It has been said by many people many times, that giving your whole heart to someone is dangerous.
And at the very end, your heart ends up a little less than whole, no matter what.
Grief is something which I'm not familiar with. My first brush with death was wholly unexpected. Snowy, faithful as he is, left us on the 10th of September, two years ago. It doesn't bring tears now, but once upon a time, it did. Snowy will be remembered, for as long as I live.
Waffle was out replacement dog. She was brought into our house with my mother commenting on how black her snout was. My brother couldn't care less, my father thought her too clingy. But the little bundle of brown fur brought us all joy, day by day, she seeped into the hearts of us all.
She grew up into a fine young lady. Being hyperactive like she always is, she took great pride in chasing after cars (ours), chasing after bikes (mine) and the pizza delivery guy (PizzaHut's). She spazzes out professionally whenever the postman comes closer than he should and she greets dog-lovers with sloppy licks. She liked dog-treats... mostly as bribes from said dog-lovers.
I regret not having spent more time with her. Having her greet me with a rapid succession of barks, saliva and tail, it became something I took for granted. I hardly ever took her for walks , and the longest time we've gone together was when I took her to the vet... It was also our last.
Despite medication and furious force-feeding, she became so sick she didn't have the strength to wag that infamous tail of hers anymore. The last few days of her life was probably filled with resignation... She had, after all, known that her time had come.
Sad, that was what her eyes said. I didn't understand them, I couldn't possibly have deserved her. Probably that's why she left. My punishment, yet I couldn't help but feel that God was just a little too hard on me.
Because two days after the 2nd Death Day for Snowy, fresh tears flowed for Waffle.
I may have known it'd happen all along, but that didn't mean I had to accept it. When the news first reached my ears, my initial shock turned into a sort of regretful grief. I wasn't known at school for anything less then happy-go-lucky, but I was far from happy and even further away from lucky.
Being told of the death is much, much different than seeing the dead. In my mind, Waffle was still prancing about in all her living glory. Seeing her stiff and dead... that was a different story. The deep, dark eyes I've come to love was dried up and lifeless, her legs sticking out in a awkward manner. I've never touched an actual stiff dead body before, and I certainly don't want a repeat.
She loved being scratched behind her ears. She loved me baby-talking to her, cupping her face with my hands and bringing out noses together. She took great joy in attempting to lick my face, though most of the time I'd allow only a small lick. Waffle was, I can honestly say, my dog.
My biggest regret was not getting to say good bye. While I filled out stupid forms and talked to the SPCA person (who was smoking, by the way), my dog was 'being disposed of'. I had missed both my dog's death and her 'funeral'. Coincidence?
Somehow the absence of a farewell makes thing less 'official'. It doesn't really feel as though she had left me forever, because now that I think about it, she hadn't. She'd live on. She'd lick my tears away and prance about again. She'd live on.
♥In Loving Memory♥
●Waffle●
Written 12th September 2009
