(no subject)
After Amber died, I withdrew, tried to change everything. Hoping I'd sort it out, find some deeper truth. It was a mistake. I should've gone back to normal - to here and now, because that's all we can ever really count on. Things need to go back to normal in your life.
- Dr James Wilson, House
I have been grieving for a few weeks now. Time seems too fluid to remember exactly how long.
On a Sunday afternoon, after spending an hour and a half talking with a trainer that I thoroughly trust, I made the heart wrenching decision to euthanize my Burbear. My little boy.
I called everyone I could think of in my phone book to sob on their shoulder.
It took me 45 minutes to find my way back to the highway that shouldve taken me 15 minutes.
I was hysterical for the next few days.
I took an extra day off work to cope with the emotion.
On a Tuesday evening, with my mother and Burbears trainer by my side, I held my dear Burbear as he slowly collapsed to the ground.
I made the choice to end my dogs life, and it was not an easy one.
If you knew Burbear, you knew a kissy, lovey, big headed, snuggle pants who always wanted to be by your side. What you didnt know was the anxiety ridden, fearful, reactive dog that I was constantly training, constantly working with, constantly hoping would improve.
This entry isnt going to be about the reasons why I chose what I did. Living with dogs with extensive behaviour problems is a personal journey, an exhausting one, and I couldnt make the journey any longer. If you want more of an explanation, Ill give you my trainers phone number, she can explain it without the sobs. This entry is about life afterwards.
I found a great deal of inner strength and peace after the hysteria tapered off. Tuesday evening I was calm and focused, probably in shock, but prepared to give Burbear the calm, focused energy as he left us. After it was finished, I walked out to the car to get Sandy and show her that Burbear wasnt with us any longer. I remember walking to the car, my shoulders felt like they were up around my ears. The tension held my body up like puppet strings. At one point I stopped, afraid I was going to vomit.
Sandy sniffed around the room and didnt much care for any of what was going on. She really just wanted to go home okay thanks.
So it was done.
I was a zombie for a few days. I worry that I dont cope well with death because I havent experienced much of it and Im terrified of it to boot. I cant even begin to comprehend the concept, so I sometimes wonder if I dont accept what really has happened. Then Im reminded by the wonderful people in my life that grief is a personal journey and there is no one magic path, no right way, just your way whatever way that is.
The other night my friend Vanessa & I picked up his ashes and pawprint. As I went to open the urn to see his ashes, we realized the wooden box was screwed shut and we both started laughing hysterically that you have to get out your toolbox just to view your pets ashes.
One of those moments.
So tonight I took out my screwdriver and opened Burbears ashes. There is a deep wood smell to the box. A long combination of letters and numbers written in sharpie on the inside of the base Burbears number. And as I took out the bag of his ashes, they werent what I was expecting. I have had a number of animals cremated, all by the same company in Victoria, and they werent like what I was used to. I held the bag and thought to myself, This isnt right! This isnt how its supposed to be! They look like a bag of flour, its too fine, its not ash-like enough! I began to cry at the injustice of it all: even his ashes werent right. I couldnt fix his life and now I cant fix his ashes.
Its the unexpected that can push you over the edge. The things you could never even fathom. I wouldve never thought that the state of his ashes were what upset me the most in the weeks to follow his death.
Next year I plan to save up to return to the island to sprinkle some of those ashes at the beach, near the reserve where he was born and abandoned, where we first started our journey is where we will end it.
I did the best I could with Burbear. I gave him as much as I could of myself, I kept him safe for as long as I could, but I couldnt change the world, nor his view of it. I couldnt control his fears. In the end I gave him peace the only way I knew how.
He deserved more than this world ever couldve given him.
Rest in Peace my brave boy.
Be free from all of your fears.
- Dr James Wilson, House
I have been grieving for a few weeks now. Time seems too fluid to remember exactly how long.
On a Sunday afternoon, after spending an hour and a half talking with a trainer that I thoroughly trust, I made the heart wrenching decision to euthanize my Burbear. My little boy.
I called everyone I could think of in my phone book to sob on their shoulder.
It took me 45 minutes to find my way back to the highway that shouldve taken me 15 minutes.
I was hysterical for the next few days.
I took an extra day off work to cope with the emotion.
On a Tuesday evening, with my mother and Burbears trainer by my side, I held my dear Burbear as he slowly collapsed to the ground.
I made the choice to end my dogs life, and it was not an easy one.
If you knew Burbear, you knew a kissy, lovey, big headed, snuggle pants who always wanted to be by your side. What you didnt know was the anxiety ridden, fearful, reactive dog that I was constantly training, constantly working with, constantly hoping would improve.
This entry isnt going to be about the reasons why I chose what I did. Living with dogs with extensive behaviour problems is a personal journey, an exhausting one, and I couldnt make the journey any longer. If you want more of an explanation, Ill give you my trainers phone number, she can explain it without the sobs. This entry is about life afterwards.
I found a great deal of inner strength and peace after the hysteria tapered off. Tuesday evening I was calm and focused, probably in shock, but prepared to give Burbear the calm, focused energy as he left us. After it was finished, I walked out to the car to get Sandy and show her that Burbear wasnt with us any longer. I remember walking to the car, my shoulders felt like they were up around my ears. The tension held my body up like puppet strings. At one point I stopped, afraid I was going to vomit.
Sandy sniffed around the room and didnt much care for any of what was going on. She really just wanted to go home okay thanks.
So it was done.
I was a zombie for a few days. I worry that I dont cope well with death because I havent experienced much of it and Im terrified of it to boot. I cant even begin to comprehend the concept, so I sometimes wonder if I dont accept what really has happened. Then Im reminded by the wonderful people in my life that grief is a personal journey and there is no one magic path, no right way, just your way whatever way that is.
The other night my friend Vanessa & I picked up his ashes and pawprint. As I went to open the urn to see his ashes, we realized the wooden box was screwed shut and we both started laughing hysterically that you have to get out your toolbox just to view your pets ashes.
One of those moments.
So tonight I took out my screwdriver and opened Burbears ashes. There is a deep wood smell to the box. A long combination of letters and numbers written in sharpie on the inside of the base Burbears number. And as I took out the bag of his ashes, they werent what I was expecting. I have had a number of animals cremated, all by the same company in Victoria, and they werent like what I was used to. I held the bag and thought to myself, This isnt right! This isnt how its supposed to be! They look like a bag of flour, its too fine, its not ash-like enough! I began to cry at the injustice of it all: even his ashes werent right. I couldnt fix his life and now I cant fix his ashes.
Its the unexpected that can push you over the edge. The things you could never even fathom. I wouldve never thought that the state of his ashes were what upset me the most in the weeks to follow his death.
Next year I plan to save up to return to the island to sprinkle some of those ashes at the beach, near the reserve where he was born and abandoned, where we first started our journey is where we will end it.
I did the best I could with Burbear. I gave him as much as I could of myself, I kept him safe for as long as I could, but I couldnt change the world, nor his view of it. I couldnt control his fears. In the end I gave him peace the only way I knew how.
He deserved more than this world ever couldve given him.
Rest in Peace my brave boy.
Be free from all of your fears.