What I didn't expect

I did not know how much it would hurt to say goodbye to Percy. I think I should have known, but I didn't.

I didn't know that I'd miss the click-click of his long nails against our hardwood floors. I didn't know how nice it was to have a food vacuum at the ready during each and every mealtime.

I didn't know that reflexively, early in the morning and around 3:30 each afternoon, I'd start to head over to feed him before remembering that he isn't here. I didn't know that come 8:30 each night, when the sky is black and the house is quiet, I'd miss his warm little body curled contentedly next to mine, his rough little snout emitting sweet snorts and happy sighs.

I didn't know expect that the house would seem quieter or that even Nutmeg appears to feel the absence. I didn't know how instantaneously the tears would come when I picture Percy's big eyes full of nothing but love or how much my heart would ache (break?) anew each time I think about him wondering where we are, when we're coming back.

I didn't know how awful this would all feel or that one should never, if possible, say goodbye to a longtime pet and a longtime home in the same week. In February. When the snow continues to fall and sometimes your stuck inside for a whole day and you look around for your oldest "baby" and he isn't there anymore.

I have often thought, over the years, that having a dog carries with it the same heavy expectations of constant joy as does motherhood. That if you have a dog and you don't love it, there is something wrong with you. I got used to faking it; better to extol the good fortune and bliss of having a dog than to feel castigating eyes wash over me when I shared my true feelings.

I didn't realize, as intensely as I do now, how I often faked it to Percy, too. That I didn't show that I resented the peeing, barking, begging and watchful, ever-hopeful eyes that made my shoulders droop in guilt and obligation. That it's not enough to love your dog in theory all the time, but in reality mostly after 8pm. Some of my tears are for the ways I let him down in those ways, over the years. Some come from my sense of having failed him, others from failing the ways I "should have" enjoyed him. And others, as I'm coming to see, flow because loving and caring for anything for more than a decade doesn't make saying goodbye, even though doing so was right, easy in any way.

The emotional maelstrom of this week -of saying goodbye to Percy, of losing a family member in a sudden, violent way, in packing my home and helping my boys acknowledge our mutual sadness while also being brave about all of these things- has been so much harder than I anticipated. I think I planned everything so well that I forgot to consider how I'd really feel about it all.

And how I feel is pretty shitty. 

I have so much to be grateful for, and I am trying to hold all of that front of mind. But, like motherhood and dog ownership, staying positive is sometimes easier said than done. So I'm trying to be kind to myself and patient, too. When the boys aren't watching, I let the tears come. I think there's healing in letting pain course through instead of within. 

This week I have been reminded, repeatedly, that I have so many good friends and a most marvelous husband. That they are there when I'm at my weakest, ugly-cry self and that I'm not failing them if I show that lesser side. I don't trust that enough. Don't trust them enough, I guess. And I should. 

My Percy is gone, and I did not expect to be so sad about it. But we know that he is getting so much of what he deserves more than we were able to give it to him. I'm so grateful to Suzanne for this gift. I am grateful to my friends and T for letting me do nothing but lean on them. I am grateful to my boys for making a magical, funny video memorial to our house today; we will treasure it always. I am grateful to know myself a little better now and a few new life lessons too. And I am grateful that this week is almost over because really, it's been a bear.