It’s been almost two weeks now since Remy left us. My cousins went home last Wednesday, and since then, I’ve been trying to get back to normalcy. Except that normalcy is now a new and different normalcy. I have been sleeping better, but I still find myself getting up in the middle of the night, stepping carefully by my bed so as to not step on Remy. Yesterday afternoon, I heard the doggie door and for a split second I wondered whether it was Remy or Martin climbing through. When it’s time for breakfast or dinner, Martin hardly even let’s me know that he’s hungry. He’s always been the patient one, waiting for Remy to sound the dinner bell with her monkey noises.

I find myself doing weird mental games too. Like the other day, I was thinking about how fortunate I was that someone turned in my new iPhone after I’d left it at the comedy club. I was so stressed about losing it, and yet, if I could trade that stupid phone for having Remy back, even with all her middle-of-the-night wake-ups, I would. I know, why does my brain make these kind of barters? They don’t make any sense. One has absolutely nothing to do with the other really. I suppose it’s just the selfish part of me wishing she were still here at all cost. I know she gave us everything she had. I know the final years were a real struggle for her. I know it was time. And yet, I sometimes feel so inconsolable in my grief. Death is a weird thing that way. As inevitable and as expected as it is, when it finally happens, the impact is just so goddamn overwhelming. Remy never talked to me in the same thoughtful, engaging, intellectual, and conversational way my human besties did, but she was always with me, waiting for me and welcoming me home. Even when I was busy or traveling or moody or just plain absent-minded, she never got upset or spiteful or angry. She asked for so little and gave so damn much. She was so much more attuned to me than I ever even realized. Yeah, I’m probably anthropomorphising here. A little. I feel such emptiness and sadness. I just don’t know how to let go.

I ran into my next door neighbor this afternoon, and I could barely keep my composure explaining that we had put Remy down on April 1. The vet office mailed me a letter and bill saying that Remy’s ashes are ready for pickup. It seems like a simple enough task to swing by and pick up her ashes, and a part of me feels rather ridiculous worrying about a minor meltdown. I feel like I should be able to do this without incident. I intend to try tomorrow. We’ll see.

Everything happened so fast. Just last week, Remy was still making her way to the park. She was still waking me in the early morning to get her breakfast kibble. She was still snorting about the house sniffing for snacks. How quickly things change.

Yesterday afternoon, John and I took Remy to the vet. She had had a fifth seizure (the third within a 24-hr period) last Friday, and then on Sunday, after we started her on anti-seizure meds, her mobility got progressively worse. She was starting to whimper throughout the nights, and she wasn’t able to put weight on either her front or back end. When we took her in on Tuesday, the doctor checked her legs and by the way her paws contracted downwards, he said she was definitely exhibiting neurological issues. Given her age, he suspected a brain tumor in addition to her arthritis and overall physical decline due to age. He explained that we really only had two options: put her down or continue to tweak the meds with the goal of making her as comfortable as possible (but without expecting her mobility to return). We deliberated and then concluded it was time.

The process itself was awful: three techs came in, each jabbing numerous times for a vein in her hind leg and then front leg. After a gabillion pokes, three jars of turkey baby food, and a final yelp from Remy, they finally hit the vein. Then, they shot in the anesthesia, and she was gone in 10 seconds. I couldn’t believe… so much time to arrive at the decision, then waiting an eternity for the techs to come in, then all those jabs (I nearly aborted after they had so much difficulty finding the vein), and just like that, she was gone. It was one of the most heart-wrenching moments of my life. I was kneeling there on the floor with her– petting and comforting her and then suddenly she was lifeless– her fur was still so soft and luxurious. Her eyes were still open. I couldn’t believe she was gone.

I know it was time. For the last few days, Remy hadn’t slept well and she whimpered a lot during the night. I tried everything but just could not soothe her. Before that and before all the seizures last week, she was restless– shifting positions, walking unsteadily up and down the hall, going outside, coming back in… Still, a part of me wonders: did I let her go too late? Maybe too soon? I know, all these questions and doubts are moot now. I am just so so sad that she is gone.

The weather yesterday felt strangely ominous. Rain in the morning; sunshine in the afternoon (I carried her out to the front lawn to soak up some rays); then when we returned home from the vet, it started pouring. It rained heavily all through the night. I felt like the skies were mourning with us. Today, the sun shined brightly, and puffy clouds dotted the blue sky. The universe was telling me something maybe…

All day today, I sobbed at random: in the shower, at the public restroom, at the park, in the car. My eyes are so swollen, my eyelids are now nonexistent. My buddy P says I look like I had an allergic reaction. When I look in the mirror, I see someone who’s been punched in both eyes. People say anguish is part of the grieving process.

P and I went to Seal Point Park this afternoon before her flight home. When J and I lived in Foster City, we used to drive the dogs to the dog park there. They loved all the different smells, especially the salty scents by the Bay. I think of all the beautiful places we took Remy. She found such joy in the simple pleasures: sunshine, a light breeze, fields of tall grass, a car ride. She really was such a good dog. I miss her so so much. I keep reminding myself it was time for her. She was such a fighter. I mean, in the last four years alone, she rebounded from liver failure (twice), idiopathic vestibular disease, choking (twice), seizures, arthritis, neurological disease, lameness… she was still mentally lucid but physically exhausted. I was exhausted.

I don’t really believe in heaven for humans, but maybe such a place exists for dogs. I hope that Remy is frolicking in lush, green fields holding her head up to blue skies, and with eyes closed, crinkling her nose as she takes in the glorious scents of heaven. Good bye, my sweet Remy. Thank you for enriching my life with such love, warmth, and friendship.

