When my husband died, I assumed I would die soon as well. Perhaps I even wished as much. I started to prepare. I made sure everyone knew I was an organ doner. I changed my will. I appointed a Power of Attorney. I ensured I had a Living Will. I thought about tattooing “DNR” (Do Not Resuscitate) across my chest.
I made sure the funeral home had my husband’s file and understood that I wanted everything exactly the same for myself. I bought an insurance policy to make sure my burial was paid for. No funeral. No wake. I made sure they had a copy of the deed to my gravesite next to my husband, and near my parents and my sons. I am not associated with any organized religion, but maybe someone could repeat the 23rd Psalm for me graveside? I don’t know why, but those words have always allowed me to take a breath, even in the worst of all possible times, and given me comfort.
But I didn’t die. I didn’t really live, either. I kept breathing. I stayed alive. But I shut down. That was four years ago.
HE wouldn’t leave me alone. HE let me know HE was also grieving. HE let me know HE needed me. HE needed food. HE needed fresh water. HE needed attention, and exercise, and loving. HE would break my heart in the morning while I drank my coffee, going into the bedroom and barking at the bed like my husband was still there, trying to tell my husband to get up for breakfast!
HE has been my best buddy, my confidant, my raison d’etre. We cried together, howled together, slept and awakened together.
Today our veterinarian came to our house. HE isn’t eating…anything. I have tried every brand of dog food on the market. I have cooked specially for HIM. HE will sniff at it, and walk away. The only food HE will eat is food I will share off my plate. HE is losing weight. HE has muscle atrophy. HIS legs are collapsing. HE sleeps mostly. HE does not seem to be in any distress. HE is not telling me he has any particular pain. But I know HE is dying.
My husband and I had numerous huskies or husky-mixes over the years, almost all of them have been rescues. They are pack dogs. HE and I have been our own special, precious pack since my husband died. Big dogs rarely live this long. HE is old. I have been in doggie hospice before, but never by myself, never without my husband, never without my partner. I am scared.
The Vet surprised me. He said that, as longas NO onions, NO grapes, NO chocolate, HE can eat anything/everything HE wants. He told me about a family that started adding spices to the dog food. As dogs age and they lose hearing and eyesight and muscle mass, they may also lose their sense of taste. This family’s dog loved for them to “spice it up.” The Vet also suggested mushy cat food. Anything HE will eat is okay. The only thing HE will always eat is whatever is on my plate as he sits on the floor beside me.
So, this Thanksgiving, I will stay home with HIM. We will share a simple meal. If I could, he would have his own seat at the table. I don’t have a doggie highchair, so he will still be on the floor beside me. But I will make sure he gets a spoon full of our meal for every bite I feed myself.
We will have a good day, and share our food, and love each other. And I will give thanks that I have had my buddy through these difficult years, and that my husband – who has “stepped into another room,” - will be there waiting for us both.
Happy Thanksgiving
