the nature of the beloved. It may be worthwhile to check out the blog, 'An Inch of Gray'. Anna Whitston-Donaldson has done some painfully exceptional writing about grief and horrific loss. A 'mommy' blogger, Anna lost her 12-year old son Jack on Sept. 8 when rapidly rising creek waters from Tropical Storm Lee swept him away.

http://aninchofgray.blogspot.com/

GG from Cincy

11/6/2011 06:44:32

Laura, I completely understand how you feel. My daughter and I adopted a cat from a shelter about 11 years ago. It was my daughter's first pet, because her dad was allergic, and we were divorcing. We named her Tigger (not very imaginative, I know). She was a calico rescue cat. We fell in love with her and took her home. We loved her, cared for her, and, yes...spoiled her. My daughter got married and moved far away from me, taking Tigger with her. Last year, Tigger contracted a terminal disease, and had to be euthanized. I was in a different part of the country, and could not see her one last time. But I have grieved so much for my 'little princess.' There isn't a day that goes by that I don't think of her.
I wish you to have happy thoughts of her life, and few thoughts of her death.

Tewise

11/6/2011 06:53:21

Ms. Novak,

I missed the earlier post and I am kind of glad I did in a way. I too just lost the most precious thing of my life even though she weighed 1200 lbs. I sit crying here now, but I felt the need to write you.

I also have Squirt, a tuxedo cat he is about 6 months old now and he was feral. His mother abandoned him when he was very young and I can't stand to see anything starve to death. So now he is the only cat to live in my house (dog person) and I truly love him dearly.

I really think that some higher power watches out for some of us suckers and decides to give us special projects.

I am now trying to save another feral baby, but not sure I will be able to but I am doing my level best. She is ragged, notches in her ear, looks like maybe her right foot had been fractured much earlier. She is walking much better now on it and she is very under weight, bless her heart she is a hot mess.

I was finally able to give her a much needed bath today and she really didn't fight me. I made her a very nice warm place in the dog house because she has a respiratory thing going on and I don't want her to pass anything to squirt.

I know it is hard now and we think how unfair things are. I am truly sorry for Mr. Jeevsie that he left such a wonderful mom as you. But sometimes we just can't control everything we would like. I can tell by the way you write that you loved him very much. It will be hard for that big hole to start mending in your heart, but it will, but it will take awhile and there is nothing that says it has to be quickly. So you take as much time as you need. My thoughts are with you.

Ottoline

11/6/2011 07:19:47

I've watched over both people and dogs I have loved as they got the best best best of care and yet still slowly approached death and then died. Although a violent death is hard to accept, I do think a sudden death bypasses the multiple agonies of dying slowly and the many infirmities that precede it -- so there is something to be grateful for, for the quickness of it.

I've euthanized pets too and have often thought I would like that for myself when the time comes.

I have in my thoughts a v intelligent Jeeves who was thrilled to blossom into loving and being loved, and to luxuriate in the comforts of safety and care. But every once in awhile he needed the thrill of the wild, which he loved too (unlike me, who pays extra for LESS excitement). So I am thinking he went out in a burst of glory, seeking the adventure that was part of his make-up. Yes some pain, but not the long drawn-out humiliations and chronic pain and increasing weakness of excellent care.

Ottoline

11/6/2011 07:31:42

Oh dear, I didn't mean to say you gave Jeeves anything less than the most excellent care -- I meant the kind of medical care we give to those who we think we are able to pull back from imminent death. And sometimes our care plus modern medicine does do that. But it's just such a hard road for the patient in some cases, in my experience. I do not want that for myself, and I will count myself lucky if my end is fast. I am thinking Jeeves rode to his death in a speeding race car, or while climbing his own version of Everest.

Juneauite

11/6/2011 07:34:33

Many years ago I had a little Pomeranian. For many nights after she died I cried so hard my head would hurt and I still couldn't stop crying. It took me about a year before I could look at another Pomeranian without feeling sad.

I think many people do not acknowledge what a loss it is when a pet dies. I had a doctor who told me at the time it should take about 3 weeks to get over a pet death. I have no idea where he got that from.

She was my favorite pet. I got her when I worked briefly at a local animal shelter. I was looking for a dog at the time but I didn't know what kind of dog. When she was brought in, I knew it was going to be her. I loved her uppity attitude, she was a big dog in a little dog's body. When I would take her for walks she would blow off big dogs like german shepherds and golden retrievers if they got too close. And they would jump back! She also liked to chase cars (I kept her on a leash). She chased a cat twice her size (he would run). She would bark like crazy if there was a bear around the house. I learned a lot about how "attitude is everything" from her although I don't think I could have the nerve to pull off what she did.

