Three years have passed and the pain never goes away. Much love my little ObiWan 💜 Originally posted on 12/27/2017

My son and I walked into a shabby pet store where the animals were in cages stacked one atop another and stopped in front of the one containing two long haired chihuahua puppies. We fell in love with the sable one. He was adorable, tiny, and three hundred dollars. He was an impulse buy. I regretted the price but I’ve never regretted the purchase.

Obi-Wan. Obi for short and Obi-Wan Kenobi when he was in trouble. He became a part of this family in a way I didn’t appreciate fully until November 26, 2017. He was 16 years old. He was the only real pet our kids have ever known.

That dog was stoic and serious but could fetch the ball like a golden retriever. He enraged me by always eating the brown and yellow Kibbles and Bits but leaving his bowl full of the red ones he didn’t like. He spent a good portion of his life outside but slowly managed to weasel his way into living full-time inside as he grew older. His bark at strangers and other dogs conveyed that he clearly thought he was much bigger than his 7 pounds. The vet took to using a muzzle because he was a little ball of fury if he felt it was needed. His expressive eyes were the color of melted chocolate and his paw pads were as soft as worn leather buttons.

I wasn’t expecting the depth of grief and pain I have been experiencing every day, every minute. The sharp, sudden pain pierces my chest at random moments throughout the day. Sleep brings no peace because my dreams vacillate between real memories and nightmares that clearly symbolize the guilt, fear, sadness, and anguish I am unable to process in waking moments.

I remember studying grief in college and was most struck by the idea that, though there are 5 definitive stages, they can overlap and even move forward and backwards and up and down. I can attest that this is most certainly true and that this stacked and random pattern prevents any solace from believing I’m almost through it.

Denial/Isolation:

The fog of surrealism is heavy as I’ve wandered from room, to porch, to the street corner I used take Obi to walk around. I want to hide from human contact as even the benign “How are you?” from an unsuspecting cashier can trigger a flood of tears I barely hold back until I’ve reached the car. I’m not doing well but know they don’t want or need to hear that. I have brief moments when I my brain hasn’t processed the reality. I’m not even aware of those milliseconds of peace until I snap back into the searing pain of grief like a rubber band that’s been pulled too far. There is nowhere safe to hide as every waking and sleeping minute is embedded with thoughts of Obi-Wan. Sometimes he is right at the forefront like a painful vision I can’t escape. Other times he is in the back of my mind like a nagging thought I can’t quite put my finger on. Always, it comes thundering back and catches the breath painfully in my throat.

Anger:

This one is the easiest for me because, as my friend said, I’m more comfortable with anger than I am with sadness. A harsh analysis of my personality, to say the least. I struggle with containing my desire to lash out at everyone I blame. I’m furious with the vet for not putting up the least resistance when we carried him in on that cold night. I get it. He was old and any intervention didn’t make much sense but the whole process felt too cold and mechanical for my liking. I’m pissed at anyone who thinks this was a good idea. I’m angry that I didn’t put up more of a fight against everyone who rationalized that it was for the best. While I was convinced it was the right thing to do at the time, I’m not so sure now. I have irrational rage for anyone who tells me that he isn’t suffering anymore because more than anything I am angry at myself because I betrayed his trust.

Bargaining:

I would give anything to turn back time. I tell myself that I would love him more. I don’t care how much of a pain in the ass he had become. I would gladly bathe him daily without complaint. I know I would carry him around like a baby if it brought him back and gave me more time. I would pick out the red Kibbles he detested by hand. I would insist on the surgery they advised against because of his age. I would gladly wipe his shitty ass and hold him up when his back legs faltered as he squatted.

Depression:

I’ve never had to deal with death of any close family member so I feel keenly selfish in that my unadulterated grief is over a dog. I feel sad every moment of the day. Sometimes the sadness is acute and searing, sometimes it is faded and wispy like an apparition in the background of my laughter. I can’t even begin to describe how often I think of him and how embedded he was in my daily routine. I have to stop myself when I start to walk towards his bed to watch him sleep; something I did multiple times a day. I force myself to throw out the dinner scraps that would have gone to his bowl in a futile attempt to get him to eat those fucking red ones. I choke back the urge to say “Obi-Wan!” in excited anticipation of seeing him as we approach our building. I avoid the loud clangs and bangs that used to startle him until I realize there is no need. I can imagine the weight and heft of his little body like a phantom limb, knowing I’ll never feel it again in reality.

Acceptance:

This one is the most elusive and fleeting. It is quicker than a hummingbird. I feel it and it’s gone before I recognize what it was. There is a numbness that follows the fraction of a moment that my brain accepts the truth. The physical pain was unexpected. The grip in my chest, the burn in my eyes, and the labored breaths are not imagined but very real aches and soreness. A huge step towards an alcoholic’s recovery is the ability to acknowledge and recognize their behaviors. Having studied grief, I can identify, with precision, the exact stage(s) I’m experiencing at any given moment. This doesn’t do shit to alleviate the anguish.

I have felt every single stage acutely and they have been layered in the most painful ways conceivable. The zig zag route the pain takes does not even afford the glimpse of any light at the end of the tunnel. I know it must be there, I just can’t see it. So, I’ll smile and continue on in hopes that one day I won’t be faking it. Obi, I love you and miss you a million times more than I could have ever imagined. 💋