My dog of sixteen years died.
What do you say? How do you cope with losing an animal you somehow had come to think would live forever?
And you just keep crying. You can’t stop.
It might seem a little stupid, but I cried so much I nearly made myself sick. I had to lay down for two hours before my head stopped feeling like it was split in two.
I think, being so far from home, all my sad-lit emotions are just waiting. Horses chopping at the bit to race from the starting line, nipping, neighing, and prancing with barely constrained energy. When sad happens, it happens with the rage of a waterfall swollen by torrential rains.
You cry. And you cry. And you cry.
Perhaps the feeling of loss has become so profound because I couldn’t say goodbye. Because I can’t feel my big brother’s arms squeezing the sadness out of me. Because I have no chest to pour these salty tears into. And maybe, maybe it’s because that feeling of homesickness always lurks just beneath the surface, waiting to take expression at any given moment sad happens.
Well, sad happened and I can’t stop crying. Maybe it is stupid, trust me, even I laugh as the tears fall down my face, but these are my emotions and they deserve every right to be expressed.
Bubbles died 6-28-13. She was hit twice by cars on the road near my parents’ house. She had really bad arthritis and probably couldn’t see much anymore. I wish I had spent more time with her when I was home for Christmas last year. We even joked that I should get lots of pictures since she might not be there next Christmas. Of course really, it hadn’t been a joke. I guess we were more right than we had anticipated.
A message I wrote for Bubbles on Facebook the day I found out:
Hey Bubbs, you were pretty dumb and you couldn’t be bothered with potty training, but you were a good dog!! I loved the way your ears smelled!! Hahahaha! And I loved how you sat like a lady with your front paws crossed. You were probably more of a lady than I’ll ever be. Thanks for being my stupid dog. Thanks for taking me out on walks and getting old. Thanks for always coming home and wearing us down until we couldn’t see the backyard in our minds without you there. That’s where you’ll always be okay? In the backyard, giving me that dumb look with your too big ears perked up acting like we never told you to “Go home Bubbles!” So, for old time’s sake, go home Bubbles, wherever that might be. I’ll really miss you.
Jenny Tam did a lot to help me this weekend. She has become such a great friend. If I leave this country with nothing but her stolid friendship, it will have been worth it a million times over.