Life Without Tashi
Part One: Hugging the Doughnut
A diary of the first few days, shared to possibly help anyone coming to terms with the worst thing in the world – that is, the death of a beloved dog.
In memory of Tashi 🐾 29/11/2007–28/06/2023
I am writing this because on the day this happened, I tried to find information on the internet to help me. I didn’t know what I was feeling, but I was inconsolable, empty, suffering. I think that something like this might have helped me to understand a bit — make me feel less alone. I did find a couple of articles, and they helped, but I feel this kind of loss/trauma — call it what you will — deserves something that goes a bit deeper. If you are going through this, I hope it helps you in some small way.
28/6/23 Wednesday
The morning started out fairly normally. Scrolling through Twitter while I had my morning coffee (a bad habit maybe) and there was a post about something that caught my attention for a moment. I posted something in response, like I do. Usual debt advice stuff. Just another day.
Then I heard Tashi moving about. Tashi, the 15.5 year old Lhasa Apso we’ve had since she was 2 months old, (apparently a Lhasa Apso is a dog of Tibetan heritage, like Dougall was from Magic Roundabout. I’ve never been fully convinced of this – she’s always been more teddy bear than dog really).
Tashi means ‘lucky’ in Tibetan (I think). When I hear the pitter-patter of her paws, it means she’s ready to do her morning business and I need to pick her up and carry her down the garden steps (she can’t manage the steps anymore due to arthritis). I place her on the grass.
While she was doing her thing, I was back scrolling through Twitter to see if there was anything else happening I needed to be aware of/annoyed about/laughing at/any cute Buitengebieden to make me smile.
Then it was time for her medication; steroid. No problem, down the hatch. Then breakfast.
At some point during breakfast, she got into difficulties and sounded like she was choking. On what I’m not sure but it wasn’t stopping.
Woke my son. ‘Tashi’s struggling, mate. I’m going to have to take her to the vets.’ While I got dressed, my son was sitting with her – barely awake – stroking her head, understanding what was going on. I tried ringing the vets, it was ten to nine and they weren’t open yet. Sod it. I jumped into the car with Tashi on the passenger seat and set off. Longest 10 minute drive of my life. Trying to drive and comfort her, she was panting one minute but really struggling to breathe the next. Less like choking now, more like needing a good cough to clear her throat.
I rang the vet again from the car park outside. Muttered something about respiratory distress. They told us to come inside.
The vet listened and said her chest sounded very wheezy. She said … ‘we could give her medication, but…’ and then she came round to my side of the table and put her arm round me. The sobs came and there wasn’t a chance of holding them back. Not a chance. Floodgates open.
You know what happened next. I held her until I felt her body relax against me and she’d gone. I told her I loved her, kissed her fluffy head, hugged the vet, thanked them, apologised to them, stroked her one last time and then left without her. Something was said about money – £300 or so – I just nodded – could have said £3000 and I would have done the same. Her ashes will be returned to me in 10 days or so.
I don’t feel right. I took the day off with my boss’s blessing and I have cried out my heart, soul, arteries and bones. Still crying now. The house is no longer right. Where is she? Her bed is empty in front of me in the lounge. I was going to wash it but couldn’t. It smells of her. I sank to the floor in the kitchen and hugged it instead.
I didn’t ever want to let her go, though I knew it was coming (as all of us who have pets know this from day one. It’s the inevitable price you pay for what is hopefully a long and joyous relationship of love). Though I know it was the Right Thing To Do, that she had a great life and was so, so loved every single day.
But that hole inside me is huge and feels like it will never be filled. I just needed to write this down for now. To record just how raw and devastated I feel. I hope in a few days I will look at this again and I will be a little bit healed and less utterly broken, because right now I can’t imagine it.
29/06/23 17.33pm
It’s been another day of tears. I worked this morning until midday and then gave up. Can’t think straight. I have some useful flexi hours which I’m pulling in now because my brain is useless.
I went for a walk with my son. All I wanted was the little bag of fluff running along with us. It bubbled up in my throat over and over. Driving back home and knowing she won’t be there when we get back. It’s the most abysmal, empty feeling.
I fill up, I cry. I don’t have the strength to hold it back. I’ve lost close family and not felt this wrung out. I’ve lost 3 pounds in the last 24 hours and I’m sure by tomorrow I’ll have lost more.
Is this normal? Why the hell does it hurt this much?
My friend came last night and we both cried as she recounted losing her dog 10 years ago. She reassured me this will start to hurt less soon, but right now I can’t believe it.
So many thoughts – I could get another dog. But it won’t be her. It feels as though Tashi is the one who has kept me together through some dreadful times over the last few years and I’m scared that I can’t/won’t cope without her.
She was at the end of her life. I knew she couldn’t go on forever, but Christ, I wanted her to. Bloodyhell, Tashi, I miss you so much and it’s only been 24 hours.
