The Love of a Good Dog
On the evening of the worst day of my life, the day I found my son's no longer breathing body, my wonderful, terrified for me, supportive man brought me to his then home. The shaking had started as soon as we left my brother's house, where my parents were waiting for me, where two advocates from the sheriff's department were waiting to check in with me, where I had to do something almost equally as awful as the events of that May 16, 2010 day. I had to call my daughter, where she was stationed in England with the USAF. I had to tell my girl that her baby brother was gone. I had to speak the words out loud. I had to clutch the phone, willing my arms and heart to her across an ocean of pain and helplessness, as I heard her screams.
So, after all of that, on the evening of the day my son died, my partner drove me to his home. I remember sitting low in the passenger seat. I remember at some point, how the chattering of my teeth reached my brain, and my brain recognized that it was own body making the noises. I remember how he carefully helped me make my way out of the car and into the house, how I somehow stumbled into the bedroom, crawling on top of the comforter and curling into a ball. I remember Cartman, his sweet, lovable Choco-Pit following us through the house, whining, his brown eyes watching intently.
My shaking had intensified. My body was finally giving in to the images flash frozen in my eyes, the smells and sounds and textures that would flash in my mind, a horror movie that would play over and again in my mind, all the worse because it was real and sometimes impossible to shut off.
I tried to stop shaking. I knew Chad's eyes were upon me, that his heart was breaking with loss and fear that he could quite possibly lose me as I lost my heart in the face of what had happened.
The tremors grew stronger, and I finally quit fighting. I remember thinking, almost laughing, but how inappropriate would laughter be on this worst of worst days, that my shaking was much like the shaking that took over my body when I was in labor with my son. My life with my son, beginning and ending with uncontrollable shaking.
As I lay there, I wondered how I would make it through one more minute of the pain that was rending me. My body was going into shock, taking over because my heart and mind were in way over capacity. I remember Chad asking if he should call 9-1-1, if I should go to the hospital. I remember shaking my head in adamant denial. I couldn't do one more thing.
And then, Cartman jumped onto the bed beside me. "No! Get down," Chad yelled, but Cartman ignored the direction and crawled right onto me, tucking his wet nose behind my neck, laying his whole weight protectively across me. The shaking lessened, and I moved so I could wrap my arms around ninety pounds of comfort. This giant canine, so tuned in to the man who had raised him from a puppy, was taking care of the woman he loved.
I'm not sure how long it took for my body to finally still, but Cartman was there the whole time. At some point, Chad had curled up around us, holding me tightly in a nest of love and support that was keeping me from flying away.
From that day forward, Cartman's daily directive from my now husband has been to 'watch the girl'. Every day, Cartman has remained by my side, following me from bathroom to kitchen, waiting at the door for my return from chores, and tripping me often as he watches 'the girl'.
Cartman is fourteen now, almost nine and a half years after the death of my son. This afternoon, I am lying on the floor beside his shaking body as he struggles. His shaking eased once he was able to lie down on the blue checkered dog bed, his wet nose tucked in the space behind my neck.
Fourteen is old for a dog, especially one of his size. The last six months we have watched as our sweet Cartman has aged, his eyes failing, his hearing softening, his legs unable some days to get him up the steps.
I don't know if today is his last day, but I know that it is probably sooner than later. I know that when this amazing, insightful boy leaves us, that I will be heartbroken in a way that I cannot let myself think of until I absolutely must. I know my son will be waiting for him, ready to throw a ball and feed him treats in Heaven.
This is the first I have written of what happened that day. Though I wrote of my emotional truths through the fictional story of Mara and Zane, up until today I have been unable to write about the factual ones. Somehow, with my brown companion snuggled beside me, taking comfort from my whispers and pats of love, I knew that today was the day I needed to write this piece.
Forgive me if there are errors I have missed in my revisions. They were made through a wall of tears, the warmth of my boy supporting me, even as he struggles.
So, after all of that, on the evening of the day my son died, my partner drove me to his home. I remember sitting low in the passenger seat. I remember at some point, how the chattering of my teeth reached my brain, and my brain recognized that it was own body making the noises. I remember how he carefully helped me make my way out of the car and into the house, how I somehow stumbled into the bedroom, crawling on top of the comforter and curling into a ball. I remember Cartman, his sweet, lovable Choco-Pit following us through the house, whining, his brown eyes watching intently.
My shaking had intensified. My body was finally giving in to the images flash frozen in my eyes, the smells and sounds and textures that would flash in my mind, a horror movie that would play over and again in my mind, all the worse because it was real and sometimes impossible to shut off.
I tried to stop shaking. I knew Chad's eyes were upon me, that his heart was breaking with loss and fear that he could quite possibly lose me as I lost my heart in the face of what had happened.
The tremors grew stronger, and I finally quit fighting. I remember thinking, almost laughing, but how inappropriate would laughter be on this worst of worst days, that my shaking was much like the shaking that took over my body when I was in labor with my son. My life with my son, beginning and ending with uncontrollable shaking.
As I lay there, I wondered how I would make it through one more minute of the pain that was rending me. My body was going into shock, taking over because my heart and mind were in way over capacity. I remember Chad asking if he should call 9-1-1, if I should go to the hospital. I remember shaking my head in adamant denial. I couldn't do one more thing.
And then, Cartman jumped onto the bed beside me. "No! Get down," Chad yelled, but Cartman ignored the direction and crawled right onto me, tucking his wet nose behind my neck, laying his whole weight protectively across me. The shaking lessened, and I moved so I could wrap my arms around ninety pounds of comfort. This giant canine, so tuned in to the man who had raised him from a puppy, was taking care of the woman he loved.
I'm not sure how long it took for my body to finally still, but Cartman was there the whole time. At some point, Chad had curled up around us, holding me tightly in a nest of love and support that was keeping me from flying away.
From that day forward, Cartman's daily directive from my now husband has been to 'watch the girl'. Every day, Cartman has remained by my side, following me from bathroom to kitchen, waiting at the door for my return from chores, and tripping me often as he watches 'the girl'.
Cartman is fourteen now, almost nine and a half years after the death of my son. This afternoon, I am lying on the floor beside his shaking body as he struggles. His shaking eased once he was able to lie down on the blue checkered dog bed, his wet nose tucked in the space behind my neck.
Fourteen is old for a dog, especially one of his size. The last six months we have watched as our sweet Cartman has aged, his eyes failing, his hearing softening, his legs unable some days to get him up the steps.
I don't know if today is his last day, but I know that it is probably sooner than later. I know that when this amazing, insightful boy leaves us, that I will be heartbroken in a way that I cannot let myself think of until I absolutely must. I know my son will be waiting for him, ready to throw a ball and feed him treats in Heaven.This is the first I have written of what happened that day. Though I wrote of my emotional truths through the fictional story of Mara and Zane, up until today I have been unable to write about the factual ones. Somehow, with my brown companion snuggled beside me, taking comfort from my whispers and pats of love, I knew that today was the day I needed to write this piece.
Forgive me if there are errors I have missed in my revisions. They were made through a wall of tears, the warmth of my boy supporting me, even as he struggles.
Oh Kristine. My heart is breaking for you.
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