Thank you Jerry.  

i just read the following on FB and it’s something that i personally saved because it resonates with me. I want to share it here too. 

“Week 8

Guilt- What does it do for anyone? Does it make you feel happy and cheerful? Does it change your behavior? Does it give you a sense of joy? Most likely, the answer to that question is a big, fat, No. Yet, there are so many of us who feel guilty when our pets die. What did I do wrong is one of the first questions that traverse your thinking. Then there are the many should have, would have, could haves that are waiting in line to assault you. I should have stayed home with him. I could have missed that game. Maybe when he wasn’t really eating that much last month, maybe that meant something. Maybe I should have done something. We all have it.

When Tucker stopped sleeping on the bed with us, prior to his diagnosis, I thought it was simply because it was cooler on the bathroom tile floor. Maybe he needed a haircut. Or maybe, he knew on some canine level, that he was sick and instinctually moved away from us to protect the pack. Whatever it was, I look back and realize that sleeping on the floor was something because it was a radical change of behavior. What could I have done? Should I have taken him to the vet earlier? Would that have made a difference? But should I feel guilty about it? Do we have any control over how much guilt we feel? What exactly is guilt? It is feeling self-conscious. It is feeling a sense of distress about something you think you did to cause a negative outcome. You worry that you have done something wrong, and you are not sure that people will view you the same, or more importantly, you won’t view yourself the same.

Guilt can also stem from the belief that you have failed to fulfill expectations—whether they are yours, or someone else’s. You are a failure. You do not deserve to be loved. You have let someone down. It’s true that the reality of the situation is you may actually have done nothing wrong. Your guilt may not reflect the effort you have put into whatever actions you engaged in. But sometimes the reality of what happened is not talking to what you think happened.

Some common causes of guilt include surviving trauma or disaster. This idea seems to fit into how we feel when a beloved pet dies. It is a trauma; it is a disaster. We feel guilty because we think we had more power to control the situation than we did. I know I felt like that. I tried to play catch up. Ok, I will make homemade food, I will find the best supplements, I will watch every move he makes like a hawk. I will record it all very neatly in my journal. It was as though every chicken liver I cooked, every shitake mushroom I boiled, every ounce of turkey tail I used would be enough. If I followed the recipes, if I read the books, if I made the food with love, then surely, surely, like the ancient Hebrews who marked their homes with blood, cancer would pass over my house and leave my Tucker alone. I figured the more love I poured into his post diagnosis care, the more likely it would be that he would be the one to cheat the reaper. It didn’t work—obviously, but the one thing I can say is that I don’t feel guilty.

I became incredibly vigilant; I started walking and recording his bowel movements—both observational and pictorial. Again, I wanted to make sure that I caught every change. If I needed to change his diet, or give him medication, or call the vet because of a suspected GI bleed, I would have all the supporting data. I am no stranger to data. I had to collect more data than I ever thought possible when I wrote my dissertation. It was as if boatloads of data, vigilance, and care would save him, but it did not really matter because no matter how detailed my notes were, or how careful I was with his food, his cancer metastasized. And I can say again that I don’t feel guilty.

Guilt can consume much like a cancer, but if you can release yourself, it will help. Unless you are an animal abuser, which you are not—by the very fact that you are on these grief sites, feeling guilty is something that many of you are all feeling. Self-reflect because under careful scrutiny, you might just find that you really do not have anything to be guilty about. One cannot heal if one is drowning in guilt. You did, or are doing the best you can.

Earlier this week I was taking a walk for the first time in a few days since it has been dumping rain where I live for days. One of my promises to Tucker as it relates to trying to heal was to walk directly into my triggers. That walk we took early in the mornings when there were no cars and even fewer people was one of the most special times. We walked and stopped at the cluster of trees with a stump. He loved the three trees and he marked all three. The trees are about a mile from the house, and I did notice that his panting was getting increasingly labored. As his disease progressed, we would stop at the tree. I would sit on the stump, and he would lie down on the ground—something he never did when he was well. When he was healthy, if I had stopped walking for a moment, he would just stand there tugging on the leash. But when he no longer did that, he took advantage of my stopping to lie down. We rested together.

I sat on the stump and thought of Tucker. I decided that I have to somehow make that tree his. I will not destroy the tree by carving his name on the bark like old-time lovers carving their initials. I was not sure how I would do it, but I knew I would find a way to make that tree his. He will continue to live there. The idea made me smile. I did not feel guilty about taking that walk without him. I did not feel that taking that walk alone would be a testament to my forgetting him. I think many people feel that if they move on with their lives, they will forget their furry friend. That can never happen No, the walk was made to honor him. And on Wednesday, I walked past the tree and hung the plaque that I made for him. And on Thursday, when I walked past it again, I smiled. Yes, there was a tear there, but I smiled just the same.

