Oh, me.
Most of you already know this -- you've said it in comments -- but losing a pet is hard. I have been through this before and yet I'm still surprised how hard it is. As I've told several people, I didn't cry this much when my parents died. I loved my parents, but there's something about animals -- their complete devotion, their dependence on us and our decisions, their lack of emotional baggage. We project so much onto them, and when they vanish it leaves a vast empty chasm in our lives and our hearts.
Dave got home yesterday morning, and that has been a huge balm for me, having him here to hug. It helps to talk to him and share my periodic bouts of tearfulness. It's been so long, I wasn't sure I could still feel grief like this. The physical sensations are almost like a panic attack -- pressure in the chest, a gasping feeling of airlessness, a sudden rush of tears at a particular sight or sound or thought. Dave is much more reasonable and sensible than I am, as it turns out. I keep thinking, "What if we had done X differently?" "What if we hadn't given her this drug, or had given her that one?" But Dave doesn't second-guess and doesn't seem prone to these crushing tidal waves of emotion.
By the way, I've got to thank all of you who have commented here. You've done me a world of good, and it's been amazing to see that Olga had dedicated fans all around the world -- including many people I've never seen comment before. I appreciate all of you helping me over this hurdle.
You're going to think I'm a glutton for punishment, but I took a long walk on Hampstead Heath yesterday -- specifically the West Heath, Sandy Heath and the Extension. These are areas I used to walk regularly with Olga. She wasn't able to go that far in recent years, so it's been a while -- I think April 2023 is the last time we went to Sandy Heath, and November 2023 to the West Heath, and even longer to the Extension (though she went there every day in a van with her dog walker).
It was comforting to be back in the woods, to see that it's all still there -- even the little pool of water in the roots of the Lulu Trees where Olga would always stop and have a drink. There weren't many people out because it rained pretty heavily all morning, but I did see other humans with their dogs and that was comforting too. It gave me a sense of permanence -- a reminder that despite our personal traumas and transience, there will always be wonderful dogs out there, having wonderful experiences with their people.
Despite that, toward the end of my walk, I realized that all the photos I'd taken of the familiar Heath landscapes were utterly empty. I was photographing absence.
This, for example, is the same vantage point where I photographed the foggy winter scene of Olga watching for squirrels that I posted yesterday. It looks so different with leaves -- and without dog.
I did sleep last night, which was a relief (after sleeping just three hours on Friday). Still, going to bed, I missed hearing Olga's toenails clicking down the hallway and the soft bonk of her head against the door, nosing it open to join me.
Dear Steve, Olga was indeed loved and cherished by so many people around the world, and all because of the warmth and love you conveyed to us here on your lovely blog. I also know from experience that the pain of losing your dog is immense and lasting, but all along with the wonderful memories of the life you had together. I am thinking of you and wishing you nothing but the best.
ReplyDeleteWas wondering how you're doing. It's called broken heart syndrome. Temporary and harmless. You went back to a stunning place, remembering who she was most of her life. Dave is probably processing it differently, he was with you, but he wasn't physically there. It couldn't have gone better under the circumstances and her age. It's excruciatingly painful and yes the second time I thought it would be easier. Wasn't. Rollercoaster of emotions.
ReplyDeleteThis is so sad. I hope you will recover from this sooner or later.
ReplyDeleteYou describe loss and grief so well, Steve - without saccharine overtones.
ReplyDeleteThe best I can come up with - in an attempt to comfort you? When I was eight years old my mother told me "As long as someone is being remembered they aren't dead." Of course, one may, if so inclined, challenge that perception - yet it brings peace, equilibrium.
U
I would like to add, with a flourish:
DeleteLong live Olga.
U
I think Yael has expressed perfectly just what I would have said.
ReplyDeleteAs in all your blog posts and especially in the last few days, you have once again found such wonderful words that allow us to look deep into your soul - not many people can do that. I can't thank you enough for that.
ReplyDeleteThere is no “what if”, everything you did, you did right in that moment. You did indeed do it right.
The fact that all the photos you took on the Heath yesterday were empty is exactly how you feel at the moment - absence. Allow the feeling. It's good not to suppress anything.
The Heath will always be there and with it, your memories.
Your readers are on your (and Dave's) side. And Olga's of course.
Ah, Steve, my heart is breaking with you. I admire you for taking that walk on Hampstead Heath and for allowing yourself to express your feelings. So glad Dave is home.
ReplyDeleteWe know exactly how you are feeling. We have gone through the pain of losing our beloved dogs over the years. You have described your feelings so well. Really pleased that Dave is there so that you can comfort each other.
ReplyDeleteWendy (Wales)
Images with the main subject absent or removed. I think the walk on Hampstead Heath was absolutely necessary for your mental well-being at this time of loss. It should be renamed Olgaland.
ReplyDeleteI agree with you about the immediate grief perhaps being worse than a loved one dying, but I think the grieving period is shorter.
ReplyDeleteYou followed veterinary advice with a questioning mindset. That's all you can do.
A year on and I still see my Grace, just in the corner of my eye, I feel she is still here with me. There is a lot of atmosphere in your photos, so little colour gives them more depth, almost like a black and white photo.
ReplyDeleteYou have written beautifully about the loss of a pet, that is exactly how it feels. We had to have our dear old cat Bo put to sleep last November age 20. We still miss her every day and we both cried more for her than we thought possible. Some times I still expect to see her looking out the window when come home. I am glad Dave is back home for you. Regards Sue H
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