Shiit, no sooner after I completed my last post did I face yet another unexpected turnaround. Remy had a second episode tonight at 9:30pm. I happened to be on the phone with Bubbey: she came into the office and abruptly left. The behavior was a bit odd, so I followed her down the hallway and into the bedroom. She settled awkwardly and uncomfortably into her usual spot on my plush, pink bathrobe, and then seconds later, she was on her side wailing again. I immediately got off the phone and started videoing the occurrence. After seeing this happen like ten times, I finally have the smarts to capture as much as I can on video for the vet.

Remy’s never had this happen in such close intervals. Wth?? John called back, and I just started crying. Goddammit, why is this happening? I thought I was ok with the generic explanation that this is just what happens with old age, but that’s not enough! What has changed in her day-to-day? Why now, after a month and a half-long respite? Ugh!!!

I can’t sleep now. Tonight, I lie awake wondering whether I still believe that quote, “It’s better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all.” Really?? Is it better? If this pain now is any indication of the pain that will ultimately come, I… I don’t know what I’ll do. I used to think that as people and animals age, it’ll be easier to let them go, because they’ll have lived a full life. But tonight, I’m wondering if it’ll actually be harder because after all the years, the bond is fucking strong. Even focusing on the good life and the treasured history, the loss will hurt a ton.

No, I’m not going down that path of catastrophic thinking right now… I know Remy is still kicking, and I am grateful for yet another day. But I won’t deny the little bit of foreshadowing here. Hours ago, I felt strong and ready. Now, a bit less so. Yes, tomorrow is a new opportunity to tweak some things. I hope Remy will feel better.

I’m always fascinated by how quickly a paradigm can shift when you talk to people about dogs. Having lived with my beloved R & M for the last 16+ years, I often catch myself assuming that everyone is a dog owner. I suspect that people with kids adopt a similar approach: their children become such an integral, ubiquitous part of their lives that they forget not EVERYONE has that same life experience.

Several months ago, I was walking the dogs at the neighborhood park. Mind you, Remy and Martin are about a different as two dogs can look. One is a shepherd/shiba mix with caramel/black coloring and a dense, fluffy coat and pointed ears. The other is a lab/pointer mix with short, dark chocolate brown fur and floppy ears. I remember these two adults approached and asked me if the dogs were related. Uh, no. They are no related AT ALL. Duh! Afterwards, on the walk home, I just chuckled to myself: boy, those people really know nothing about dogs! Haha. But it was a good reminder I think to just realize the flaw in my assumptions.

Several weeks ago, I was walking with R & M at the park again. Remy was walking in her usual, somewhat belabored manner. To me, because she’s walking, I am amazed by how well she’s doing. But to strangers who look at the fluidity and speed of other dogs running around at the park, there is something wrong with Remy. They always have this serious look of concern on their faces. Sometimes, they will even feel compelled to ask, “What’s wrong with your dog? Is she ok?” I can sense that they are partly wondering, “Who is this chick, walking so far ahead to the park, playing on her phone, while her dog clearly looks uncomfortable and is struggling?” (I walk several yards behind Martin, because he’s eager to get there, and several yards ahead of Remy because I don’t want to rush her so she just moves at her own pace). I feel like inside they are judging me as a dog owner. Then I explain that Remy is 16-years old: she has arthritis but the vet tells me to keep exercising her so her muscles don’t atrophy. Immediately, their demeanor changes and their paradigm shifts. I propel from being a sub-par, negligent dog owner to a frickin’ hero. “Wow, you have taken such good care of her for her to live to such an age!” Isn’t that funny how people’s judgement can swing so quickly from one extreme to another with one explanatory statement? I think it’s so interesting, and it reminds me of Steven Covey’s book on the habits of effective people. If I’m recalling accurately, he tells about a time when he’s riding a public bus. There’s a father riding the bus with his two pre-schooler kids. The kids are bouncing off the walls, completely out of control, and the father just sits there in a stupor. People start giving him irritated looks like, “Wtf? Control your goddamn kids.” Then someone asks him if those are his kids. He replies that yes, they are. Their mother just died at the hospital. And immediately, the tone shifts from one of contempt to sympathy. I guess in both cases, I am reminded to give people the benefit of the doubt. Really, you don’t know the story until you ask.

This evening, Remy had another episode- the third one in a week. Before when this happened, I used to panic and then shake and cry. Now, I know that the moment only lasts a minute, and then it’s over. Later in the day, she’ll be back to her old, curious, snack-seeking self. Sure, I wish I had definitive answers as to why and what was causing all of this. I write notes in my calendar to try and observe patterns. For some reason, I feel less stressed by all the unknowns. Maybe I’m becoming comfortable with uncertainty. I mean, I still look things up, and tonight I searched for “syncope after meals.” Interestingly, with people, sometimes syncope occurs due to sudden drop in blood pressure or change in heart rate. It can be postprandial hypotension where syncope occurs after a meal when blood floods to the intestine for digestion, or it might be postural hypotension (which occurs with old people), where prolonged standing causes changes in blood pressure that the body has trouble managing. I really don’t know. Remy does stand when she eats from her bowl. I elevate her bowl because it’s supposedly better for her neck, plus I thought it was good to strengthen her hind legs, but I dunno. Starting tomorrow, I’m going to try two things: feed Remy smaller, more frequent meals  and maybe have her move around the house to get it so she isn’t just standing still (vs. walking). I suspect the blood pressure is different standing vs. walking?? We’ll see what happens.