Letting go
We have noticed signs of dementia in our senior dog, Honey, over the past year and there have been occasional shifts in her levels of agitation. But this weekend was tough.
I attributed it to the full moon when I heard her barking at 4am yesterday. But then she spent the entire day being restless and bothering her best friend. She was more than anxious. Being loved, having me nearby, my frequent pets, the way I hold her face in my hands and look deep into her eyes and then kiss her, providing extra snacks and treats, staying with Ella in her room while she studied… none of our typical routine and reassurances soothed her.
Research is my comfort zone. When I learned that Honey had also been restless throughout last night with Ella (good luck at school on this dreary rainy Monday morning with such little sleep… sorry), I turned to information. When do you know. What are the signs of dementia that allow you, persuade you, convince you to let go.
When you read an article with a long list of symptoms and all but one registers, you kind of have a feeling that you have landed in the appropriate spot. We know she has dementia. But I was also looking for some kind of knowledge, some sign from the universe. The article (https://olddoghaven.org/dementia-in-senior-dogs-2/) mentioned two things: the light in their eyes and fear.
(Fear. This is what I now see in Honey’s eyes. I could not have grasped that simple fact without guidance. But when something is so very true it can make you catch your breath. I realized I was holding mine and did not want to exhale for fear it would be true.)
The author also, very wisely, suggested that people not attempt to dissuade themselves from the signs that are obviously present.
(But I am very good at talking myself out of seeing the bad stuff so this may or may not resonate. At this time, I am unwilling to confirm or deny. And I’m hungry. It must be time to make breakfast. Yes, I must find something else to do and think about. Food is very self-soothing and I need some kind of nourishment before I hit the gym today.)
When J.P. returned from taking Ella to school, I asked him to read the article and share his thoughts. I was busy prepping my egg and moving about the kitchen looking for things to move or clean or something.
He came over to me and hugged me. While I love his hugs, I understood that this one was provided as a comfort, an easement into a preface of saying something that he knows I don’t wish to hear. He had noticed the light diminishing in her eyes this weekend. Seen it, felt it, witnessed it but had not shared knowing that sometimes I need to come to these things on my own before I am willing, able, open to accept them. One cannot wish away the truth.
Honey saved me. She provided me strength and comfort and guidance and love when I was most in need. J.P. believes Honey helped bring me to him. She made me acutely aware of the sadness and despair and hopelessness of my previous marriage. She shone the light on the lack of feelings, of love, of any interest or ability to be present for me or my daughters. She was my wonder woman superhero in disguise. She was nearby when I ended my marriage. She guarded our rooms, our space, our hearts, our lives.
It is too easy to draw parallels and comparisons between my mother and Honey. It is too painful to acknowledge that both struggle with dementia and there is nothing I can do to help, change, placate. All I can do is love.
(Both of these signs: fear and the diminishing light in one’s eyes. I have seen both in my mom but so very much in the past year. Sometimes I have wondered if she is still there, somewhere deep down. She has moments of smiles and lightness but they are rare and so very different from the eyes that have held my gaze from the moment of my birth. It is difficult to explain but so apparent when you experience it.)
And I am grateful that when the time comes to make a decision for Honey, we have that ability, capacity, legality to let her go in love and respect and dignity. I will see how today goes. I am not yet ready to call Lisa (our beloved vet) as I am not yet ready to tell the girls. Speaking it in hushed tones in the kitchen with J.P. this morning was the first step. Perhaps the hardest and I try to busy myself and kick out the thoughts racing in my brain.
A call to Macy at college will perhaps come later today. A warning given in love and sadness. A wish that she was closer to home, to be here to say goodbye. But she has loved Honey so very much over the years and Honey slept in Macy’s room, next to her bed when she was home. Whenever there was a thunderstorm or fireworks, Honey took off to Macy’s room and stayed in her favorite corner. Once Macy left for school, Honey had to adjust. She had to make a sharp left turn into Ella’s room- not so easy for an old gal. Sometimes she forgets and goes straight into Macy’s room and then turns and heads into Ella’s room. When Honey sees Ella, she smiles. Ella keeps a warm fleece blanket on her floor. Honey needs her girls to help her through her worries. She has been so very loved and cherished. And beyond special. The feeling is mutual.
I think Ella may already know. We made passing comments over the weekend about how Honey has changed. About how she wakes in the middle of the night and is confused and lost. How she barks at nothing and stares into space. How we sometimes have to find her outside, touch her to let her know we are there. She now jumps, startled, scared. We guide her back inside. She appears confused, lost sometimes angry, definitely agitated.
Sameness in all living creatures. I never leave my mom’s side any more without wishing and hoping for her quick and painless shift to be with my father. Peace for all living things. Kindness found in letting go.
Letting go seems such a weird phrase. As if you are making a decision, choice, an allowance. As if you are not screaming inside yourself as to why this is happening. As if you would not take on any fight to alter the course of events. But not letting go, forcing an extended stay, perhaps prolonging or advancing the pain and anguish for the one that needs to be permitted to leave. On their own terms. In their own way.
May all of us be released from this world, set free, let go, with care and compassion. The next act may well be worthy.