Until We Meet Again At The Rainbow Bridge

It feels like yesterday that I brought my rescue puppy to his fur-ever home. But it was eight years, three months ago.  It feels like minutes ago when he passed, but it was months ago on May 30^th, 2019, at 7:48 a.m.  That’s when my world turned upside-down and inside out.  The grief was akin to a  torrential downpour that came from nowhere; quite similar to Southwest Florida’s summer rains. The rain of utter despair didn’t end as quickly and flooded my entire being.  Everything went quiet in my head except for the clouds of tears pelting down within my body, soul, and heart.   I could not think  The grief ruled me, just like a severe bout of depression.

His breathing was labored.  I  dressed hurriedly praying I could get to the animal clinic to get us more time.  Not a minute later, I stood over him, in disbelief. I was frozen.  Scared, hurting for him and feeling his pain in my gut, I knew this was it.  It was evident that there wouldn’t be time to get help.  I tried to get him up off the cool,  tile floor, failing.  I lifted his head less than ½” from the floor to connect the leash to his collar.  The lead was Ioose in my hand, and as I got to the stand position, his head dropped to the floor.  To this day, I can hear this happening in my head.  It’s driving me crazy.  I hear that sound, head to the floor, inside my head, daily and it sounds like a massive clap of thunder.  It seemed inhumane.  It certainly wasn’t intentional.  I had no idea that in those few minutes how lifeless his head (and body) had become.  I try and remind myself his head was less than a 1/2th inch from the floor and it couldn’t have possibly hurt, but convincing myself this is a whole different thing.  The guilt will not go away as I am reminded of it every day, especially as I fall to sleep at night.

My Little Man (crazy name, right?) was too heavy for me to pick up and bring to the car.  Sixty plus pounds of muscle, hair, and a huge heart, along with a monster inside, (stomach cancer) killing him!  I succumbed to the inevitable, just like he was and lay down with him.  Petting, and saying over and over and over, “I love you.”  I stroked that soft, wavy hair between his ears.  I didn’t want to cry.  I wanted to let him know it was okay.  Okay to end the pain.  Okay to cross over the Rainbow Bridge.  “I’m here, my buddy, and I won’t leave your side.”  (or rather, I can’t leave your side). 

It’s odd, one hears about humans and their near-death experiences.  Some say their whole life flashes before them.  That is what happened to me in less than a moment.  I saw our entire life together.  I also had a million regrets that flashed by. 

Just two days earlier, I had found out he had inoperable stomach cancer, which had spread all over his body.  The vet said My Little Man, and I had time.  In fact, he said we had a couple of weeks.  We went home with a prescription of Tramadol (pain killer) and, per the vet’s recommendation, I bought CBD oil to help him through what time he had left.  We took it easy for the rest of that day.  I texted my son the horrible news,  “Oh, Momma!  I’m so sorry.”, he texts.

 I texted my one and only friend.  She writes: “Oh, my God…what can I do for you?  “Oh, no…I am so sorry”. “I am here if you need to talk.”

Throughout the rest of that day, I made a bucket list for My Little Man’s last weeks.  We would go to his favorite swimming spots:  Bird Key Park, Ken Thompson Park, Bayfront Park.  We would swim until his paws wrinkled.  We would go to O’Leary’s, Arlington Park.   I would allow him to eat anything he wanted.  He would sleep in my bed – no matter how dirty or smelly he might be. 

I only got the chance to do one:  My best buddy slept in my bed.  He couldn’t get up in it without help.  We snuggled.  I held his paw.  I practically slept on top of him!  He was always so warm and soft; this night was no different.  His breathing always lulled me to sleep.  This nights’ breathing was labored and lull me to sleep; it didn’t.   One night in my bed!  All the things on our bucket list and that’s all I got!  One bluddy night!

At dusk the following evening,  My Little Man had the best time in a very, very long time.  Due to a bout of severe depression that had (and continues ) lasted months, I hadn’t been as attentive or active as I should have been with Little Man.  But, this devoted guy showed me the real power of unconditional love, devotion, and the meaning of precious time.  HE SHOWED ME!  My Little Man gave me one last gift, and without realizing, I reciprocated.   Despite the lethargy that comes along with depression and the increase of pain in my heart since he was diagnosed, I gave him every last bit of energy I had on this night.

