Me: It never gets easier.
Caroline: Maybe it’s not supposed to.
Me: Maybe it’s not.
This was our third dog to pass in a little over a year. Our preceding generation is gone. Nixon, my older daughter’s 13-year-old pit mix, Maya, our almost 17-year-old poodle a few months ago, and now Esme. None of the dogs we have now knew the generation before them. It’s been a lot…
Last week, I was at Suzanne Clothier‘s special week-long training for dog trainers. Esme, my barely 3-pound dog was with me. Nearing the end of her time here, I was blessed to be around kindred souls, dog people… people who get it.
It wasn’t a surprise that Esme’s time was nearing the end. While she wasn’t old (just shy of 10), she was tiny and had big health challenges. Many close calls. I felt like the girl who cried wolf as I declared through my tears many times over the last few years, more the last few months, “I think Esme is passing.” And still, my tears flowed.
Last week, when her passing was imminent, I thought a lot about how we say “This is the hardest part.” Yet, the Universe, God, Spirit, isn’t set up to be painful…. so why did I so quickly get what Caroline said “Maybe it’s not supposed to get easier.”
Our dogs’ passings connect us to our hearts, feelings, vulnerability, and connection with life beyond the stuff of everyday life that we get caught up in.
And, what we choose to focus on makes it easier or harder to bear. When I remember that I will miss Esme, but she will always be part of who I am, who I’ve loved and been loved by, and that her Spirit lives on, it shifts things for me.
So many of life’s challenges bring me to action, doing “all the things”….My dogs’ passings always bring me to my heart, feeling our oneness, my connection with “all that is”… to what truly matters.
Despite being almost 20 dogs old (as Suzanne Clothier would say), each passing is painful and profound. Both the grief and gratitude are deep. In July 2016, I posted on Facebook about losing Thamanjah, my awesome sighthound bred by Kjellåke Bjurström. iI feels like yesterday.
Sunday, Esme passed. My amazing vet and close friend, Dr. David Halpern, helped us create the best transition we could for her.
Yesterday, I spent the day reflecting, reminiscing, talking to her breeder Barbara Conley, and resting.
Esme was a big personality in a little body. My daughter, Gabby, says Esme was ‘opinionated.’ She liked the biggest toys, the longest chew sticks, and whatever my big dogs had, she wanted.
Esme always wanted to be with me, and would get in her bag to go. As we looked at her photos, Gabby suggested we play “Where’s Esme?,” as she blended right in with my black hair and clothes, always snuggling one way or another.
Esme’s health challenged her and a few months ago she became blind. Yet, somehow, she seemed to see me. She looked into my eyes, with love and trust…always. I loved her dearly.
Esme, had no interest in ending her time here, leaving her family. She was happy. Since she passed, I automatically lean down to pick her up. I start to share what I’m eating. I’m jarred by the missing pee pads on the floor and the lack of her dish when we feed our other dogs.
Between my tears, I encouraged Esme to go play with her buddy Thamanjah… To wait for me together, and if she can, in the meantime, give me a sign that she’s still around in Spirit.
To be honest, her presence was always big and I feel her with me still.
Dr. K
