Life Without Tashi — part 2
The eleventeen stages of grief
It rattles on a bit, this part. And then takes a surprising turn at around 3pm on 1st July, as it dawns on me that this grief is mixed in with other griefs, which have come to the surface for some reason.
01/07/23
Another day. Another month. The usual routine but with vital elements missing. I didn’t realise how much of my day-to-day was carefully co-ordinated around Tashi. From first thing to last. A looping cycle of meds, food, water, toilet, grooming, cuddles, food, toilet, grooming, cuddles, etc. It wasn’t constant, of course; a lot of the time, she snoozed.
Tashi had a malignant tumour removed in late 2020 and she recovered magnificently. Cancer gone. The vet called her ‘the indestructible Tashi’. But she developed a cough soon after that got progressively worse. Lots of tests were taken to confirm a chronic lung condition that could be well managed with steroids and — believe it or not — a paediatric inhaler.
For a dog with a - shall we say – independent streak, she accepted having a baby’s spacer device over her face very graciously and the minute of inhaling became a moment of meditation in the morning and night for both of us (well, definitely me). She had such trust in me did Tashi.
With steroids however came weight gain. And with weight gain came impaired mobility. This got noticeable around Christmas time and the vet was concerned she may become completely immobile.
We tried a calorie-controlled diet with super-expensive vet-approved foods. It was working a bit. But Tashi loved her food, and especially human food.
One of the things I am acutely missing is her presence in the kitchen when I am cooking the evening meal. Like clockwork. Following me from fridge to oven. Sitting directly in front of the oven so I can’t possibly open the oven door without her permission. Following the plates to the dining table. Sitting by me with the expectant big eyes.
Occasionally, when she didn’t think she was going to get her share, she would let out a bark that could shatter brain cells. High-pitched, indignant ‘I’m waiting here!!’ And, yes, she might get a little scrap of something that had been saved at the side of the plate till it was cool enough to share.
In the last couple of weeks I questioned how I would know when it was Time. I genuinely didn’t know what I would do when the Time came. How the hell would I be able to drive her to the vets knowing I would be coming home alone? I thought of friends I could ask to do it for me…
I guess the final act of love was not to let her suffer. Whatever happened on that Wednesday morning, that was the moment I knew Time had arrived and the impetus to get Tashi to the vet as soon as possible was overwhelming.
No time for thinking about it. She had started to struggle and I couldn’t let her suffer one more second than necessary.
It’s 9.37 am. The morning routine is also not what it was. I cuddled the doughnut bed and said ‘Morning Tashi’ and I can still smell her, but a little bit of me feels rubbish inside because I know she’s gone. This isn’t the same. Her bed is a comforting reminder of her but — as my friend said yesterday — their personalities are so much bigger than their little bodies.
They fill us up with that warm, wonderful, absolutely unconditional love. No wonder it hurts so much when we lose them.
11.23
There is a problem with the cold water tap. No pressure and the water is coming out in a dribble. It’s taken titanic effort to ring the plumber and leave a voicemail. My goodness. Will I ever care about anything ever again?
15.49
Told my next door neighbour earlier that Tashi had gone. I said something like, ‘we haven’t got a dog any more…’
After checking my son and I are doing OK, they asked if I will get another dog.
Big question. I think the answer is yes. When? I don’t know. I’m not just missing a dog, I’m missing a particular dog.
I guess it’s like losing a human. You can’t just get another one and carry on the same. I’ve lost humans. 2019 was a bad year. I spent most of it losing a husband but, despite the heartache, I think that was a good loss. It wasn’t a happy marriage and unfortunately it was, at times, a violent and abusive one. I spent 20 years not being good enough, not posh enough, not pretty enough; ultimately not being strong enough.
I was in a forest (in my mind) and I couldn’t see daylight. I thought this was my life and my destiny and all I deserved. I had no voice and I was quite pathetic. But then I met a coach through work called Alex, who started pulling me out of the forest. She challenged my thought processes and got me to start seeing my worth. No-one was more surprised than me to discover I had some.
And He didn’t like it. He mocked me for having self-esteem and tried to pull me back down, but I’d left the forest by then and I wasn’t going back.
So for a year, I lived in my bedroom and he slept somewhere else. When I got home from work, downstairs was out of bounds. I could make food, but then had to disappear.
At the same time, I was losing my mum to cancer. She’d been great for the first 12 months or so, but in 2019 she started to go downhill.
