Dear
Oliver,
I
miss you. I feel like a weight is sitting right on my top of my heart. Sometimes, I feel like I can’t breathe and that
pain takes me by surprise. I knew it would hurt, but I didn’t expect it to hurt
this much. Your absence is everywhere. And the silence is so loud. Can silence scream? Because I feel like it is. That silence, that
absence is the loudest thing about you; and you were anything but a
loud dog. I feel like this whole house
is mourning. The walls, the floors, even the woods outside. Everything is in agony, waiting for you to
come back. But, you won’t. And I know somewhere deep, deep, buried in my
heart that you are where you need to be.
I
was 22 years-old and returning home from college when gg and Poppy finally said
I could get a dog. I had begged and groveled
since I was five years-old. On every
birthday, on every Christmas I asked for a dog.
I remember driving down Route 152 with gg the day we rescued you. We were on our way to Baltimore to pick out a
chocolate lab pup, when our car just sort of veered left onto Connolly Road. We
could not stop thinking about that beagle/hound puppy (seriously, we will never
know what you were, but it didn’t matter) that we had visited the day before. You stole our hearts. Your mom was heartworm positive, you had
mange, and a wrinkly body that had just started growing back fur; and you
needed someone to love you. And it was
impossible to do anything but. You needed us.
And we didn’t know how much we would need you.
It
kills me that I can’t remember every second spent with you. Only snippets. Flashing memories that make me laugh. You jumping, bounding, LEAPING off the front porch or
back deck when we would let you outside.
I swear you were the fastest dog in the world. We could only describe you as a
bat-out-of-hell. Taking off in the woods
to chase the squirrels and the birds. You
never caught them, but it didn’t matter.
The fun was all in the chase. You
loved dirty, smelly diapers. I don’t get
it and I never will and boy, did it
make us mad. But, now I just laugh. When we moved into our first townhouse years
ago, you peed in almost every single room.
Multiple times. It was like you
were staging your own sort of protest, exchanging picket signs for urine. You wanted to move back to the country with
woods, and acres, and grass that you could ruin, and squirrels! How
about when we lost you in Rocks? You
were only a puppy, barely 6 months old.
Five days you were gone. I
probably made 50 colored posters emblazoned with your poor puppy face, posted
everywhere in northern Harford County. We got daily calls about Oliver sightings,
but they never panned out. And we lived
in state of agony, losing hope each day. Then, on the 5th day it was
a like a miracle. We were driving
through Rocks looking for you and we got a phone call from your Uncle Ben. He was screaming and saying that your Pop Pop
had just spotted you on a road right next to us. And then we looked up from our car and there
you were. Standing right in the middle of the road. I got out to get you and of course you ran,
again, like a bat-out-of-hell. You were
so scared. gg took off after you in her
car, throwing dog food out the window, yelling “Puppy treat!” (This reenactment
always makes your sister laugh and laugh).
Somehow you stopped, and you got in the car, with your bloody paws,
shaking like a leaf. Of course, you always
shook. All. The. Time. You were scared of something that haunted you. I will never know what happened to you before
we rescued you. But, whatever it was
shook you to the core and part of you never recovered. But, I know you’re not shaking now.
It’s
been an excruciating 4 weeks, maybe more, of watching your body fail. We tried, buddy. God, did we try. Daddy thought it was “time” a week ago and I couldn’t
do it. I couldn’t let you go. I close my eyes and picture you going
batshit-crazy in the woods, having the time of your life. But, that’s the thing. You haven’t been “that” Oliver in a long
time. When we took you last night, the
vets were so busy and we waited for what seemed like forever in that little
room with you. We could have got frustrated but, we didn’t. Because in those 40 minutes of waiting, you were at peace. It was the first time in 11 years that you
didn’t shake. Not once. We held you and you were somehow telling us that
it was ok. I thank GOD that those vets
were so busy last night. That time spent
with us loving you, giving only you attention, brought you a peace that I am so
grateful for. My hands are shaking as I
type, buddy, because I have never felt such truth in a statement before. And then you went. Just like that. So quiet into the night. And at that moment, I knew: we did the right thing for
you. Because now you’re in a better
place, in a better state than what you were four days ago, four weeks
ago. Are you chasing that mythical cat
that you could never find? Are you
running like a bat-out-of-hell chasing those squirrels that you could never,
ever catch? Or are you laying out,
stretching all your limbs, and basking in rays of golden sunshine? That’s what
I like to think and what I will believe.
Oliver,
I pray that you know how much you meant to our little family. When “life” and your sister and brother came
along and stole your spotlight; I hope you know that we never, ever stopped loving
you. Not for one single second. We never
will. Thank you, Oliver. Thank you.
Thank you. Thank you. You were a good dog.
You were a best friend. You lived a great life. And I will love you for the rest of mine.
Love,
Mom