She was also very friendly and generally mellow for a little dog.I still think of here a lot and hope a pet like her comes into my life again.

eclecticsandra

11/6/2011 07:41:22

Laura, you might want to bring Jeeves back in a book. Maybe that's the one you should work on now.

OzMud link

11/6/2011 08:23:06

At the time I lived on a mountain, at the edge of a national forest, thirty minutes from the nearest town. On this particular morning, around 4am my dog came to me, licked my face, whimpering and shaking. My dog didn't whimper. I was up like a bolt, flipping on the light and waking spouse.

There was blood all over his hind quarters but I couldn't work out the source. However he snapped at me once when I touched the inside of his upper left leg. My dog didn't snap. Not at me. I woke up the vet seeking advice and he graciously agreed to meet me at his practice in a hour.

My son was 12. We bundled him in a snow jacket, thick work gloves and a helmet and positioned him in the front seat of the car. He was to hold my precious cargo all the way down the hill and into town so the extra gear was in case the dog was spooked again.

Once in the seat with blankets in place, I gathered up the pup and went to the car. Spouse was holding the door open and as I leaned in towards my son he stopped me with his hand on my arm and said "honey, I know how much this dog means to you but if it's going to cost a lot you're going to have to think about putting him down."

Without hesitation I remember looking him straight in the eye and saying "Honey - for as long as we're married - don't ever break a leg."

Husbands come and go but best friends are forever.

daisydem

11/6/2011 08:40:16

Laura, I wrote you a few days ago about our Midnight who passed at the age of 20 and the grief we experienced and the white feathers that floated without explanation down and across the street the afternoon she passed and we returned from the vet's office with her body in the box they provided. I did not tell you that a few months later, we sat (on Mother's Day) at a picnic lunch at a barbecue joint we love in the country, outside on a picnic table, next to a natural spring with watercress growing in it and a very small ball of fluff found its way to my husband's foot and leg and he reached down and picked it up. She was the color of the sunflowers on the cloth napkins I packed that day and her eyes matched her fur. We brought her home with us and now 8 years later she is still the light of our lives. I was so tentative and unsure: I had just lost the member of our family after 20 years, the cat that grew up with our children and their friends, who knew the house would be bedlam during football and baseball games, the one who when she was very elderly (17-20) knew when I said we were having chicken for dinner and she would get some, the one who would come and lie on my tummy when it was cramping and I would then hug her and tell her how good she smelled. But now we have our Sunflower and she is different: less independent, in her teenage years so she can be rebellious against authority, but she too smells good, loves us (when she wants to) and we delight in her every day. Though I was unsure about committing to the care (and the love) of another so soon, I have never regretted it and the best way I can pay homage to Midnight and the love she gave us is to love and care for Sunflower. You too have that love in your heart, when the time is right, you will find it.

Mrs Gunka

11/6/2011 09:00:30

Laura, So sad to hear of the loss of your precious kitty. There is no certainties in life, but death can come at any time. We are never ready for the losses. When we lose a young one it can be devastating, unbelievable. When one has lived a long, happy productive life it is more understandable.

My mother died of a sudden stroke at the age of 50 and I was 15. And it was Mother's Day! Total shock and I could not understand why such a wonderful person was taken when there were so many nasty people in this world. About 5 years later, in the first of my nurses training, I had a very sick patient and nothing was making her better. It suddenly hit me, this nice lady was going to die. I fell apart! I didn't know how it would affect me, would I hate God again for taking her as I had done everything to keep her alive. I went and talked with the chaplain. He called my brother, who worked at the hospital. He gave me a big hug and said, wipe your eyes, straighten your back and get back to your patient and make her end as peaceful as possible! That is not Mom laying in that bed. You have taken an oath to do everything possible to sustain life and you see she is comfortable when there is nothing more you can do. My patient died peacefully the next day, holding my hand. This was my first death after my mother. I did not want to mourn her like I did my mom. In the next 2 weeks, 3 other very sick people died while in my care. I did everything I could to make their passage as comfortable as I could, as they could not be saved. It was a very depressing floor, full of people that could not get better. There has not been a day since May 8, 1954 that I have not thought of my mother, but I can smile now. I realized my mother would never have wanted to live another minute as a vegetable and was at peace. My Father died at 85 after months in a hospital and so much pain and confusion. It was so hard to lose him as I had had him so much longer and we were good friends, but he was old and would never get better. He quit eating so he could die. This is a natural reaction when the body can't go on by itself.

