life and death

I have been very quiet for the past week, very sad and quite inactive. My dog, Neo (you have known him as Q-Tip) has passed away last Saturday.

Neo, my baby of weird and slightly evil love.

I could wax poetic about his many unique qualities that made him different from any other dog I've ever hugged, about how he could make me laugh and cry and yell all in one day and I'd still carry him to the bed so he could sleep by my feet, his preferred haven. There are so many silly and happy memories, and painful ones, too. There are so many strange stories of a deaf dog who, though thin as a rail and with hair as fluffy as a fussy lapdog,  could scare raccoons and dobermans and all manner of large creatures. To his dying day, the only animal he ever lost to was a skunk.

Neo is not my first pet to pass; two dogs and a sweet cat have come and gone before him. I always thought that each of their deaths was different, and it's true that each has gone a separate path. Some transform tangibly into a sad version of their former selves while others jump and prance and fight for food on their dying day. The difference with Neo was that we - Neo included - did not let him die naturally. This is the first time I have agreed to euthanize anyone, and I believe this has defined my mourning more than anything.

Neo was born deaf and as he grew, he faced a slew of health problems. The ultimate ailment was his sensitive skin... it was so sensitive that at times, his own mucus irritated him. Neo was afflicted with a mucus problem that was overtaking his body and causing contact with his skin to be painful. I knew that he was a survivor, that this skinny little dog who did not eat until he was full and slept all day was a dog who had outlasted all manners of veterinary visits and unexplainable rashes. He was strong for such a skinny dog and I knew that his physical fortitude indicated a willpower of equal strength. But last Monday, when I was washing him, I thought about euthanization for the first time as he cried uncontrollably in the tub. I had refused it flat out every time my mother had so much as mentioned it in passing. But when Neo couldn't stop crying even after I took him out of the tub, I knew this time nothing I or my mom or the vet could do would fix Neo.

I ended up crying well before Neo died. I cried a little everyday just because I was thinking about euthanization, and I cried more when I reasoned that in the end, I didn't know how to make him better. I cried when I confided in my mom and she told me she would take care of it. She would schedule an appointment on Saturday, when I was visiting my sister in Los Angeles and wouldn't be able to bawl at the veterinary office. I cried when I relinquished Neo to my mom, knowing that this was the last time I'd ever hold him. I felt like the worst mother in the world, sentencing her dog to die. The guilt overwhelmed me and I cried all the way home, unable to see through my tears. And when I opened the door and saw an empty couch, I cried again. I shed many tears before Saturday.

Crying over something that hadn't happened felt different... I was always thinking what have I done! I can still go back and get him! It added a new layer of stress and guilt that I had never experienced before. But in  this case, pushing the mourning period forward was a good thing because I did not have a lot of time after Saturday to cry. On Friday I flew out to Los Angeles for my sister's un-bridal bridal shower, hardly a time to dwell on a dog I couldn't save. I returned early Sunday, only to be besieged by cancelled flights and Sunday Streets barring my way home. Between the hours it took me to get home and a new workweek starting the next day, there was little time to reflect on Neo and what I had agreed to. I have been wanting to run out of the office and finish crying about Neo, to give him a proper sendoff in a sea of salty tears and crumpled tissues. And I won't be able to anytime soon with a flurry of engagements that I have already committed to, some that I cannot back out of without risking a family schism.

But no matter the obstacles blocking my desire to sit around and mope about Neo, I cannot just abandon my responsibilities, friends, and family to cry about something I cannot change. Neo was made of tougher stuff, and he'd expect me, his human, to be just as resilient. After all, life goes on. One love has died but there are so many others living and breathing, and I cannot cross them out. I'm not saying that I'll easily forget that little dog - I certainly do not intend to - but instead of trying to squeeze in a sobfest at the nearest break, I will be content with shedding a few tears whenever a memory of Neo strikes. Eventually, these memories won't cause tears, just as memories of other pets no longer bring sadness.

Neo in fluffier days...

As I fold laundry fresh from the dryer, I know how much Neo would have loved to sink into the warm clothes and gaze at me with his dark eyes, ears flopping to each side like graceful wings. Though a tear swells up in my eye, I wouldn't say I'm crying.