The blue sky, free of clouds, comforted us in our pain.  Strangely, it wasn’t sweltering hot outside like a usual May evening. The soft breeze energized our souls.  My guy wanted to play. My Little Man spotted his favorite toy:  a worn-out football with a rope at the end.  It had been lying there for weeks without being disturbed by teeth, paw, or human hand.  A sign I should have caught onto weeks before.  He grabbed his toy between this teeth and attempted to make it squeak.  He loved all things squeaky!  Years ago it had lost is sound.  He brought it over to where I was sitting, a few paw steps away, and gave me that “look.”  The look that said, “let’s play.” Fearful of overexerting him, I gently threw it a couple of times at his feet.  He slowly went for it and brought it back to me, but not before he gave it his customary shakey-shakey.  I threw again, further this time.  He ran, retrieved, and placed it in my hand.  He seemed invigorated with each toss.  So, I threw it as far as I could. Tail wagging, he burst off the deck and chased after it like there was no tomorrow (turns out there wasn’t much of a tomorrow for him).  He flew back to me, tail wagging, the force of the wind blowing his long black hair back.  I could see something in his eyes I hadn’t seen in a long time; complete joy.  I had the same feeling inside.  Again and again, I threw it as far as I could.  He didn’t want to stop playing, and no matter how tired I became, I threw and threw and threw. 

All good things come to an end.  Little Man played with such vigor for well over twenty minutes,  stopping to lap up ice water from his bowl with the same enthusiasm as fetching his ball.  Finally, exhaustion took over him and “down” he went. He chose a spot that gave him a 180° view of his backyard kingdom and a glimpse of me.  He calmy watched the butterflies nearby, followed the birds with his eyes — nature at its best.  The mockingbirds were beginning to take over the silence, as the sun slowly made its descent.  Every once in awhile, he would turn his head back to me (to see if I was still there?).  His coat shone so brightly, lit up by the rays of the setting sun.

I grabbed my camera to take a picture of this majestic animal I so loved and appreciated.  Just before I hit the button, he turned around to look at me, without a prompt from me.  At that moment, I thought I had just taken the most beautiful picture of him.  He turned away and looked out towards the yard, and the shutter clicked again.  He looked as graceful and proud as a lion watching over his pride from his throne.  I look back on these pictures with a heavy heart.  I can see in his eyes his pain.  I see sadness.  They aren’t as wide-eyed and bright as they once were.

Had I looked in his eyes for signs of “something” before this night, I may have been able to save him.  How long had the pain been there?  When did it start to take a toll on him?  Why hadn’t he cried, whimpered, or somehow let me know he was in pain?  Most overwhelming for me, why didn’t I do something earlier?  I could have.  I saw a change in his eating habits, but I thought it was due to a change in food (which I immediately threw out).  I saw a change in his energy level, and I did nothing.  Does depression come with denial, ignorance, and selfishness too?  No matter what the answer to my last question, I blame myself for his death.  This is the most overwhelming feeling I have ever experienced.  I don’t have words to explain how to overcome I am with my guilt of not taking care of him properly.  No one knows how this whole thing transpired because I never told anyone of the subtle changes in My Little Man.  I was too wrapped up with the hopelessness of my own life.  I was so damned overcome from this bout of depression that the last few months was nothing but sleep, total exhaustion during waking hours, I didn’t see anything around me.  Not even my best buddy was immune to my symptoms.

 “I feel for you.  I know it’s tough.  He was a great pup.  He grew on me the last couple of years.”  “You’ll get through it Mom it’s the only option.” This was my son’s text.

I miss my friend.

Sidenote:  This took me more than three months to write.  Tears overwhelmed me, sentence after sentence, and I had to let the tears take over and leave my writing.  Three months and I still think of our life together every day and night.  My only comfort is that we will meet again at the Rainbow Bridge, and I literally cannot wait to wrap my soul around him again.