20.59
Wave after wave, it comes. I’m finding comfort from laying my head on her bed because I can smell her. And then I think I’ll make a collage of photos to put on the wall. Maybe that will help. And then I realise no matter what I do I will just miss her and the tears come and I let them go. I know I did the right thing yesterday. She couldn’t live forever. I knew it would hurt a lot when the time came. I’ve felt sad for weeks knowing it was getting nearer. Every trip to the vets, I dreaded it; every time, they said we were getting closer but as long as she was coping and we were coping on we went with the vet’s blessing. She was fading slowly, getting really old (in her 90s the vet said), and we were like her carers, making sure she was comfortable and happy and loved to the very end.
I relied on the vet 100% to be honest with me. Tell me when it’s time, I said, I don’t want her suffering on my behalf. But I also don’t want her put to sleep because she’s an inconvenience. She could never be.
22.58
Tonight, before I went to bed – strange as it may seem – I picked up Tashi’s bed and hugged it. It’s a fluffy doughnut bed and if I close my eyes, I can smell her. And it helped, just a little. I told the fluffy bed I loved it and gave it a squeeze. I’m probably mad with grief or something, but it felt right. Good night.
30/06/23 07.29
Feel numb. Eyes are swollen again. It’s another day without her.
12.41
Took my dad to his eye hospital appointment this morning. Managed to chat a bit with him and other folks in the waiting room. The gloom had receded a little but it came back. As I left my dad back at home I apologised for not being very cheerful. My dad said it can sometimes be harder to lose a pet than a human.
It’s definitely true. We had Tashi from being a 2 month old puppy. We loved her for her whole life and rarely spent a night away from her. We went on holiday and she came with us. Everywhere had to be dog-friendly. If they weren’t friendly to dogs then they weren’t friendly to us. We were a family.
I called in at a supermarket on the way home for a couple of things. By now I’m wearing my glumness quite openly. I can’t be arsed to make the effort not to. I feel sad that I don’t need anything from the pet food aisle. Everything I do makes me think of her and miss her.
And I drive home noticing every dog that I pass. I think how wonderful they all are. Each and every owner has that unique and special bond with their little or big doggie. The happy little four-legs enjoying strolls with their owners. I’m happy to see it but still feel dead inside.
A friend invited me to yoga tonight, which I thought might have been good for the soul, but I haven’t got the will.
Instead, I’m going to the cinema to watch the final Indiana Jones movie. I’ve heard mixed things. I don’t care, as long as it’s distracting.
I was nervous going out and leaving Tashi home alone these past few weeks. She was always fine but did sometimes leave a gift on the kitchen floor which was never any trouble because all that mattered was that she was fine. I guess I don’t have that worry any more.
And I find myself thinking of things to do and then I think, but this is now a world which doesn’t have Tashi in it, so what’s the point?
It’s a depression. Hopefully part of the grief cycle and I sincerely hope short-lived. Tashi wouldn’t want me to be depressed. She spent her entire life making me laugh and feel loved. Does thinking about that help? Not much. I miss her. So much.
14.51
Been looking at photos for the photo-collage I’m going to have printed. Memories and smiles and then that deep, painful sorrow that brings tears again. I’m glad. I hadn’t cried today and I don’t want to be done with tears yet.
We watched 2 squirrels play-fighting on the shed roof and I felt joy.
Now we go to see Indiana Jones. So grateful my son is here (and I told him as much) and apologised for him having to put up with his sad mum. He is the most amazing person. Just gets it, no drama.
19.23
Well Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny was great fun. Don’t let anyone put you off. It was exactly the distraction we needed and my son and I enjoyed every moment.
We drove home recounting our favourite moments and as I pulled onto the driveway I had that churning moment in my stomach – as empty as the house inside. We came in, I looked at Tashi’s fluffy grey doughnut bed and felt sad again.
I’ve had 3 messages asking how I am while I’ve been in the cinema and I’m reminded that I have so much to be thankful for. Really good friends who know how much Tashi meant to me and are checking in. I take them for granted like I took Tashi for granted. They will always be there, Tashi will always be there. And now she’s gone and no amount of this howling pain inside will bring her back.
She was so special that little one. Irreplaceable. I need to go hug the doughnut again.
22.54
I have lots of photos on my iPhone. I now have an album filled with Tashi photos and videos. And – just like yesterday, or was it this morning? – I watch the ‘memory’ video that the phone creates for me. It runs for a couple of minutes – lots of beautiful memories I will treasure and keep with me.
I told my friend I was thinking of watching Marley and Me because it might be therapeutic. She told me not to – too raw. She said to seek out a movie called A Dog’s Purpose, with Dennis Quaid. She said it’s uplifting and beautiful so I will give that a go tomorrow instead.
Time to go hug the doughnut bed and go to sleep. I haven’t slept through the night yet, but there have been a few less tears today I think.
Good night.
23.49
That said, it hurts like hell. Why do they have to leave us? I love you Tashi. I hope you knew and felt this every day.
Part Two: The Eleventeen Stages of Grief (coming when I finish writing it.)
