I'm inclined to simply write: the end as in life's a bitch and then you die. To starve the pain and sadness of a voice. But if I keep quiet, the feelings linger just lying in wait for a weak and vulnerable moment. I have it in my mind that I'll beat them to the punch. Speak on my terms. Out them. Lay them to rest.
This stark line I came across in a Renkl essay this week has also been on my mind...
This life thrives on death.
Renkl offers this while ruminating on the birds in her yard and the cycle of life, the natural order, survival of the fittest. Her writing is brimming with undertones of love and loss. How intricately they are tethered. She calls them twins. And it's true because to feel loss we have to feel something else before the perdition whether it's a sense of love or abundance or peace.
I've loved and lost. Many times. To be a human living a full life, is to love and lose. No matter how many times it happens, it never gets easy. In fact, if we're living with open hearts, it gets more difficult. Once you experience great loss, you may love more fiercely understanding just how precious and fleeting it can be. I do. I do without pause or regret.
We had to make the decision to let our Peanut go last night when it became clear that he was uncomfortable, if not in pain. It was also clear that after six months of empirical treatment, nothing was working and he was in as bad a shape as ever. It's a horrible decision to have to make. The power and responsibility that comes from having the fate of a living thing in your hands in not the kind I covet. It's heavy and forever.
In the exam room, he nestled into the crook of my neck and was so still for a brief moment I thought he was already gone. I hoped and prayed he had gone. He hadn't. He had simply accepted that we knew best. His passing was peaceful and we have not questioned whether or not we did the right thing in the 24 hours since. That is a blessing at a time like this.
It's funny, but I miss him much more than I expected. Taking care of him in recent months has been trying, yet he's been such a constant companion and the sweetest sidekick I've been privileged to know and love. There is relief in knowing that he is no longer suffering. There is comfort in knowing that he had a good life even though it wasn't long enough.
And all of this comes on the heels of the 11th anniversary of my mom's passing. This particular stretch of time is already fraught and sorrowful. It's a day I don't like, yet it wasn't particularly dire this year. I had a quiet day close to home and I think that was just what I needed. Then Sunday, I ended up with a bottle of wine labeled Long Lake without even thinking about it. Simply because it was on sale. Not until I opened it at home did I realize that Long Lake was where my Mom's family spent many a summer. The stories I half listened to somewhere in the catacombs of my memory. It was certainly a nod. I made a toast. It made me happy because I felt her hand in what was clearly no longer a random choice.
My Mom's been gone eleven years. Peanut was with us for the same length of time, yet for a brief time here on earth their precious lives overlapped. I hope and pray that they're together again. Not just at peace, but happy and healthy too.
Peanut's last Pose
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