"That's Just All the Life They Get"

Leo came home from camp with this yesterday, from his friend Deanna. Why did she give this to you, Leo? I asked. "You know," Leo replied, with that tone that tells me I am NOT the smartest person he knows. "Because! Ruby's dead."

***

For me, the grief comes in waves. Of course I think about her a lot at home. There are no more dog hair tumbleweeds and no more water bowls to hide from the twins. The mudroom doesn't have that familiar "eau-de-dog" aroma anymore, even though it's only been two weeks.

I drive by the vet, Ruby's vet, every morning, to take Ellie to camp. It's where I rushed to say goodbye to her, when I got the call from Erin. And my eyes well up with tears.

Of course, I'm not doing myself any favors when I peruse our photo archives and find pictures like this:

Leo, age three. Ruby, age four.

I've been thinking about why this is so hard. And why it is I have cried every single day since Ruby died. I cry on the bus on the way to work. I cry in the car. I cried yesterday as I sat on the floor of the mudroom, scrubbing the wall next to where Ruby slept. For a few moments I wondered, as I scrubbed, if I shouldn't clean it. And keep it, as what? A shrine to our dirty dog? Before I could think about it too much the little brown line, evidence of years and years of restful naps was gone. Just like that.

I donated her food, (an almost full, thirty pound bag of the best gourmet, all-natural organic dog food money can buy) to a friend who fosters dogs. She gently refused my offer of Ruby's quite new dog bed. "Keep it for your next dog," she texted me. At first I brushed that off as ridiculous (not that there won't ever be a next dog, just that right now, that feels a long way off, and the thought of housing an extra dog bed in our already crap-packed house feels both impractical and impossible).

And yet. I kept the dog bed after all.

At night before bed I feel like I'm forgetting something. There is no one to let outside one last time. I go to close the mud room door (Ruby could be prone to accidents so she stayed in the mudroom over night and when we were out) and now, there is no need. I still expect to stumble over her and swear that I see her shuffling around the house, out of the corner of my eye.

And I've only been able to come up with this, not so profound explanation: This is hard because Ruby signals a definitive end to this chapter of our life. Yes she was the start to our little family, but she was also here when Leo and Ellie were really little kids. And when the babies were truly babies. And every day, everyone just gets a little older and every day, everything changes just a little bit (older isn't bad! I know! And neither is change!) but I still sometimes just want to freeze time and make it so that everyone always wants to snuggle and sit on my lap and put their warm, soft little hand in mine when we cross the Costco parking lot.

***

After dinner last night, Leo came bounding into the kitchen, eager to show me that he'd put on his pajamas without being asked to do so (It's a nightly discussion).

"Tell Ruby!" He exclaimed.

It took me a minute to figure out what Leo meant. Recently he's started asking us to tell certain people (those he holds in especially high regard, grandparents top the list these days) about instances when he does something good without being asked (clears the table, washes his hands, helps bring groceries inside).

"Is Ruby proud of me?" Leo asked, as he opened the freezer door in search of vanilla ice cream.

Oh! Yes! I said. Very proud! Sooo proud.

"Mommy? Is Ruby all better now? Almost?"


These questions. Oh my goodness.

Oh yes, Bub. I said.

I don't even bother to hide my tears anymore. And the kids don't even seem to notice.

Yes, I said. She's all better. She's not in any pain and she's very, very happy.

***

"It's been four years since I lost my dog and I'm just now thinking of getting another dog," an old college friend wrote to me, in response to that picture of three year old Leo and four year old Ruby. "The grief over losing an animal is so pure. You can't be angry or blame anyone, that's just all the life they get. And it was a good one, for sure."

I hope so.