A PAINFUL GOODBYE

Sometimes irony juts its way into one’s life in difficult and unexpected ways. For those of you who have been reading the entries in this blog, you’re aware that I haven’t made an entry in a few months. The reason for this time lapse had to do with a very painful event that occurred on October 30th. Our Standard Poodle, Royce, whose “voice” was featured in the last entry, died at the age of six. Royce had been suffering from an autoimmune disease for two years, and the combination of the illness and the medications he was taking suddenly overwhelmed his system, and we had to put him down. Ironically, the day we made his You Tube video in 2007 was the day we first found out he was seriously ill.

Prior to Royce’s entry in the blog, I had written about life’s four key words: yes, no, hello and goodbye. Little did I know that in very short order, I would personally have to deal with the most difficult of the four: goodbye. It’s one thing talking about goodbye in the abstract and how difficult it can be, it’s quite another to suddenly have to experience it. The irony wasn’t lost on me. If nothing else, my observations on issues of personal loss would now have a bit more poignancy than before.

When Royce died, it felt as if the music stopped. The silence that followed was deafening. His presence – the combination of his gentleness, intelligence and physical beauty – was unlike any other dog I had ever encountered. At times, he seemed more human than canine. Charisma is an intangible characteristic. It’s hard to define, but you know it when you see it. Your eyes are drawn to it. It was that way with Royce. People would look, smile, talk, pet him or take his picture in an ongoing parade. And he loved every minute of it, as did I. He thought they were there for him. It’s hard to overstate the amount of joy he brought me during this most mundane of activities. It’s impossible to overstate the amount of grief I’ve experienced since he died.

Saying goodbye doesn’t happen all at once. There’s an organic rhythm to it orchestrated by the brain. It begins with shock, turns into intense sadness that continues for a number of weeks and then slowly it morphs into something different – hundreds of smaller goodbyes, moments of sadness that occur when something spontaneously reminds you of whom you lost. Over time, due to the brain’s need to restore balance, the moments occur less frequently, not necessarily less intensely.

When all is said and done, saying goodbye is really all about one word – forever. It’s viscerally understanding that you will never again see, hear or touch whom you lost. It is wrenching. It is forever.

Two months after Royce died, I had a very short dream about him. I was on the floor in our bedroom and he walked in, and I said, “ Hey boy, how are you, good to see you.” And he quickly came over, got as close to me as he possibly could, put his head on my chest over my heart and didn’t move. And that’s where he will be forever.