Coming Home…

has been very difficult this week, very. Leaving home has been easier, though. It’s a new response to the comings and goings in our house, without our sweet, faithful, furry Coco there to greet us as we return or keep vigil when we left. It was her home more than anyone’s, actually, because she was always in it. A constant. A predictable certainty in our lives.

We set up a shrine for her- all her favorite toys, her blanket from my bed, photos of her as a puppy and through all the nine years we had her, her treat container and her collar, silent now- but reminiscent of the jingling it made when she was alive. I could almost hear it, growing more distant as each day goes by. Her fur still remains, not only in the bag they gave us when she died, but also all over the house. She used to bark angrily at me whenever I used any of those sweepers to remove her hair from the couch or the cushion of her window seat. It would make me yell and laugh at her at the same time. I can’t bring myself to do that now. I feel it would affront her absence. Lindsay found a piece of her fur on her pants while she was at work. She meticulously took it off and put it inside her sweater, close to her heart. All we have now is remnants of her fur, this shrine and our memories, which we share frequently- memories that make us a family

My Internet surfing has changed from diagnosing the symptoms of Coco’s illness to chat rooms where people, who recently lost their pets, congregate. That lasted about five minutes; chat rooms are definitely not for me- they’re frenetic and confusing. Then I found a website about grieving and pet loss, written by a veterinarian. The five stages of grief, as applied to mourning the death of your pet-

Denial- my denial appears in the automatic reactions I have when I drop a tissue to quickly pick it up so Coco doesn’t get to it and eat it. She loved to eat tissues. Quickly, I realize I don’t have to do that anymore and the shock grabs at my heart.

Anger (or lashing out)- Yes, definitely did that- to the poor young guy at the counter of CVS photo department. I indignantly blamed his equipment for cutting off one of my pictures of Coco I had printed, only to find out when I came home that the picture was cut off to begin with. I have gone back to the photo department, with my “tale between my legs”, so to speak, to reprint these photos. I think the poor guy is afraid of me- I thought I noticed his hands trembling when I came to the counter. Oh well, it’s not me; it’s the stages of grief- you were, unfortunately, at the receiving end, poor young guy.

Bargaining- I did the bargaining when we found out Coco was terminal. I made a deal with G-d that if s/he made her well I would be the one to take her out first thing every morning. When she died, I constantly went over in my mind the things I could have done differently to prevent this whole thing; for example, did I hit her on the head to scold her when she was naughty and give her the brain tumor? Jewish guilt, a hereditary flaw. My Aunt Dorothy suffers from that, as well. To this day, she thinks she gave my Uncle Fintz a brain tumor from throwing a can of peaches or something at his head when they were children.

Depression- Enough said. Looking at every empty spot she used to lay in depresses me.

Acceptance- We’re getting there. The compassion of others is helping. Our family and friends have been wonderful during this time- sending cards, messages on Facebook, calling to “check” on us. We have even heard from friends I haven’t spoken to in a long time. All this has been an immense source of comfort. Even from strangers. A kind woman and her husband sent me a message on Facebook after she read my blog. They told me they have a Coco, too- a Lab Golden mix. At the end of their note, they said that my Coco is “now closer to the almighty and lending assistance with good deeds for you and your family.” Coincidently, on the day she sent me this message, Lindsay and Scott heard good news- their mortgage was approved on the house they are in contract with. Hooray!!! I looked at the message again that this woman had sent to figure out how she would know me and my blog- and found out we are connected by a mutual friend- Sheri- Scott and Lindsay’s real estate agent. Another coincidence? Or perhaps, not. This mere, yet meaningful event has led me to the “acceptance” stage.

Bad things happen and good things happen, too- the Yin and Yang of life. There is death; there is life. There is sadness; there is happiness. The day after Coco’s death, a week ago, that night at dinner, my mom was with us. She had a glass of wine and before she drank, made a toast “Only good things from now on.” I looked at her and said, “We’d like to have only good things, but bad things do happen and without them, we wouldn’t have the good things, really.” We needed this good thing, now.

And now, Lindsay and Scott have a house. A place to make memories, a place for their love and their lives to grow. A backyard for children to laugh and play and for dogs to run. A place for coming home.