My grandma died last week. She was 99. My mom was with her
when she passed. Even though it’s what my grandma wanted, it came on the heels
of my Aunt Gini’s unexpected demise, and I know this has been hard on my mom
now that she’s the last one left in her family. Larry and I went up
Friday-Monday. The memorial was Saturday, and it was the most beautiful service
I’d ever attended. The pastor created a wonderful narrative of stories about
Adallae weaved in with her favorite Bible passages and hymns. He kept calling
her a spitfire. She would have loved it.
The church put on a really nice luncheon in the basement
afterwards. They opened the game room for the kids so they could have fun while
the adults talked. My mom created a beautiful table of photographs, letters,
quilts, and memorabilia—even her wedding dress and veil.
For someone who outlived seven siblings and two husbands and
most of her friends, she sure had a lot of loved ones and friends at the
memorial. I looked around at all the faces and wondered if I have that many
friends. The church offered so much comfort to all. Sometimes small towns get
life just right. This was one of those times.
Sunday my brother invited Larry and I to go hiking through
the dunes with his family, and my mom decided to join! She rallied and climbed
steep sand dunes, so determined. I could see that she was relishing life and
moments, and I was so proud of her. We kept telling her, “Mom, the dunes are
going to get really steep,” but she was stubborn and came up anyway. Yes, she
almost passed out from exertion, but she says it was totally worth the view.
I thought of how many times we’ve trekked those dunes, ever
since the 60s, and my mom and dad probably hiked them in the 40s. In the
winter, we would go sledding. As a teenager, I joined friends that meant the
world to me on summer nights after work. As an adult, walking the dunes was
therapy for me. Once I got past all the depression fallout, they became a
source of inspiration. Sharing it with Larry, my mom, my brother and SIL, and
my nieces and nephews surpassed all the other times I hiked there.
This next part is not good. Monday brought an unexpected
tragedy. Primo passed away while we were in Michigan. He’s been struggling
lately. His rear hips have been giving him trouble, and his mind was slipping.
He has been refusing food for a while now, and the lack of nutrition caused a
skin problem. The vet gave him a steroid shot and some meds. He rallied. I’ve been
cooking fish and meats for him just to get some fat on him. The vet said that
once he re-gained some weight, he’d get his strength back. Two weeks ago, he
was climbing steep hills and jumping fallen trees at Eagle Creek, and it was a
wonderful day.
I think the car trip to MI was too much on him. He’s had a
couple of episodes in the car lately, and then his mind plays all kinds of
trick on him. He wasn’t really right all weekend, but by Sunday, we were back
to taking two walks per day, and I got him to eat an entire meal the day
before. He even played with a neighbor dog briefly. But Sunday he
wouldn’t eat. He also wouldn’t sit or lay down, and I’m pretty sure it’s
because he was afraid he wouldn’t be able to get up. He was so exhausted. I
finally got him to lay down Sunday night, and I really started to worry about
him. I decided I would just have to work harder at finding foods he liked. I
wouldn’t mind at all. I knew he didn’t have years left, and I wanted to give
him whatever he wanted. But around 4 a.m., I heard him yelping. He couldn’t get
up. He had gone BM and it was everywhere, from scrambling to try to get up.
Larry and I had both seen him in this condition before, and at that moment, I
knew that he could no longer be left alone.
Larry took him outside while I cleaned up inside. I went to
check on him, and Primo was lying in a shallow mud puddle. Larry said he kind
of collapsed there. He was sleeping deeply and looked peaceful. But I knew then
that he was ready to go. He was exhausted. He was scared. I looked up in the
sky and I saw Orion’s belt overhead, which I know means nothing, but it was so
clear and beautiful. After a while, we decided to move him into the garage so
he wouldn’t get cold. I got him to eat some roast beef, and he was walking around,
and for a minute I thought that it was just an episode. We brought his bed out,
and eventually he laid down. I got him some blankets, and he slept soundly. I
could tell by the way he was laying that was ready to leave us. We found a vet
who would come to the house so that his last moments wouldn’t be traumatic from
having to be loaded into a car. I layed next to him for hours, and he stayed
awake with me while I petted his head, and I knew I was doing the right thing.
He went very quickly, maybe 15 seconds. The vet assured us
that he was ready. The vet and her assistant were competent and compassionate,
just who you would want to trust in such a situation.
It’s been hard ever since. I didn’t want to have a breakdown
at my parent’s house, just two days after my grandma’s funeral. I kept trying
to hold it in. We drove home yesterday, and loading the car with Primo’s stuff
but no Primo was heartbreaking. We entered the house, and the first thing we
see is the biscuit he refused to eat before we all left for Michigan. Larry
broke down and wept, and the night pretty much went like that.
When I picture us doing the things we loved—relaxing in the
back yard, making his morning and nightly meals, walking through the
neighborhood, playing with his toys, I start crying. When I remember how he
looked in that mud puddle, I feel relief. But I miss him so much and just want
to talk to him and ask him if he’s okay with my decision. Larry said that he
was so loyal that he might have rallied several more months, but not having a
lot of quality in his life.
Now we have our trip coming up in two weeks—a place we
picked specifically because it is dog friendly and because we all had such a
great time there two years ago—and Primo won’t be with us. I feel terrible
about thinking this, but I’m afraid it will only make me sad. Larry says we
should go and celebrate him and try to heal, and I agree.
He was 16, and I had him 13-1/2 years—I know I had him more
years than I should have. I am so grateful. But 13-1/2 years is the longest
relationship I’ve ever had.
I hope I can share this with you. I don’t know if I’ll ever
be happy again, and I know how crappy that sounds, but it’s how I feel. I don’t
care about anything anymore, I mean except Larry, family, and a few close friends.
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