Farewell My Friend

The most difficult part of today was pulling my car into the driveway. As I shifted the gear into park, I too was planted, and unable to move. In my heart, I wanted to believe that when I walked through the door that you would be there to greet me. You could always tell I was home from the second I pulled into the driveway, and would go ballistic running back and forth from my mom’s room to the door, “He’s Home! He’s Home!!!” After fumbling with my keys for a few seconds the door would open and you would leap into my arms. I would drop everything to just sit down on the floor with you right then and there. I loved the way you would curl into a ball, and cozy yourself into my lap. Every day you filled my heart with so much love and joy.

I was looking forward to April this year because it would be the first anniversary of your cheating death with your surgery. I had planned a big day for us, and we were going to celebrate beating the odds and the incredible people that rallied to our support to finance your surgery. Last April things were looking pretty bleak for us bub, the animal hospital gave us 2 days to gather $4,000 to pay for your surgery. Things looked hopeless, but I would never give up on you. I poured my heart out to all my family, friends, and even some complete strangers to get the funds we needed to save you. Miraculously, the world came together for us, and we were right to hope for a chance at life! I know you hated wearing that cone after your surgery, and I was aware of the bitter memories you had attached to the cone….considering… the last time you wore one of those you came back a little lighter on your back end. However! I was as happy as can be, and when I saw you were safely home I promised myself that I would treasure every moment I had with you because we cheated death.

Things were going so well for us, and every time you were by my side I was completely present at that moment. Sadly, things took a rapid turn in the wrong direction in a matter of hours 9 months after your surgery. I noticed you were a little lethargic on Sunday evening and thought you might have had a tummy ache. I scooped you up and carried you off to bed for you to sleep with me. I tucked you in and put my arm around you. I buried my face into your soft, gray fur, as I drifted off. If I had known that it would be the last time you would sleep with me, I would have pet you the whole night.

You had stirred in the middle of the night, as you tended to do, so I let you out of my room confident that we would reunite in the morning. As my alarm sounded, and I went to get ready for work, I called your name, but you didn’t come. I immediately panicked and began searching the house for you. I thought perhaps you were in mom’s room, or somehow you got left outside, but I couldn’t find you anywhere. Then I saw you laying on your side by the dining room table, soaking in some of the morning sun. You seemed so tired my love, and when you tried to stand my heart broke to see you stumble. You have had bad stomach aches before that left you lethargic, and the vet said that happens with age, and that the best thing that we could do is fast you, and keep you hydrated. I gently picked you, and brought you over to your bed, and tucked you in with your blanket. I sat and pet you, and even went as far as to sing a Buddhist prayer to you that Asvini had taught me. She told me she would always sing it to you when you seemed upset. It made my heart skip a beat with joy when I saw you lift your head to look at me. I was confident that after a few hours of you torturing me by looking sick that you would be up and back to normal.

I sat in the living room and did some work on my laptop as I watched over you, and made sure that you were comfortable. You had no fever, and your nose was still moist, but If you were still not feeling too well by 12, I was going to take you to the vet just to be safe. I heard you start to breathe heavily so I got up to check on you and see if I could get you to drink any water. I removed the blanket and saw that you were still breathing but shallowly. I ran my fingers through your fur, and kissed you on your head as I told you, “Don’t worry bub everything is going to be okay.” Then I felt you loosen up and saw that you weren’t breathing. Desperately I rolled you over to try and give you CPR. My heart was pounding, and my eyes were blinded by tears, but God did I try to bring you back my little love.

After a few minutes, I had to force myself to walk away. I went into the kitchen gritting my teeth and crying harder than I ever had in my life. I carried you tub the tub, and bathed you to restore the brilliance to your fur, and give you that dignity and my respect. I dried you and held you in my arms as I made some of the most difficult calls of my life. First I called mom, and she nearly collapsed as I choked to get the words out. Then I called Asvini, so I could pour out the flood of emotion that I was drowning in. I thought to myself, “I am an INTJ Archetype, I am not supposed to feel like this.” My heart swelled and raged in the agony of your loss, and I surrendered myself to the reality that, “although I do not love many people or things, I loved you more than just about anything. Losing one of the few that I loved so deeply was like ripping out a piece of my soul.” Friends and family gave me their condolences to try and ease my pain and spoke about how difficult it is to lose a dog, but you were so much more than just a dog to me. It feels like I lost a son and a best friend at the same time. We have shared many different houses in our many moves, but you Fritz were what made every house a home for me. I didn’t care where we lived as long as I had you to crawl into my bed every night. Even when I was most lonely, I always had you by my side, my most loyal companion. I fell in love with you the moment I met you on Christmas Eve all those years ago.

When mom came home, we reluctantly drove away with you so that we could put you to rest. I delicately swaddled you with a blanket, and gingerly carried you in my arms. I held you close, and tight as tears rolled down my cheeks. You only weighed about 20 pounds but my body was so heavy that I could barely move let alone speak. When it came time to let your body go, the fracture in my heart spread to both ends tearing it in two.

The car ride to the house was shrouded in silence, only broken by choked echoes of a hollow pain.

Yesterday was the most difficult day in my life, and today was equally difficult, but what I realized is, “The love outweighs the loss.” Although I am devastated by the unforeseen loss of my beloved companion, the love in my heart is far greater than the pain in my chest. It is bitterly humbling to be reminded of the fleeting nature of existence, but it is that knowledge that makes our memories so sweet. I knew that we were living on borrowed time, and every day my love grew more for it. I would linger in bed a few extra minutes just to hold you close, I would begrudgingly leave my house on the sole condition that you were given your farewell kiss and hug. When I came home I would sprawl out on the floor with you not wasting another second to be reunited. You brought so much love into my life and the lives of our family. I will never say goodbye to you, only farewell. Who knows what fate has in store for us, but perhaps we will meet again. If not again in this life, maybe the next.

In my true heart, I know some bonds exceed the realm of life and death, and one of those bonds is that between a boy and his dog.

Rest easily my dear friend, and farewell for now. You will always be a part of me, and the love you gave me will always be imprinted on my soul. Thank you for being such a wonderful friend.

Rest in Peace: Frtiz Woofgang Amadeus (September 17th, 2005 — January 28th, 2019)