We have lost many pets over our 52 years of marriage. Some quick, some very painful and long. We loved them as we loved our kids. They were part of the family. After our time of mouring, another pet always came into our lives to be a part of our home. No, we never forgot our lost friends, but added to their comfort and ours by bringing them into our homes.

My husband suffered 4 years of hell with stage 4 cancer of every bone, both kidneys and the brain. He is a miracle as he pulled through. But due to the harsh drugs to knock out the cancer, he was left deaf and his brain has shrunk to that of a 95 years old and has severe dementia. He has had 13 strokes and he is a shell of his former life. I love him just the same as the day I married him almost 53 years ago. If my cancer comes back or I should go before him it will always be the same. You never forget, but you go on with the wonderful memories you have.

Jeeves will always be in your heart, but you know, our hearts are very expandable. We have 3 more kitties after our wonderful Bob died that kept MrG going during his struggle to live. And these 3 kitties are about the only thing he relates to these days. Had we not opened our hearts to these kitties, MrG would have a very lonely life right now! I take care of him, feed him, change his diapers and keep him safe. He does tell me he loves me every night when I put him to bed, but the last thing he asks is "Where are the kitties?" He still has love for me, but there is room in his heart for the new kitties too. Once they get him to sleep, they come out and rub my leg or sit by me at the computer to share their love with me too. All our pets ask for is some food, shelter and a pat or rub in return. Bob's picture is on the fridge and I always smile when I see his picture and my heart feels warm just thinking of him and no he is not hurting anymore, but he had a good life when he was with us!

Laura Novak

11/6/2011 09:06:16

I thank you all again for your kind and giving comments. I agree that only people who know how much this hurts, really know how much this hurts.

But your words of wisdom and the fact that you share your personal stories of grief and then moving on - with that special animal always in your heart - it gives me hope.

I cry as I read every single one of your words. Again, it is wonderful to know your stories, even though it is grief that binds us on this particular series of blog posts.

I'll just keep crying every time I need to until other feelings replace it. 'm not sure what's worse: the morning light that he would have tipped his face up to? Or the afternoon light when he would have been in the garden waiting for me.

I thank you all for sharing and listening. I'm glad this this force of humanity binds us together. Thank you.

FrostyAK

11/6/2011 09:14:13

I have lost many over the years. Far too many. I know well the feelings of these losses; and find it comforting that when those we know in real life and call friend don't understand, a wonderful group of strangers from across the world feel our losses and help us grieve.

My latest loss was Pouff Daddy in September (long haired grey cat with an attitude), a feral when I trapped and neutered him at 4 months of age. In the 12 years he spent inside, he FINALLY allowed me to pick him up about 3 inches off the floor for about 3 seconds. He was difficult in many ways, but loved.

He and the 2 boys (Mutt and Jeff) that I took from their feral mother at 3 weeks of age were good buddies. When I was standing Pouff found me threatening, but when it was time for bed he couldn't get on me fast enough. And he would TELL me loudly that it was *time for bed*. When I took a trip, he would miss me much more than the other two boys. And show me just how much by weaving around my legs when I returned.

I didn't know I had a favorite, but found that I most certainly did when he had to be euthanized. The house seems empty, for both me and the other two cats. They have now taken over his position while sleeping on me. Two cat nights now instead of three in the Alaskan winter.

One thing I do know, we are not alone in our grief over losing a companion (pet). Some consider animals property. Others consider them family members. Those who have written here are in the second category. Thank you.

daisydem

11/6/2011 09:32:33

The stories and comments here are making me cry but comforting me at the same time. Laura, there is nothing wrong with crying; you cry and you remember, you cry and then a smile peeks through the tears, then you cry some more. It is all good. Love, daisydem

WakeUpAmerica

11/6/2011 10:15:24

I have a feral boy, one of four boys I found in my barn along with the mama. He was the most shy, and the hardest to find a home for. I had him in a cat rescue for two years, but they didn't really try to find him a home, so he returned to my house. By then he was done with other cats. This boy is catzilla at 22 pounds, and tried his best to kill our other small cats. Now he lives in my bedroom and bath in perfect contentment. He refuses to go outside. "Been there, done that, not doing it again!!!" If I take a nap he wraps around my head. If I try to get up, he reaches out to hold me down.

