Friday, February 29, 2008

Words Can't Express...

...how hard it is to lose a loved one. My sister's pug, Kirby, died very unexpectedly this morning. He had been sick, so she and Zach (fiance) took him to the vet to get him checked out. The vet gave him a sedative and put him under so that they could do an oral exam. Initially, he didn't come back from the coma as quickly as he should have. The vet told them to monitor him, I think gave some directions and maybe a pill to give him, and they went home a little worried. He slept in their bed with them last night, and this morning when they woke up, he wasn't breathing. They rushed to the pet hospital, but it was too late.



When I lost my puppy last year (it will be a year on March 31st), I was devastated. She was only six months old. For the first few days, all I wanted to do was sit and be miserable. It's painfully clear that moping is self-destructive, but depression is a powerful thing. It makes you believe you want to be depressed. Eventually, with a ton of support from a ton of people, I started to turn around a little. I began to look at all the good, instead of all the bad. Remember the things I did to improve Kaili's life. She wasn't meant to live past a few weeks, so the six months I was able to give her were a miracle. She was spoiled rotten for her entire life. She died in a complete state of bliss (chasing a car). I will never get over the fact that I wasn't there when it happened. I don't know if I could have done anything, and it hurts not to know that answer.

Kirby lived much longer than my Kaili did. And he was far more spoiled. Kirby was treated like a human child. Liz gave him the perfect life. It couldn't be more obvious that telling her that won't make the hurting stop, but it's the best thing I can say to help the process. You gave him the best life he could have hoped for. He touched a lot of people's lives. Kirby was the perfect companion, and everyone who met him couldn't help but love him.

So instead of mourning, take pride in what you gave to him, and in turn gave to everyone who met him.

In Memoriam
10/13/2006 – 3/31/2007

Luxurious lived, with homes away from home.
Almost snuffed out in youth, sickly and abused
By unloving, unknowing whelps.

Swept up in nurturing, nursing embrace.
Phoenix raised from near ashes to being:
Existing, loved; living, restored.

Introduced to a new house to call home,
Timidly explored by curious digging:
Comfort gained; familiar, grown.

Quickly learned, blossomed with personality,
Energy aplenty for toys and games:
Rampant running, elated acrobatics.

With strong penchant for playful antics,
A carefree courage roamed wild at heart:
Venturous soul, spirit contained.

The body demised in a state of bliss,
A legacy shortened by faultless fate:
Happy pursuit, cruel design.

Body returned, once more put to ash,
Joined with countless companions:
Final breath, eternal flame.

Spread in memory to reciprocate the nurture,
Raise the oldest fruit from seed, sapling to towering:
Memorial orchard; garden resting.

1 comment:

Jon said...

One of my favorite stories about Kirby was driving home from Nantucket. Liz had gone home a little early, so it was just me and the little dog on the ferry and then that ten hour drive. He sat on the floor of the passenger seat for most of the trip and behaved himself.

However, on 95 S in Maryland, just about an hour from home, he decided to jump into my lap.

Now, driving in traffic on 95 after being on the road for the past nine hours is not really the time to have a dog in your lap. So I dumped him back on the floor and maybe yelled at him a little bit.

He gave me the most hurt look I've ever seen on a non-human. He couldn't believe I had yelled at him. I apologized, and I think he accepted it. But he stayed on the floor the rest of the trip.

He was a ridiculous little dog, but impossible not to like. I'll miss him.