There was a middle of the night phone call one night. She was having a double lung embolism and I was told to go to hospital straight away. My son came with me and my sister.
He (the ex) was angry because he’d been woken up by the commotion. Bastard.
My mum survived that and other bumps along the road, but there were long periods in hospital and finally the nursing home where she passed away late October 2019. (He shouted at me that day too).
Life was a cycle of work, hospital/nursing home visit, bedroom and at the end of every day, guess who was there for me, always pleased to see me, always by my side? Somehow giving me strength to keep going.
I’m not sure how I stayed sane that year. In February 2020, He was gone and there was just the 3 of us left. And, despite losing 2 humans in the space of 4 months, it was probably the happiest I’ve felt in 20 years. I felt free.
It’s that bond, (I’m talking about her again), that very special relationship that you have. No judgment, just love. And that’s what I miss, and that’s why the answer to ‘will you get another dog?’ is probably ‘yes’, but I don’t know when, because…
I haven’t cried today. Yet. But I feel really depressed and beaten up. My voice is smaller and weaker. I have no ‘oomf’. I don’t really care about things and I’m worried that, come Monday, when it’s time to log into work I still won’t care and that my time as a useful person on this planet is done. (So melodramatic…)
That can’t be right can it? People do recover from the loss of a beloved dog…right? What if I don’t though?
Oh come on Ames. Pull yourself through it. Whatever this is, it’s a stage. A transition. It’s one of the stages of grief but I don’t know which. The depressed one.
18.57
I haven’t cried today. I don’t understand how this works. I’m still sad. I’m still missing her. I’m still hugging the doughnut bed. I’ve started up a laptop I haven’t used for at least 2 years because I know there are photos of her on there, and I’m desperate to find the photos from when she was a puppy. They might be on my actual desktop PC… I have to find them.
But I’m not crying. I’m half way through A Dog’s Purpose. We’ll see.
I’m thinking that when we get her ashes back, we will do something. A memorial maybe. Plant a tree. Bury her little dog harness somewhere sacred.
Life goes on. The house is too empty and I’m almost certain this grief isn’t healthy. Or is it?
Agh, step back and step away from this way of thinking. It’s OK — whatever I’m feeling right now is OK. Wherever this journey of grief takes me will be OK. It’s all about Tashi. And me.
22.33
Just finished A Dog’s Purpose. It was all right. Still haven’t cried today and I feel bad about it. I’m not over it. This new normal still stinks.
I’m a bit steamrollered. Nothing in the tank. Neither here nor there. Found some old photos on my laptop. She was a cutey.
And I had dark brown hair once. Wow. I’d forgotten. Still haven’t found the proper puppy pics. The youngest I’ve found was 8 months old but she was pretty much full size by then. Such a beautiful dog. A great dog. Love you Tashi.
02/07/23–4.31 am
Bugger.
06.52
It’s another day. It’s changing, the grief. I can’t tell where I am right now. I did 24 hours without tears. I’m looking forward to finding more photos and putting together the collages, (plural). I think having them in the house will help.
I let the physical Tashi go. Her spirit is still here.
08.31
I’ve done some house tidying stuff, washed up, dried, put away, watered plants, emptied bins. And then:
⚠️ crazy alert ⚠️
I checked in my bedroom bin because I knew there would be recent hair trimmings in there from the last grooming session. This isn’t a gross bin by the way, only papery, plasticky things in there. And I found a small handful (post shower so all clean).
By the side of my bed I have this little cloth pouch with lavender in it — it was in a gift set with a candle. So I emptied out the lavender and put the locks of hair inside. I drew a ‘T’ on it and a paw print.
Why? I don’t know. Will it help? Unlikely. Does it make me mad? Quite possibly. But I’m OK with it. And no-one needs to know about it except you and me x
17.05
It’s moments like this. Cooking dinner. Where is she? She’s supposed to be keeping me company, keeping an eye on me, keeping me busy.
Suddenly feel very lonely and I’m not even alone. I’m taking a moment in the lounge to be near her beds (she had a choice of two, but it was most often the doughnut bed these past few weeks).
There’s also a white sheepskin rug which she was partial to. She sort of blended in and became one with it.
It hasn’t been a terrible day. I told my friend I’m in the looking-at-old-photos and house-cleaning stage of grief. I’ve loved looking back at old photos and videos. But the puppy pictures elude me. I can only conclude they must be on the desktop PC which is currently stuck on 11 of 83 updates. Can’t remember when I last switched it on and I sure as hell can’t remember my password.
But I will find a way.
