I never fail to be astonished by grief.

Some devastating event will occur, and within minutes the world around continues on as if nothing has happened.

I recall my wife’s anger when her Mother died. Anger not at the event itself but the normality that surrounded it.

‘The ocean continues to roll in and out; waves hit the shore, and nothing seems to change yet so much has suddenly changed for all of us who have lost a beloved friend and relative.’ She commented.

Yesterday we lost another beloved friend.

Billy, our Maltese/Silky Cross, had graced our lives for sixteen plus years. I guess he must have decided that his time had come, he just stopped eating and over a period of four days reached a point where he could hardly stand up.

We saw the Vet two days into his fasting. She said that there was little chance of his appetite returning, but we hoped for a miracle. To see that once lively animal reduced to such a sad state forced us into the inevitable decision.

Yesterday morning we sat in the Vet’s ant-room. The Nurse explained the procedure as Hazel cuddled Billy on her lap.

‘I’ll take him into Surgery and prepare him for a needle. There will be two injections, a strong sedative that will ensure he feels no pain and a second to euthanase.’

It all seemed so matter of fact. Did they not appreciate that this was the end of a life  and not some routine car service? We sat there in tears as Billy slept soundly cradled in my wife’s arms.

The Nurse gently lifted him up without waking him. A couple of minutes later he was back, a tube strapped to his front leg. The experienced hands of the Nurse moved swiftly. First, the sedative was linked and delivered and then the coup de grace. A quick check with the stethoscope and the words, ‘He’s gone.’

Billy died the most serene of deaths. His quality of life had deserted him and he had nothing left. I know that if I die as peacefully, I will be content.

What a chasm had been left in our lives. We left the Vet’s devastated at our loss but reassured that we had done the right thing. Now the priority was to return to normality. We went to our local Shopping Centre and commenced the weekly grocery shop, Inevitably we met people we knew who commented on how upset we appeared to be and, of course, we had to give them an explanation.

Then we had to go home and advise our children that Billy had gone and our house would no longer echo to his welcoming bark next time they visited.

Just two old people living normal, even hum-drum lives. Today we don’t feel normal and the atmosphere surrounding us is not the same. the sense of loss is overwhelming. Of course, we know the reality is that life goes on but, without our companion fixture of the last sixteen years it will be a different life.

I share my wife’s sorrow, and I empathize with her feeling of anger. The world should NOT be the same, the waves should take a moment to pause out of respect, that will not happen, and Billy’s memory will fade into an infrequent faded sepia flashback.

For now, though it is raw and real whilst the cherished memories this little black and white dog has given us will become his enduring legacy.

Thank you, Billy.

 

RAY  DOYLE                                                                                           Friday 02 December 2017