My Best Friend: 2 Days and 22 Hours

It is almost one month since I put Claddagh down.

That phrase is so gross to me; “Put them down.”

My dog was already a submissive… she was “put down” in many ways in her early life.  I am still disgusted at it all.

But, you know what?  I will only talk about it here.  I bombarded FB for the first two weeks with my pain… and now in modern decorum I will pretend it doesn’t rip me apart on the inside.  Oh, geez, am I following the steps of my forefathers, who chose to sweep inconvenient truths under the proverbial rug?

People don’t know how to mourn, these days.  Our fast paced society urges us to “get over it and move on” as quickly as possible.  We treat ourselves like processed food with defined expiration dates that serve as suggestions.  You might be cool eating an out of date yogurt at your own house, but if a host of some other house offers the same thing, you cringe.

“Keep it in house.”

See, I don’t feel like I am allowed to mourn my dog companion for more than a couple of weeks.  It isn’t allowed to break me, because their life expectancy is so much shorter than ours, and I should have known better.

I don’t feel like I can allow Claddagh to be the portal in which my previous pain, loss and suffering is filtered through.  I just don’t feel like I have permission to fully feel, even though people say “take your time” and “feel it fully.”

I don’t feel permission because I am always trying to integrate and get along, and no one likes a Debby Downer, or a Miserable Mandie.  I don’t feel permission because the extent of the pain is mine, alone to bare.

After day three, I told myself, “You HAVE to stop crying.  You HAVE to buck up.  No one cares as much as you do about it, and no one wants to hear about it.”

If you make it a mantra, I guess it makes it easier to adhere to, just through repetition.

If left to my own devices, I look out the door and say “All I really want is my dog.”  And I imagine what that looks like, only to further upset the state of my heart.

Honestly, I don’t care if I upset you if I end up crying in reminiscence of my dog; but because I am empathetic, and I know you don’t want to hear it, I will self censor.  I am not looking for your pity or sympathy…. I know you don’t know exactly what to say and it may be uncomfortable for you, that every topic you excavate leads back to me and my dog.

I am sure it is annoying, or at least uncomfortable.

I’m sorry, but I’m not.

I suppose if you don’t know what to do in the awkwardness, just smile.  Know that I experienced a facet of love in life that I would have otherwise avoided, and that in and of itself, is bound to make me a better person in the long run.

I know she wasn’t as interesting to you, as she was meaningful and profound to me, and that is okay… but try not to sweep her memory away in your urgency to bring me back to whatever you feel is your self perceived center.  I will take my time, and I require no rush on your end, for it will not bring any benefit.

She was “my girl”, ya know?  I don’t even know if I am allowed to use the same distinct whistle if I find a new dog friend… I feel bad for chiding my cats with her same belly rub rhyme.   Things are flowing into each other with my other animal friends,  where it once was distinct and individual.

And I liked that, ya know?  When her whistle was our whistle and not like any of the other whistles that were common for the other animals we mutually knew.

I kinda wish I got a Chilton manual on how to deal with this,or a “When your Dog Dies for Dummies” book,  even though I know, internally all I need to know.

Life cycles are beautiful, until you see the shame in loss.  My dog should have lived forever… I mean, that is how I feel. I never thought about getting another one, even though at times I thought about re-homing her due to my own personality flaws.

I’m looking at rescue dogs, trying to find a face I recognize.  Not Claddaghs’ face, per say… just a face that feels familiar in the rustic part of my being that is perfectly adapted to animal companionship.  I know it will happen when it is meant to… if it is meant to.

No worries here.  I just miss her so damn much and rightly so.


4 thoughts on “My Best Friend: 2 Days and 22 Hours”

  1. After a week or two of mourning my cat, my boss at the time said, “You have to remember that it’s just a cat.” And she was a cat person! God help me when it came to dealing with the non animal lovers, if a cat person could respond like that! Thinking of you. X

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Holy shit! That just seems brutal to me (but what do I know, I am just “sensitive”, right?) Just because they aren’t human, doesn’t mean that there is a depreciated sense of care or love. This leads me to (further) believe that many of our social constructs in decorum are down right bullshit. I am sure I could lay into this 50 ways to Sunday because it isn’t just about animals, or loss… this is a sort of social program in a short but long existence that plays into our single serve, expendable fast paced world. Even this evening I was telling my grandma that it’s strange that we separate ourselves so far from death that it almost seems a race to move forward being herded by those who are uncomfortable with the notion that you may fully embrace that sadness and loss. I get it, if I was a Jew, and I loved someone deeply, and even perhaps despised someone deeply… I would choose to sit Shiva in order to full honor and embrace whatever that shift means. I really do appreciate your comments, and reading all these things. It’s nice to share that depth with someone who is not afraid to share their experience in emotion. Thank you SO VERY MUCH~

      Liked by 1 person

      1. It seemed brutal to me at the time, and still does! This lady was always one to speak her mind quite rudely in the name of “being honest”; have you noticed how people who say they are “just being honest” are always bloody rude? Do you have a select few closer people in whom you could confide, to say, “Look, I know I’m pretending to be ok but I’m not really”?

        Liked by 1 person

      2. I definitely try and use some tact in being honest… I’ve let moments of emotion slip with a few people but they seem to jump to the other end of worry when I do. Like,” no, I’m not going to kill myself because I miss my dog”… the minute I get loose with too much emotion and honesty, those in proximity and prone to worry jump to thinking about my welfare in the worst possible way. “No, I am not a threat to myself, I am just really fucking floored by the reality of an unexpected loss.” This is why I appreciate your comments. I can be as tactful or not, here, and I get it out. It doesn’t really matter if anyone reads it, because I need to imprint some things on this fabric. But if someone does read, and relates… brilliant. I get a moment where I feel a bit less alone and that is precious, despite the knowing the depth of this feeling is Universal. I guess it’s just easier for some of us to give that transparency than others.

        Liked by 1 person

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