18.29
This is day 4. This time last week Tashi was with us. I got close to tears again as I was plating up the evening meal, and then my son made me laugh about something and it passed.
I’m sensing that these stages of grief ebb and flow. Sometimes things are OK, sometimes the emptiness comes back. The realisation that she is utterly irreplaceable. Then rational thought peeks its head round the door and reminds me about Tashi being Very Old.
The vet said it was an ‘honour’ to be able to end an animal’s suffering. I can see that.
But I still miss her.
20.31
I tried numerous passwords and I got in! And there they were, photos from the day she arrived, from her first walkies, her first romp through the snow, her first holiday.
Barely more than a handful in size when she came to us. Together we went to Wales and Scotland, Belgium, Netherlands and France, even rode on the Metro to Paris. As long as we were close by, we were happy.
22.21
Just watched The Witcher (series 3, episode 3).
It ends, and I can feel something building. I think it’s looking at the photos of her as a puppy that did it. It’s not fair. (What’s not fair?)
That she came to us as a little puppy and lived her whole life with us. (Still not getting what’s unfair about that).
That we have to watch her grow old and die?
But that’s a good thing, my son says. We had the privilege of looking after her from start (sort of) to finish. She had a great life.
Out come the sobs again. Wasn’t expecting this. The ebb and flow. The sadness and the loss. Why can’t I just bask in the happy memories and be joyful and grateful for what this loving dog brought to our lives?
I am. I will get there.
Monday 03/07/23 07.21
Back to work today. New normal. Plumber coming. I have to try to get back into it somehow. Life must and does go on.
I feel tired. Unready. Sleep disturbed every night and the relentless sadness lurking beneath the surface. Hoping that work will be absorbing — it normally is. This has always been the great thing about being a debt adviser for me; no matter what was going on at home, I could always turn up to work and the moment a client was in front of me, I shut everything else out and activated useful mode.
19.14
I’ve done a day at work. The plumber came and fixed the tap. It was the tap and not a leak thank goodness, but I’m still down £150. It’s been a bit of an expensive week this last one. Praise the lord for credit cards. Said the debt adviser.
Work’s OK, but I’m not feeling my usual self and I’m not brimming with enthusiasm for anything. I think I manage to be a bit useful.
My boss and I have a conversation about my ‘leave’ last week. I can use flexi, or annual leave or even be off sick (I use flexi), but you don’t get compassionate leave when you lose a pet.
Wrong that, isn’t it? You lose your best mate after 15 years and your employer doesn’t officially recognise this as a moment for compassion?
Oh but it’s just an animal…? Stop it. Show me one other relationship where you never had a cross word and never felt like leaving them for over 15 years! I feel increasingly out of step.
I’m thinking that if I’d known Tashi was going to be put to sleep on Wednesday morning, I would have spoiled her rotten on Tuesday night.
I’d have given her tuna and as many biscuits as she liked. No rationing. One last night of fun.
I feel less sad today. I shared a couple of photos with people from work and it felt OK to do that. I guess I am Coming To Terms With It. Time does what it does. Writing this all out helps.
I’ve published the first part of this today and so far not had a single read. I haven’t emailed my subscribers, haven’t announced it on Twitter or Instagram. Just released it quietly into the void.
[Did share part 1 on Twitter today 08/07/23. Having thought about it, why not?]
Maybe there’s an excellent reason to not publish stuff like this. Oversharing is bad isn’t it? TMI and all that.
But this feels monumental to me. This chapter of my life started in my mid-30s, took in the whole of my 40s – Tashi even came with me on my first date (post-husband leaving), during lockdown. A walk in the park. Tashi didn’t like him and she was right not to. Eesh.
She’s been with me through so much that I can’t just ‘get over’ her not being here any more. This should take some time. It’s about Tashi, and her passing, but it’s about something else too. Something I can’t explain properly but it’s all entwined with everything I’m writing here.
Death is so final.
23.02
I come to the end of another day. I’ve been cleaning more. Working a bit this evening. Watched two Jays hopping about in the garden. I think subdued is the right word.
I’m still saying good morning and good night to the doughnut bed. Still holding it tight. Even stroked it a bit tonight, which I fully acknowledge is weird but I find it comforting.
Day 5 without Tashi done. Only 5 days and the movement through the grief stages is like white-water rafting – fast, unpredictable, scary, jolting, no time to prepare for the next bit, hanging on for dear life.
Miss you, Dogbert Dogbertson. Wish you were still here x
