Lessons in Life and Death

Hello My Darling Boy,

I have been putting off this letter for near two weeks now. It was just too hard to bring myself to write about this.  I am writing today to let you know about the day that Ellie, one of our beloved dogs, died.  I cringe even having to say that word. It is the end all, be all. It makes it final and I am not too sure I am ready to acknowledge that, but I must, in honor of her memory, and before the passage of time steals away all the good memories. 

When you read back on this in years to come, I want you to know what a sensitive child you are (were). How kind and caring you were from the very beginning of you life, and how I know that in the future you will still be that caring person. So here is the story of your first experience with the death of a loved one.

Ellie had been having problems with her back for the last 8 months or so. She was a doxie, so they tend to have those sorts of problems. It is the luck of the draw and Ellie drew the short stick. I want you to know we tried so hard to make her better. We got her a back surgery in September and nursed her back to health over weeks and weeks of cage rest, we did everything we were supposed to do. She was supposed to be fine, but fate had other plans. March came, and Ellie had been "healed" for months, then suddenly she started to lose power in her legs once again. We knew immediately what it was and we were devastated. We took her to a surgeon specialist to see if there was anything, short of multiple surgeries, that would most likely drastically reduce her quality of life, that could be done. The surgeon suggested 6 weeks of cage rest and then a different surgery.

We did everything we could. Kept her still, carried her outside to go potty, took her to work with us. Held her, loved her, everything, but it was not enough. We were two weeks away from being able to get her that second surgery. Two Weeks. She was doing great, healing so well, then that dreaded final weekend came. She swiftly went from being the best she had been in weeks, to not being able to walk at all. She was completely paralyzed. Daddy and I knew that Sunday that we had run out of humane options. We were devastated to say the least.

That evening, I held Ellie on my lap on the porch trying to spend every last moment with her. You were helping daddy do yard chores. I sat on the porch crying. You saw me crying and came over to me and tilted your head with a sad face and asked "Mama Sad?" I just nodded and cried harder. You wrapped your arms around me and gave me a big hug and said "I'm Sorry Mama." That was it. I completely broke down. I was overwhelmed with not only sadness, but also amazed at your kindness and ability to sympathize at just this tender age of two. I was so proud of you in that moment, and yet so profoundly sad at the same time because of what was going on.

The following morning was Ellie's last day on earth with us. I knew you did not really understand what was going on, but I made sure that you got to tell her goodbye. I did not want to complicate things by using analogies of death that you would not be able to understand, or worse that would scare you.  I told you that Ellie was very sick and had been for a while and that she would not be here when you got back from school. I told you to give her a kiss and tell her good bye, which you cheerily did like you always did. It broke my heart. I bawled the whole way to your daycare even when dropping you off.  Then back home I went to give Ellie the best last hour that I could. I took her outside so she could enjoy the fresh spring air and sunshine and the smells and sounds of the birds calling. I sat with her on a blanket under the blossoming tree in our backyard. I held her, I stroked her lovingly as I always have done when we sat together. I talked to her and told her what a good girl she was and how much I loved her. I cried and cried.

It is always so hard to say goodbye. Even worse is when you have to make that decision for another living creature. I hate it. No matter what you do, you never feel you did the right thing. I always feel like, "what gives me the right to decide life and death for another living being?" It's one of the most difficult decisions I have ever had to make, and the sad thing is that I know in my heart many more difficult decisions will have to be made in life. Daddy and I have been grieving the death of Ellie for the past two weeks. The worst part was that I knew that you would ask about her eventually. I tip toed on eggshells trying to not even mention her name because I knew that you would hear her name and then remember and ask where she was. I knew I would have to explain to my two year old child what death is, and how could I possibly do that? How could I make you understand. To be quite honest I do not think you really know what it means, but maybe that is for the best.

The day finally came...about 5 days after her passing...that you said "Ellie Sleeping?" because you realized you had not seen her in quite some time. The dreaded day had come. Thankfully I had had a few days to grieve and cry a lot of my feelings out and I had time to think of what I would say to you when this day came. I just told you again that Ellie was very sick and that she had died and that meant that she can't come back anymore. I told you that we were very sad about this and that we loved and missed her very much. You did not say anything, but just looked at me, processing what I had said. Almost every day since, you will ask for Bailey our other dog, and I will tell you where he is at the time; sleeping, outside, with daddy, etc, and then you will tell me matter of factually, "Ellie Died." It is hard to have to hear you say it nearly every day, but I know you are just trying to understand. I am not sure you can understand, but I do not know of any other way. Every time you say it, I tell you yes, she did and we are very sad and we love and miss her very much. Thankfully you quickly move on to your next fleeting thought, but that after-blow to my heart stays with me for quite sometime. I am actually quite thankful that you can't feel what we feel. You can't truly feel the hurt of losing her.

We feel a great loss and hole in our life right now, for we have lost a family member. Dogs are not just animals to our family, they are members of the family and so we grieve just as we had lost a human member. Here are some things that I never want to forget about our sweet Ellie girl:

How she snuggled around our necks like a scarf
Her clicking toes and prancing whenever she wanted something
Her silky ears
How fast she used to run out the door
How she loved to sunbathe in the yard
How she used to be sweet with Bailey and clean his ears
How she tried to comfort you when you were an infant when you were crying
How she was always so patient with you and tolerated your hugs and pets
How she would eat anything
How she was a fighter (survived eating rat poison, allergic reaction to shots, and first back surgery)
Her beautiful coat
How she liked to burrow down beneath the covers and sleep there all night
That she never let Bailey play (always barked the whole time)
How she used to like to burrow under daddy's sweatshirt and nap there when we watched TV at night
How well behaved she was and how I could take her into work without any problems
How she loved her walks

There are many more, and I will have to have Daddy add to this list. In any case, I hope that when you look back at this letter when you are older, you can see what a loving sensitive child you were, and how I love that about you. I love having a sweet caring boy. I hope you never lose that part of you. I hope the world never hardens you and takes that away. In some ways I think writing this letter to you is helping me heal. Just another way that you are a blessing in my life.

Hugs and Kisses and Love forever and ever,
~Mama~