As I think about the progress of my grief journey, I am drawn to the metaphor of big amusement parks. There are certain rides in amusement parks that affect you physically and emotionally. There is a very popular ride in water parks. People are standing in a large group inside a relatively shallow pool. They are all underneath a very large bucket. Water is pouring into the bucket. At some point, the literal last straw occurs, and the bucket tips over drenching everyone who is standing underneath the bucket. Since there is no visible timer, or clock ticking off the minutes that will give you the warning, you are inevitably surprised when the water dumps on you. Screams of delight? Or shock? Whichever reaction is displayed is indicative of how you are feeling.

How does this relate to me or anyone who might be suffering with grief or experiencing the struggle being faced with a sick dog or any pet. The adrenaline gathering in your body as you uncomfortably wait for the water to spill is how I felt every time the oncologists came out to the waiting room at the hospital and took Tucker in the back. Waiting for them to do his bloodwork, check his nodes, and whatever else was happening behind that scary door felt exactly the same as anticipating the water drench. I sat, paced, or stood there waiting for the deluge of information that would assault me when they came out and moved us into the consultation room to await the doctor. “Nodes are bigger, white blood cell counts too high or too low, still anemic, protocol failing…” That anticipatory fear made my stomach fall just like the rides that mess around with G-forces.

You know those rides? The large, high roller coasters that drop suddenly-with so much force you feel your organs shifting up into your throat? Well, that is happening. Your internal organs are floating around inside your body. Some of the organs are connected with ligaments keeping them more firmly in place, but others are a little looser and filled with liquids. Under regular circumstances, your internal organs all press together because of gravity, but when you are on a roller coaster, you are in a free-fall. That means there is very little force on your body, so it is like they are weightless. It is like everything is falling individually and that is what causes that sudden sinking feeling. Everyone is surprised by that sinking feeling. That sick feeling that swirls around in your stomach and you just can’t decide if you are going to throw up or not. That sinking feeling. It is the same feeling when you get that bad news, the news that lets you know that your pet’s illness, or cancer, or condition is terminal. It is that same sinking feeling that you have when you realize that there is nothing you can do to change the outcome. Those that are able to afford whatever treatments might be available are the lucky ones, but even if you can’t, you still do not have to feel guilty.

Loving your babies, the way you do is enough for them. While they are an important part of your life, it is true that you are their whole life, and they know it, on a canine level. You know, one thing we are all guilty of is making our dogs/pets human. We anthropomorphize out pets. We talk to them like they are humans. We equate our feelings with theirs. We believe they think like we do, but they do not. They are not angry and saying, “How could you do this to me? How could you betray me like this?” They are not offering alternative treatments. They are not involved in any of the heart-ripping conversations with the vet or the oncologist, or cardiologist, or kidney experts. They trust that you will make the right decision—and you do. There is no reason for guilt. It is a common expression, one that is heard a lot in these sites, “Better a day too early, than a day too late.” I believe that is true. I could have left Tucker at the hospital. It was a Friday night, and no oncologists were on call. I could have left him there, hoping for stabilization. I could have left him there and hoped that another Elspar treatment would work to reduce his nodes from pressing onto his lungs making it hard to breathe. But why? He was not responding to any treatment. He was agitated in the ER. The oxygen was not helping. The sedative was not helping. I made a decision. I do not feel guilty. In fact, I do not feel guilty about any decision I made. I believe the absence of guilt is on my side in this healing journey.

Tucker, it is 8 weeks, two months to the day that you left. I still cry daily. I still think of you all the time. I still miss you. It is still silent when I walk in the house, but yesterday, when I was talking about you to Frank (remember Frank, he called you Tucky Boy) I smiled. I showed him some pictures, and I smiled. You brought so much to my life, Nubby, that how can I not smile when I think you. And I will continue to love you and miss you for the rest of my life.”

@Louise

I’m really sorry to hear about your loss of  Kaya. I know that when that day finally comes for Ophelia, and it will no matter how successful her cancer treatment is, that it will take me a long time to grieve her loss.  I think about it every day.  It’s sad, but it also helps keep me in the present with her, and to make her THE priority.  It sounds like Kaya had that kind of life too.  Lots of love.  Lots of experiences.  Lots of tail wags and belly rubs.  That’s all that we can really do no matter how long our dogs live or what illness finally takes them.  All we can do is our best.  

@sally.  Thank you. This community has been invaluable for both Ophelia and myself.  

Ophelia really enjoyed the first snow of the season!  Figure that i will share some videos.