GRIEF - mental suffering or distress over affliction or loss; sharp sorrow.
It’s Friday. We lost our girl on Monday, and no, he’s not okay. Neither are we.
The silence is deafening. Coming down the stairs in the morning is the worst. When Elsa was with us there was much physical routine in place for her assistance and safety. In the morning, I would get up and let both Riggs and her out of their “safety bed pen.” Riggs would charge out and dive on the bed, waking my husband. I’d get the sling around Elsa and help her to her feet. Riggs would speed down the stairs ahead of us, like lightening. I always say “you can’t even see him, he goes so fast.” I’d get Elsa set at the top of the stairs, preparing to go down. Taking most of her weight with the sling in the last couple of months, we’d head down.
She would go immediately to the water bowl, trying to quench her insatiable thirst (from her failing kidneys). Then she’d head out, pee and take her time maneuvering the patio door. She was terrified of falling; so we had runners and bath rugs everywhere. Elsa would then go to the couch and put her front feet up, waiting for my help to get her up. Once situated comfortably, it was morning treat time.
After morning snack was had by both Elsa and Riggs; we settled down in our appropriate places. With coffee in hand, I often had no room to even drink my coffee. With Elsa tight at my right side and Riggs quite literally on top of me happily smiling away, there was no room for a cup. Elsa was notorious for attention seeking head nudges, so I was always prepared for my coffee to go flying. “Guys, Mommy can’t drink her coffee,” I would tell them. They didn’t care, they were where they wanted to be. By my side.
The first morning after, was the worst. It was sheer silence, no huffing, no heavy breathing, no lifting, adjusting, assisting…nothing. This morning, Riggs remained in bed with Dad. He is sleeping with us now. He didn’t come down with me. After I got my coffee I noticed him standing at the top of the stairs and called to him, he didn’t come down. When he finally did come down, he didn’t want his morning snack. He quickly curled up in a small ball, in Elsa’s spot by my side and let out a sigh.
Riggs is in a state of deep grief. He joined our family when Elsa was 7.5 years old and lived by her side for the rest of her life. I’ve not had to deal with sibling grief like this before and it is, to be honest, heartbreaking. He has his small moments of joy but even then it is not the exhuberant joy that there once was. Will it come back? I surely hope so.
Most of you have seen his huge smiles. I realized lastnight that we have only seen one very small smile since she left us.
Riggs has always been a cup half full guy. He is a worrier, mostly about monsters getting us. But he is joyful; I mean crazy joyful. He loves life and seems to be thrilled each morning when we come downstairs. His deep sorrow has caused me to control where and when I become emotional. We are also trying very hard to minimize the use of her name. It is not easy but we are trying very hard, for him. I don’t think constantly hearing “Elsa” is good for his heart.
Riggs has always been an extremely emotional guy. He is without a doubt my emotional support dog; without ever being asked to be that. Anytime I am the least bit upset; he runs to me, throws his head on my chest and tries to climb inside me, pretty much. He does his best attempt at fixing me. He is truly unbelievable. Before a tear drops, before I say anything, he knows.
He’s hurting, it is easy to see when you know your dog as well as we do. He spent his hours cleaning her ears, checking on all of her bumps, cleaning her face and just generally tending to her. When she started her demand barking he would go to her to try to solve her problem. But now he is lost.
I went out for the first time yesterday; not knowing how he would deal with it. I have a camera set up so that I can see and hear him; and if need be, talk to him. I was gone an hour and he did fine. His behavior did change from what he use to do but he lay quiet on the front dog bed waitng for my return. When I did return I had to downplay it.
Writing is therapy for me; so bear with me as I share our loss journey with you all.
If you didn’t see Elsa’s eulogy blog, click here.