My beloved doggie ChooChoo is dead. I loved her more than I love most humans. She was a reminder of my growing up in Atlanta, together with my family. She was always there to comfort me with her fluffy cuddly self, when my family couldn't or when they were the problem. Yesterday when I found out she passed, I cried all day and woke up with very bloated red eyes. My students told me I looked like I'd been smoking dope.
I remember thinking as a teen, ChooChoo will die someday, when I'm in my twenties, or with luck, my early thirties. I wondered what kind of person I would be then, what my husband would look like, and what my life would be like without her. It seemed so far away. That's why it was such a shock to find out that ChooChoo had gotten old and ill, that the time had finally come. She stayed unusually young - puppy-like - for a long time. It was like this with my grandma, too. She was such a sprightly 70-something. But then when illness hit, old age caught up to her and she deteriorated so quickly...
It feels silly, to grieve so much for a dog. But she was a part of the family, and in some ways she held us together. I worry for my parents, who must be devastated at the loss. My mom told me they will get a fish to replace her. I wanted to tell her, No, don't do it, as I thought of the time I saw a fish die before my eyes, in painful slo-mo, and how traumatized I was by it. But everything beloved dies, it's part of the cycle of life, as they say. And I guess it could be worse. There is an age you reach when death arrives in rapid succession. Your parents are long dead, your friends are dying one by one, and you've outlived your spouse. All that remains is your own death. How burdensome that knowledge must feel! If only death didn't come with all those emotional strings attached - the missing, the grieving, the heaviness, all the regrets and what-ifs...