grief makes me stupid
Aside from the terrible act itself, there’s no word or phrase I like referring to what
we had done to Roameo. “Put down” is too cold, “put away” is too vague, “put to
sleep” is a copout. “Euthanasia” is correct but silly. Are we talking about Chinese
teenagers?
“Put to death” is the one I’m most comfortable with, even if I don’t like the implica-
tion that we were part of it. But we were. It was our decision. I regret Roameo’s
death, but not the choice we made. He slipped to the other side so easily. There
was no yelp, not even a sigh, just the slightest relaxation of his muscles. As soon
as the vet said “I’m making the injection,” it was over in a heartbeat. Literally.
A tumor was blocking circulation to his left front leg. When I put him on the surgi-
cal table the vet told her assistant to shave “the warm leg” for the catheter. Once
inserted, the catheter was secured with an orange bandage. A healthy Roameo
would have thought that insulting and torn it off. But he was already letting go.
The young assistant then took a firm grasp to steady him. Jude asked if she could
do that, but the assistant said she had to, to assure he didn’t struggle. The vet said
“let her do it.” That was good, because Jude was not going to be denied. As she
steadied his body, I held his head. I couldn’t see the vet, but Jude, the assistant
and the receptionist were crying. I was, too, and I could barely watch.
He went so quickly and effortlessly that I didn’t realize it until the vet said it was
over. Jude and I stroked him for awhile, then she went to the car to check on
Slinkee. I used the washroom, then went back to pet him one last time. I so
much wanted him to jump off the table and head for the door.
The rest of the day was done on automatic pilot. It was just left foot out, right foot
out, then left again, then right, left, right. It was all I could do to remember that.
Grief makes me stupid. We did some absolutely necessary shopping and caught
the ferry home. Jude made a supper of eggs and sausage: the simplest, most com-
forting meal we could think of. We went to bed early, exhausted.
The next day we had the multiple blessings of ample sun and Mowat and Maese.
M & M’s mom Jolie dropped Mowat off and took Maese to a tea party. Mowat and I
set up our fishing company and he caught a dragonfly larva, some sort of water
beetle and five somethings that looked like tiny shrimp.
When Jolie and Maese came back, Jude and Maese made cookies while Jolie and
Mowat paddled around the pond in a kayak. I stretched out on the boards we had
put across the creek and soaked up as many rays as my SPF 1000 sunscreen would
let through. The day was the perfect antidote for sadness.
Yesterday brought even more blessings. Good neighbour Chris came by with many
cold beers and one warm one that he had thoughtfully marked by wrapping in a rub-
ber band. We sat on the deck and drank a toast to Roameo. Chris and his wife Nina
had also lost a beloved dog not too long ago.
It was a perfect spring day, the one the neighbourhood had been waiting for. Chris,
Jude and I solved all the world’s problems in less than 3 hours, so he went home
to tell Nina the good news. Shortly after he left, our friend Lee and his friend Mike
showed up. Lee and Roameo got along famously. I told him immediately and we
shared a hug of sorrow.
Lee had some nasty rope burns on his hands that Jude treated. Soon Lee was able to
wrap his fingers around a beer and we had another toast for Roameo. Lee and Mike
headed out an hour later. Jude and I had pizza a second night in a row and watched
a rerun of “Saturday Night Live” and a tape of another SNL rerun from last week.
The emptiness that Roameo’s death left in our lives is slowly filling up. Mowat, who
is often Maese’s antagonist, gave her a big hug when she got back from the tea party.
Our corn and tomato starts are robust. Slinkee is beginning to test her power as the
alpha pet. Ollie brought a bird into the house and Jude chased him out as feathers
flew.
I’m an infrequent crier. I can’t remember the last time I shed a tear before last
Thursday. So I forget how potent and cleansing it is. It dissolves grief. Hugs help
tremendously, as well. But what has helped most has been your thoughtful words
of condolence, sharing of similar stories and poems. I’ve learned that grief is a
burden best carried on many shoulders.
Here’s some photos of Roameo’s last day.
