My mother called me today while I was shaving, but I missed it, and when I picked up my cell phone, I had the text, "please call me when you have a few minutes". I had an instinctive gut feeling I knew what the call was about as I hit the send button to dial back to her, quickly running to my cell phone charger because I'm in desperate need of either a new phone or a new battery.
"Hey hon," she said to me when she picked up the phone. "Where are you?"
"I'm at home," I answered, guessing that she would want to know why I hadn't picked up the phone.
"Why didn't you pick up the phone when I called a few minutes ago?" she asked me.
"I was shaving," I told her.
"Oh? Going somewhere?"
"No, I was just a hairy beast, and it was uncomfortable."
"Ah, a hairy beast." Moment of silence. "Mike wants to know where you are shaving."
I stopped for a moment as I tried to think of something that I could say to that that would be clever and / or amusing, but could think of nothing that I felt was appropriate to say to my mother, so I said, "My face."
"Your face. Ah."
That was about all the preamble I got before she told me the news.
King, Mike's (my stepdad's) dog, had something happen to his neck. They managed to get him to the vet in time for them to diagnose it as a disc shifting. He was unable to move or do anything for himself. If he had got to the vet much later, he would have been dead by the end of the night, but they managed to get him to the vet in time.
This was weeks ago, and by the time mom called me and told me this, King was on the road to recovery. She had even invited Berni and I to come see him at the hospital, and I told her when Berni didn't work, since Berni works evenings on days when she does. Somehow, since then, we didn't talk, but I had the thought that one day I should call her up and visit King. Not last weekend, I thought, because I had to finish my NaNoWriMo. Not Monday or Tuesday, because I worked too late. It would have to be this weekend, I thought. Maybe Sunday, after I try and convince Berni to decorate our tiny Christmas tree with me.
But it seems that something happened to King on Tuesday, and although the doctors don't know what it was, he suddenly wasn't able to breathe for himself. On Wednesday, Mom and Mike made the decision to have him put down.
This is what I had expected to hear and it had very little impact on me. I had half expected it after she told me about King the first time. I tried my best to feel sad but I couldn't. There was nothing to feel sorrow for. King had lived a long and happy life, and he was in a better place.
And that's the way it would have gone, except my mom knows me, and she told me that she hadn't told me about King until today because she wanted me to have the weekend to deal with it, instead of trying to deal at work. And as I thought to myself that it wouldn't have been that hard, that I was tough and could move on easily, that I was strangely low on emotion and should be feeling more, I asked her how Maggie, our other dog, was.
"Maggie is okay," Mom said. "She's doing surprisingly well. She's stupid, though, Mike says. She gets confused some times and looks for him."
It was that start that allowed me to start feeling the release. I find death usually to be sadder because of the way that it effects those who live on, over the death of the person who died. Thinking about poor Maggie, looking for her brother who she had had for 9 years, and the miracle that she had been the dog expected to die first, since she was almost 5 by the time we got King, started something inside of me.
We talked a little bit, and she told me it was okay to cry, but I still didn't feel more than a sorrow welling up inside. Until, that is, she told me that in Spring, they're going to take his ashes and bury him underneath his favorite tree out in Radium. That was the final point. I could not get the picture in my head of King, alive and well, always a puppy although more easily tired as he got on in his years, such a pretty dog that strangers always commented on how pretty he was and asking to pet him, barking at the squirrel out at the trailer in Radium. Even though I'd been going to that trailer for years beforehand, the dogs somehow built themselves into that identity.
There was a little bit of talk after that, me asking how everyone was doing - Chris my brother doesn't know yet and I can't say anything on facebook until mom talks to him, and Mike wouldn't talk about it. Mom's doing okay but she cried through most of the phone call, which I think helped my own tears. I couldn't talk for part of it because I knew if I did I would sob, and even though I wanted to, I didn't want to.
I still have to tell Berni. She's going to be heartbroken.
"He was like your hairy brother," my mom told me. "He'll always be your Shkevikidy boy" (I no longer remember why I called him that, other than that Shkevikidy evolved from squeaky over years). When she said those things, I was finally able to feel sorrow for myself, for the dog that, despite being a cat person, I had loved, who I had always enjoyed playing with, who I had run with when he was a puppy and we went for walks, who I always walked when we went for walks, partially because he poops (pooped...) less than Maggie and partially because he had more energy, who in his earlier year couldn't wouldn't give more than a kiss or two at a time but as he got older started giving more and more.
I talk a tough game when it comes to death. It doesn't matter to me, I tell others and myself, except for on a personal level. And while that's true, while I view death as a fact of life to be fair and have accepted it, that does not make the pain of loss any less real.
It made me think though, it really made me think. I never once looked at King and though to myself, "He's going to be gone on day, and I am already afraid for that day, and will treasure this moment because I don't know when that day is." For some reason, that thought never crossed my head, even after mom told me that he had a disc shift in his neck. But I look at my cat, Katie, all the time and worry about the time in the future when she's going to be gone. I have for years - I never thought she'd live to be as old as she is. She's almost 15 years old, and I never thought she'd live past 12, being as fat as she is. She seems as well as ever but she, too will be gone one day and although I've accepted that, it does not make my fear of that day any less real. But King dying hit me so hard...I can only imagine how hard it's going to hit me when my cat dies.
I did decide one thing while on the phone with my mother, and that is that I hope that she dies before I does. She was so sad over the loss of the dog - he truly was part of the family. What would it be like if Chris or I was lost to her? I don't want to think about that. For now, the bunch of us are all still alive, sans one dog - that will not be the case forever, and I have to remember to never take them for granted.
One of the sorrows I felt was that lopi, who knew me so well, better than almost anyone, will never know King, will never meet him. Is that strange? That I was said that they would never meet?
I thought I would get to say goodbye.
I'm not even sure when the last time I saw him was. I think it was August.
Goodbye, Kingo. You will be missed. You were loved, and you were a great 'hairy brother'. I hope that, whatever is on the otherside, and I'm not even going to ponder on what it could or could not be, it is not cruel to you.
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