I think, Laura, that the best thing you can do is to give a forever home to another feral. Their lives are so hard and short with so little love. Quite often ferals are trapped and turned into the shelter. They are often euthanized immediately, but if you let your shelter know that you would take a feral kitten, you would probably be able to save a life. Your sad experience has made me appreciate my sweet boy so much more.

Ottoline

11/6/2011 11:45:09

eclecticsandra proposed an idea that helped me with the loss of one very dear dogster years ago: write down every searingly lovely and therefore painful memory of that dear one. Just a sentence, sometimes. I just put them into a little blank book that I added to for a long time. Tucked photos and stray collars into the book as I kept coming across them. The things about him I never wanted to forget, that were just really important to me.

About 15 years later, I found that book and read it. Indeed I had forgotten so many of the sweet things he used to do, but reading brought them right back to me, and I was really grateful once again to have known this dear companion.

As a writer, Laura, I'm sure you have thought of this.

Diane

11/6/2011 15:41:18

We lost 2 cats, last Oct and this Feb.
They were 16 and 12 years old. One was expected and one was sudden.

This past Aug. we answered an ad and got a kitten for my daughter. We had Sammie for a week until my daughter could pick her up. She was a joy and it was hard to let her go.
Of course, she was gone 2 hours and we went back and got the runt of the litter we named Callie.
Soon obvious that Callie was really a Calvin !!
Unfortunately, both our cats were exposed to FIP, feline infectious peritonitis. It is a terrible, horrible disease that is always fatal. There is no cure if the cat develops the wet form of it. The 'dry' form is fatal too but the cat can live for a while with supportive care.
A cat can live with the virus and never develop the disease.
While visiting our daughter, her kitten developed the disease and had to be put to sleep. It was horrendous, a 2 month kitten who got sick so quickly.
Calvin is fine for now, but we know he could develop this disease at any time.
He is being neutered on Wed and we are so concerned the stress could trigger the virus.
We love him, but know he may die at a very early age.
Each day we have with him is a joy.

Jo link

11/6/2011 21:22:36

Ozmud, your post is brilliant. Your second to the last paragraph made me bellow with laughter. This is what life is about isn't it? We have great sorrow and great laughter. That is what happens when we love, whether it be a person or some other creature. Without the laughter, the sorrow would be unbearable. So, here is to laughter (I am toasting you all with my coffee mug) and joy and love. I salute this lovely community. Thank you Laura for hosting us in your electronic 'home'. Have a wonderful day everyone.

Tewise

11/7/2011 02:01:53

It is hard to share personal stories but I believe with all my heart it does tremendous good.

As I too sat here with tears streaming down my face and I got to the last two lines of Ozmud I had to bust out laughing, it couldn't have been said any better.

WakeUpAmerica

11/7/2011 04:55:58

Ozmud,
When I was a teenager, we had a pet female mallard named Alice. She loved our male dog and wouldn't let the female near him. She slept and ate with him. Somehow her neck was ripped open one evening. As we set off for the vet in the late evening, my stepfather said, "If it costs more than $30 (1960's) have her put to sleep." Of course it cost more, and she went on to live a few more years.

A few years later, my stepfather was bucked off on one of our riding club outings. He broke his wrist, a rib, and a toe. As he was bundled into a car for the trip to the ER, I yelled, "If it costs more than $30, have him euthanized!" Kharma's a bitch.

Sherryn

11/7/2011 12:21:26

As I read through the comments on the previous thread and this one, it occurred to me where the "lap" analogy in your book may have come from. I'd like to believe it was inspired by your Jeevies. What amazing stories of love, loss, grief, and overcoming life's roadbumps.
We lost our "Pawpurr Prince" when my daughter was five years of age. She sensed my sadness one day, and tried, as only a child can, to console me, and as I regained my composure, she began to explain why God made animals before people while fidgeting and role playing with her little dolls and stuffed animals, the tools she had at hand to comfort her own fears and worries over me.
Her theory was "Because God couldn't have people in a world without love". I call them "art linkletter moments"

Mrs Gunka, What a touching love story, and I admire your attitude and approach to life! Inspiring, touching, and uplifting!

Laura, please know it is you I'm grateful for having met on your blog. We all grieve differently, Allow yourself to grieve, work through the hurt on your own terms. We may not be able to stop the rain, but we can walk beside you, hold share our ubrella, and one day we'll skip in the puddles again when the storm passes.

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Laura Novak

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