"Gotten Good at Goodbye"





On June 9th, 2013 our beloved Heidi passed away.  It was a day that I had been dreading for a long time.  Each new birthday seemed like a reminder of how finite life is and an omen.  She was our baby for over fifteen years and it was impossible for me to remember what my life felt like without her familiar face and behaviors. 

 

 

 

 

 

It was early Sunday morning when Lori came into the bedroom and said that something was wrong.  I could tell from her face that this was something serious.  When I saw Heidi in the laundry room, she seemed disoriented and unable to stand up.  I picked her up and brought her back to our bed, honestly believing that she had probably minutes left.  Her breathing was faint and shallow and she didn't seem to recognize what was going on around her.  Lori and I lay on either side of her waiting for what felt like the inevitable.  I tried to reassure us both that this was the best possible way for it to happen. 

I counted breaths and intervals and looked into her eyes looking for a sign.  For the first ten minutes, it seemed like I was right about her condition, but as it approached the thirty minute point it seemed like she was stable enough to make it to the vet.  Neither of us had any misconceptions at that point, but we also didn't want her to be suffering.  Her lack of awareness could have been due to some unperceived pain or discomfort that she was trying to hide from us.

The rest of the morning is somewhat of a blur.  I don't remember who drove to the vet.  I do recall watching the light wane from her eyes after the decision was made to let her go.  I know that I tried to look stronger than I felt since Lori was there and I needed to.  After signing the requisite paperwork, we were on our way home to our new world.  And I waited for the long dreaded dark crush to hit.

As I type these words, I am still waiting for it to hit me.  I certainly miss her; I still expect to see her in the hall when I come home.  I feel sad when I see the spot that she occupied for so long in the corner of the room, where the carpet is permanently worn down from her slumbers.  When we got home from the vet, I had rushed to the side of the bed to see if the zip-lock bag of hair that I had collected during our last brushing session was still there.  And I still see elements of her in the world around me as I wait.

There is a George Strait song called, "Baby's Gotten Good at Goodbye".  Pondering these lyrics, I fear that there is an answer in them.  As much as I love my job, there is a stark reality that I have lost a lot of friends here, more than I could probably count.  For the last year or so, each one felt like a dress rehearsal for the day when it would be Heidi's time.  It made each incident all the more depressing.

As I continue to wait for the pain that I have so long dreaded, I worry that I have effectively inoculated myself against being able to feel something so poignant ever again.  I can only imagine that my mind has begun to process things differently.  I don't think that it is akin to a callous, as much as it is a need to keep moving on, trying to stay ahead of the hurt.

In so many ways, this would be a welcome evolution since there is only so much pain that any of us can feel before a sense of hopelessness comes upon us like a muddy bog that turns every moment into a slog.  The problem is that I want my pain.  I want the hot tears, the inability to feel or think of anything else, at least for a while.  I want the debilitation that I have felt so many times before and which seems like a proper tribute to love lost.  Until I can feel that, I will continue to wait for a closure that may not ever come.  I think I may have "gotten too good at goodbye"...