Will And Regret
For every measure of regret, I'd like to think she matched it - and more - with an implacable will.
The will, then, would be strong.
A family and its dog.
This wasn't an easy 14 years.
She was defiant. Yet so perpetually afraid.
She was like a wild animal. The purple tongue. Abandoned and picked from the pound by pity and not breed.
She snapped at the kids, but never hurt them.
We feared her occasional escape.
Frustrating. Middling. Jealous.
But cared for. And pitied.
I didn't always handle my frustration well.
I had never owned a dog before. I had always thought of this unconditional joy, a symbiotic relationship.
Sure, she was happy to see us, but we just could never connect.
I'd think of going outside to pet her, but instead I'd go days without touching her.
***
I should have known how the end would come.
Difficult. Unyielding.
A spirit of survival determined to navigate a mortal body broken by time.
People thought we should have done it sooner - but we knew her.
She wanted to live, and her life had been one of making life more difficult than it needed to be.
We gave her medicine. And she carried on with what seemed to be happiness. And I believe it was, as much as she knew of such a thing.
When she could no longer walk on hardwood floors or tile, it meant she could no longer move inside.
I had to wrap her in a blanket and ferry her to the door, where outside she could find traction.
This was tenable when it was warm outside. Outside ... where she liked to be.
Our modern conveniences separate us from the cycle of life.
The cold comes. It is indiscriminate.
Even toward the end, I would get frustrated that she laid at the door, looking for just another piece of food for no reason other than there was nothing else she seemed to care about.
If you petted her, she would be sniffing for food. If you didn't do it at the right time, she might bite you.
She had been deathly afraid of thunder. One night, she laid in the rain. I grabbed her to get her inside, her teeth planted into my forearm.
A dog that can't walk in the cold. That you can't touch.
I pitied her. But deep compassion that I feel for other things was either suppressed, absent or drawn into a dark void.
All that kept her alive was her will to live ... and my regret.
***
The thought: What a burden could be lifted?
Perhaps.
But not my regret.
There wouldn't be enough time to balance against the accumulation.
I tried in recent days. Her response was the same, but the knowledge that it soon wouldn't matter anymore was enough to find some purpose in it.
I looked out the window into the backyard. She had to brace her legs to use the bathroom. And she was determined to walk out there to do it.
The cold was setting in. It just couldn't carry on.
***
The end was not peaceful, as they often portray.
I should have known the fierceness of her will to survive, even in the face of such a tragic resignation. And the fear that didn't cripple her, but rather kept a crippled body in motion.
No one was prepared.
It was, unfortunately, an end emblematic of her life.
The relief of a burden lifted?
I don't feel it.
All I feel is regret.
I look out the window, and I still expect - and want - her to slowly trek on by.
I know now that, even though I can offer no evidence, I love that dog.
I wouldn't have chosen her ... but she was ours.
***
I remember the time, a few years ago, when I walked in through a back door and for reasons I can't explain, she thought I was an intruder.
She barked fiercely down the hall.
I stood still and quiet, curious what would come of it.
What would she ultimately do?
The sound advanced steadily down the hall.
Then right to the edge of the door.
She peeked around the corner and stopped.
Underneath her was a pool of pee.
She had been afraid - but she had kept coming.
And, I imagine, not knowing what she would do - or what would become of her.
What ultimately became of her was what she feared that day: death at the hands of a stranger.
And, like that day, she willed herself to fight it.
***
Her will deserves more than the legacy I can summon.
I miss her. I want to see her. I want to draw some meaning.
But the toll-taker is at the bridge - and he is paid in self-forgiveness.
It's a currency I haven't earned.
And I don't know how I could.
R.I.P, Sky
