Today’s Email to the Grandkids
Every week, I write emails to my two grandkids. Their mom set up accounts for them when they were born, and gives the addresses to people who have the inclination to send them things to read when they get older. Today’s email will perhaps teach them nothing new: they have had pets since they were born, and have no doubt experienced more loss than I had by whatever age they will be when they read this. Still, I am feeling the weight of today, and figure that vomiting it out with some kind of purpose is better than drinking and crying, which is the only other choice that is presenting itself as an option…
Dear M & K,
Today was a hard day for Grandpa and I. Many of the lessons a person learns throughout their life presented themselves to us, both the unpleasant:
Surprises are not always pleasant.
100% surety in decision-making is a myth.
There are some things you can never be ready for, no matter how hard you try.
and the more affirming:
Family is family, blood or otherwise.
You don’t have to be alone.
Laughter helps ease pain.
The lesson best illustrated by todays events, however, is that difficult relationships can be well worth the time and effort.
We got our dog Helen in November of 2011 when she was roughly 2 years old. She came to us all banged up, battle-scarred and with a sag to her teats that proved a recent whelping. She came home with us because Grandpa saw something in her that made him love her from the start. Oddly, it took me longer to warm to her, and I worried whether she would settle; our greyhound was an odd non-doggish dog, and the African Grey was another possible source of stress. Still, I trusted the choice, and home she came.
What an adventure she took us on! She got her period, despite supposedly having been fixed. [Site note: a menstrual pad in some little boy’s Y-fronts turned backwards so the tail comes out the “Y” is much more comfortable for a dog than the diapers you can buy. Thanks, internet!] She put the greyhound in the hospital three times, but the first time was during this hormonal phase. The other two times, she also bit mom, who was trying to break things up. The greyhound was shocked every time: she’d never really learned how to “dog”, poor thing… She never hated Helen, tho. Helen could be set off by anything: from a delivery person, to a leaf in the yard, to a guest on the sofa who she’d walked away from only 5 seconds earlier… Still, she was not — you have to believe me — a dangerous dog. She was anxious and scared. She didn’t trust anyone easily, but she also didn’t want to be alone. Much like the other member of the household with these symptoms, she got a shrink, and some meds, and was made to know she was safe and loved.
Gradually, she mellowed. She learned that this was her home. She still chased off all delivery intruders, barked at visitors until they sat down and she relented, and even won over mom who didn’t care for her at first. She was mom’s sphinx, sitting next to her whenever she was outside having a smoke and playing games. Mom bought her tennis balls and threw them for her, or cheered her on when she’d bury one and dig up another. She had been out in back with mom this afternoon when mom opened the door and said, “something’s wrong with Helen. She has fallen down and can’t get up.”
Details are really unimportant. A whirlwind happened, and tiny bits stick out: Grandpa carried her out to the car. We were hopeful when she took steps outside the hospital. We waited in the car, hoping to hear good news from the doctor, each of us numbing ourselves with our phones, but holding hands tightly. The doctor offered a palliative care option, which we said was worth a try. More phone distraction, and letting people know. The doctor said it hadn’t worked. Your mom sped to join us, as did C & R. Your mom brought snacks for Helen which she appreciated but didn’t eat. We loved, good girl-ed, and petted her until we were all covered with her fur. The doctor came in, and when we couldn’t bear to give her a go-ahead, Rachel did it for us, with our leave. Throughout, there was dark humor: this is how we cope at times like this.
There should be more to this, kids. When it is less raw, maybe there will be. She was a difficult dog, but a great dog. She was worth the work, the wait, the love. I am heartsick as I type this. I both do and do not wish this pain on you both: It is a painful tax to pay, but it is the payment we make for the love we get from dogs. I am going to go hug Grandpa now.
I love you both.
Grandma
There. It isn’t out of my system. No love ever is, really. They build us, even in their absence. It is raining now, cliche but fitting. Helen didn’t fear the rain like our other dogs have. Let it rain.
Today’s Email to the Grandkids was originally published in eustonmouse on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.