|Me and Babydoll|
Another sad post here.
I've been lucky most of my life because I haven't lost too many loved ones.
Now I am of an age where my more of my friends and relatives are dying with increasing frequency. I am reminded of something my grandfather said a year before his death at 87 years of age. He said "The bad thing about getting old is that all of your friends have died and there's no one to talk to." I have never forgotten what he said and I knew it would apply to me someday. I think that day is coming.
This year on September 16th, my Mother died at 86 years of age. She would have been 87 this past Christmas Eve. This year Christmas was difficult for me.
I am now witnessing my best friend's slow descent into the fog of dementia. I am losing him. His body is still here but is mind is fading away. I don't know what is sadder: to have a friend die suddenly or to see them die a slow death this way, losing all dignity in the process. I know when he dies another part of me will die. Getting old is painful in more respects than physical. There is the heartbreak.
Perhaps I had no bigger heartbreak than the loss of one of my pet Pomeranian dogs. I know I should feel guilty saying this but I don't. The pain I feel in my heart for the loss of my Mother will never go away, But her death was different. She had a long and healthy life. Her death wasn't unexpected. She had accomplished all she set out to do in life.
My partner and I have had a total of five Pomeranian dogs during our time together. They are all gone now. We don't have any dogs now because he doesn't want to go through the pain of their loss again. Both of us miss our dogs but perhaps none more so than a silly named dog called "Babydoll."
"Babydoll" was one of two pups of our male (Horace) and female ("T" short for Tiffaney). Both Horace and "T" were 16 years old when they died. They lived a long and good life. "Babydoll" was only 11 years old when she died.
|Babydoll (on the left) with her Mom ("T") and Dad (Horace)|
By the time I was able to pry Babydoll out his his arms around noontime, her little body was stiff with rigor mortis. Bill's eyes were red and swollen from crying. I didn't know what to do. My heart was hurting not only for the loss of our loved pet but to see Bill in such pain. I wanted to do something for him but didn't know what to do.
I took her lifeless body to the basement and put her in an Igloo freezer chest for burial later.
The reason why her death has affected us so much was that it was unexpected. She was always challenging her mom for dominance (there always has to be a Head Dog) in our little trio of Pomeranians. He always teased her that she "would get her turn" when Mom ("T") kicked the bucket.
Poor Babydoll, she never got her turn.
Now this is hard for me to explain. Up until the death of this little Pomeranian dog pet we had, I never cried for anyone who died. Never. In fact, I still haven't cried for the death of either my father or my mother. I don't know why, because I was very sad when my Mother died, not so much when my father died (just telling the truth here). I miss my Mom terrible but I've never cried. I got choked up a couple of times but never cried. Heck. I cry every time I watch "Dark Victory" with Bette Davis and I know how that ends! So what is the matter with me crying like an idiot over the death of this little, four pound, ball of orange fur with a terrible, short fuse temper (and she had one, believe me.)
I don't know. Maybe there was somebody or a spirit inside that little dog that went before her time. But what I do know that is to this day, all these years later, my heart aches with a pain that has never relented for that little dog.