The SECOND Worst Thing

I have been writing this update in my head since Wednesday.  I just haven't been able to do it because it's the SECOND worst thing.

We had to put my mom's beloved dog, Puna, down on Wednesday.  Suddenly.  Without planning or preparation. With lots and lots of tears.

If you've known mom at all in the last 13 years you've known Puna.  She rescued him a month before I graduated from college and he took his place as favorite child instantly.  He has been my mom's constant, her heart, her safe-place through the rollercoaster of the past 13 years.  He was there for my marriage, our move, mom's retirement, her diagnosis, her move, and her new life here.  They were an extension of each other. 

So much so, it seems, that he was plagued with the same disease she was... neurological decline. What we thought had been a stroke a couple of weeks ago quickly spiraled into a clear quality of life issue.  I got an urgent call at work at 1:55pm Wednesday that the dog was not doing well.  I rushed to her, we loaded into my van, and headed to the vet.  What unfolded was painful, beautiful, and a testament to the good that lives in the world. 

Our vet honors mom, and although he knows that I will be paying the bills and decoding the lingo to her, he always speaks directly to her.  He honors her love of her sweet dog and is more compassionate that I knew possible.  When he told her the most humane thing would be to put the dog down I thought my mom would collapse, but even as her cognition declines her strong spirit remains.  She knew she had to do what was right by her dog.  We cried, we told stories, we said goodbye.  The women that work with our vet not only gave us the space and time we needed but then wept with us, honoring the powerful love that my mom and Puna shared.  They got it.  They felt it with us.  They felt it with me.  In what has been the clearest moment yet that our roles have reversed those women made me feel less alone in the shitty place of parenting your parent. 

Jay called The Lodge ahead of us to prepare the way for mom's grief, which we knew would be deep.  We walked the painful path back to her apartment and I sat with her as she wept and wept and wept.  We gathered up donations to take to the SPCA of treats and leashes and blankets.  I knew I would need to eventually leave to get back to work for Wednesday night programming.  When I finally slipped out of her room I was greeted by a gaggle of employees from the owner to the executive director waiting to jump in and wrap mom in love. 

They created a memorial for the dog as they do for residents. 

Y'all, they created a MEMORIAL for a DOG to help my mom through this.  They get her.  They get how hard this is.  They are saints.  The love and care she gets from a million sides gives me the peace I need to walk through this.  She has been busy. No one lets her sit too long because that is when the pain starts to seep in.  They let her cry and help her keep going. 

I am not sure what loosing Puna means for us.  It's been one of my biggest fears for a long time.  So far, the pain of this loss is being wrapped up in love and grace and compassion from all sides. 

As we held Puna during his last minutes my mom turned to me, looked me directly in the eyes, and told me, "this has been the worst month of my life; first my dad dies, then my mom, then my sister, and now my dog." She is experiencing all of her greatest losses at once.  My grandfather, her dad, died in the early 1980's.  My aunt, her sister, died in 2001.  My grandmother, her mom, died in 2006.  In her mind, it's all been this month.

This disease does some cruel things but so far, this is the cruelest.  There is no telling my mom differently, this is what she believes is true, this is what her brain is telling her, this is HER reality.  I can only sit in it with her and hold space for that unimaginable pain. 

So there it is.  What many of us were utterly afraid of, has happened.  My mom has proved her resilience even in the most heartbreaking of circumstances.  I am once again grateful for the ways that people extend compassion and kindness and work tirelessly to give my mom dignity in a million ways.

Puna, as much as you smelled bad and drove me crazy for ALL of my adult life...  I am grateful for what you were for my mom: a constant source of love and connection through unimaginable life changes.  I believe you saved her, time and time again... thank you for being the companion she needed on this leg of her journey.