The Woods Are Still There

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.