What depths of pain can the human heart fathom?
This doesn't have much to do with being in the military, although not being permanently settled has some effect. So, I am off subject today for good reason.
On Saturday, I lost one of the sweetest gifts I have ever received: my dear Bonne.
Those who have not known the sweet, gentle, loving and playful spirit of a dog won't understand the severe grief I am now in. I write only to distract, as nothing seems to hold any joy for me at this moment. I know what should and should not bring happiness, but I can't help but ache at the mere thought of anything. I want to shut down.
Bonne came into my life shortly before Christmas when I was 12 years old. I had just lost a friend, and Bonne came to lift me up. She was smaller than my hand, but full of it. I know that she picked me, as she came out of her litter to come to me.
This little dog was the only creature that I shared every thought with. She knew when I was in pain, and cuddled accordingly. She knew when I was happy, and played. She had emotions, and she let me know if she was mad, or sad. After leaving her for almost a year without visits, I returned, and she let me know her displeasure by her behavior.
I can't tell you all that she was to me, and me alone, but I can say that I would almost equivocate her death with losing a child. There, I said it, it is pretty much that tough. I raised her. I was her guardian, and she was mine. She was present through deaths in the family, and graduation from high-school and college. She approved of my husband before we were engaged. She loved all of my kids, and waited to see each one come home. She saw the Grand Canyon with me. I was playing with her when I sprained my ankle. She helped me practice my tennis serves by fetching the ball. She came to tennis tournaments with me. (I would have had her walk down the aisle with me at my wedding if I could have.) She slept by my feet or by my side every night since I was married. She slept as close to me as possible when I lived with my mom because she was forced to stay outside. She followed me to the bathroom when I was there. She stayed in the kitchen when I was there. She slept beside me when I nursed my kids. There's just no end to how good she was to me.
Since Saturday, she has not been with me. She died in my arms in our car when the vet injected her with anesthesia. She was old at 17, and in pain, and I chose that day to get her out of pain, but I am now in greater pain than I have ever experienced in my life.
I know what people may say, and that some may never understand how much pain I feel at losing her. There's no doubt that some would call me crazy, but I know something they don't: even though she does not have the manner of speaking, or creating, or living that we as humans do, she had every ounce of emotional closeness that often humans lack. She had more soul than many people I know. She was more than just a doll, or a figment of my imagination. Her love for me, and mine for her was incredibly real. She didn't just care for anybody: I was her favorite. She was fully capable of loving others, though, and she especially liked children when she was able to keep-up with them.
If you are a skeptic, I could never convince you, but write I must. So, I am admitting that the grief I feel for her is like, and possibly more, than that I would feel for a human with the same circumstances surrounding her life. She was closer than a sister to me for 17 years, yet she was childlike in the fact that she depended on me for so much. I believe she needed me as much as I needed her. I raised her from puppy-dom, and so I could have been like a mother to her. Our relationship was complex and sublime. We were together all the time. Any moment that I wasn't with her, she was on my mind. Even on mundane days where she would lie on her bed while I went about all my other business of raising my kids and keeping the house, we had a bond.
Now, she is gone, and everything- absolutely everything feels painful. Laundry feels painful because I used to do it for her. We put our first offer on a house on Friday, and I don't want to even think about it because she died the next day. I look at where she pottied in the back yard and it hurts. I turn off the heat, and it hurts. I can't eat and sleep isn't fruitful. No movie can take my mind off of her. Movies that I would have really enjoyed before are just noise. I love my kids, without a doubt, but loving them and enjoying them hurts because I'm doing it without her. My Bonne was a treasure.
I would give anything to have her back, except, my kids and my husband. I don't have a million, but I would find that money if it could bring her back.
Losing her is more painful than losing my skin. It's soul ache.
This post is just a stream of thought: not complete, not fully organized. Just me writing as I dwell over my painful loss.
I LOVE YOU, Little BONNE!
