Don't get me wrong, I have experienced the loss of loved ones. The loss of great-grandmas, a special neighbor/family friend, one set of grandparents and beloved aunts. I think of those losses, the most profound of the group was the death of my Aunt Christine. I think because she wasn't old, she wasn't sick. There was no time to "prepare" for the loss. And I think it was most profound because I was with her when she died. Her loving husband and children made the decision to take her off life support (a decision that was difficult but kind) and as a family we created a schedule so that she was never alone- there was always a family member by her side to offer comfort and love as her life on this earth came to an end. During that late afternoon more than ten years ago, while listening to her favorite songs, she took her last breath. I was there and it was one of the saddest and most profoundly beautiful moments of my life. One of the nuns found me at the funeral and took me aside and told me that a soul doesn't depart the body unless it feels safe. She went on to say what a gift I have to offer a safe space for a departing soul. She went on to say that when a soul feels safe, it can leave this earth and go on to heaven. In that moment, it gave me great comfort and has stuck with me over the course of these years. Since that time, I have lost friends and loved ones and I always hope the dying had a "safe space" as they passed.
Fast forward to the last few weeks when our sweet Buck has been coming near the end of his life. Yes, he is a dog. Was he as important as the people I have lost before in my life? Perhaps on the surface and to some- no. But to me, to us, he was. He was part of every single day of the past three years. He made me a dog person. His cat-like ways almost disappeared with me (with Frank and a few very special select others too). He was so cute and so fluffy that any semi-dog person or small child automatically fell in love and just wanted to snuggle him. I mean, I get it. But after some time, he was over it and would hide behind us to protect him from too many pets. After a little while, instead of Frank, he made me his protector. His safe space. So when whistles or storms or squeaks occurred, I'd find myself with a dog breathing in my face. And in the middle of the night, I'd find my way to the bathroom and turn on the fan and the light so we could ride out the storms in a safe place. So, the other night when the first rainstorm came and I wasn't awoken by a nervous dog, I cried. And then I sincerely hoped wherever his next place was that he could be without that fear.
He was my walking buddy, my pal. Frank's Buschka. My Buddha. Ellie's lifelong partner in crime. Walter's favorite dog pal and guide in his new home. And we are each missing him in our own ways. Frank's habit of saying "Buck wants..." breaks his heart every time. When I get Ellie. Walter and Maria out the door in the mornings, I feel like I am forgetting him everyday and then I tear up a little. Same thing for when I feed them. Ellie is blatantly sad. Walter keeps looking for him in his spots. He was mostly a quiet dog, who didn't require much to feel loved. But he took up an immense amount of space in our hearts and in our home. And we are missing him.
I wonder how long we will feel the loss every day. I know we will always have moments when we miss him but I hope this empty spot in my heart starts to stop aching soon.
