Long ago, almost thirteen years ago, I learned for the first time (but surely not the last) that the loss of someone you love just hurts. It really hurts. And there’s nothing you can do to prepare for it. Sometimes you’ll get a call–a terrible, life-changing call–from a police officer who tells you that your beloved died suddenly in an accident. I haven’t experienced that. Other times, you have two, three years to prepare for the death of someone you love. And here’s what I’ve found out: all that prep time doesn’t really help.

About a year ago I posted about our younger dog, Hoshi. Though I don’t talk about myself too much on this blog, I make exceptions when the personal issue I’m facing is a universal one, an issue that almost everyone faces. Hoshi fits the bill: he’s a little dog, not yet three, who was diagnosed at eight weeks with a terrifying heart condition, and given a life expectancy of 2-3 years. He’ll be three this June.

Recently, Hoshi has taken a turn for the worse. He was hospitalized for a night because he developed edema which severely inhibited his breathing, and even now, after many tests and new prescriptions, he is underweight, easily fatigued, and not really back on track. His personality and appetite are both intact, so for now we are in a semi-stable position. But if either one of those life signs go away, we will be faced with the harrowing Ultimate Conversation that pet owners inevitably have with their veterinarians.

And wouldn’t you know it, I have learned nothing from my past experiences with grief and loss. I find myself trying to prepare for what’s coming, as if I could. I tell myself that if I spend time with Hoshi, hold him, play with him, stay with him, my grief will sting less when his time comes. But I know this is a delusion. I am bracing for impact, but I know that it’s not going to work. When Hoshi departs from our household, it will be wrenching. It will be awful.

We try to bargain with…with what? God? Maybe. Or we bargain with ourselves, or with the person/creature we love who is dying. We try to prepare ourselves for the dark day when that person/creature–that lovely being–will depart from our midst. But it’s no good. Bracing for impact doesn’t work.

And it shouldn’t. As hard as it is, grief is the price we pay for love and intimacy (h/t to Bob Deits). As awful as it will be, I do not want to avoid my grief for this little dog. I want his delightful self to exact its full price on my heart and soul. And I mean it! My grief will deepen my appreciation for the color and joy and frivolity that he gave me, simply by being his full and wonderful self in my life.

So…if someone you know is facing death, it’s natural for you to try to prepare, to brace for impact. And though it’s a futile effort, that’s one way you show your love. It is an expression of your best self, your true self. And then, when that dark day dawns, you will be hurt. It happens to all of us. But I think you and I can agree on something:

It’s really, really worth it!!

Hoshi

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This entry was posted on Friday, April 3rd, 2009 at 6:34 pm and is filed under Feeling Mad, Sad, or Afraid. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.