Saying aloha to a friend can be painful, especially when that friend has been at your side for 15 years. Zeus was my best friend.
It’s been a month since we said goodbye to our beautiful black Labrador, and the pain has yet to ease. I still find myself staring at the door where he greeted me every morning, hoping he’ll be there - but he’s not. I picture his gentle eyes, his wagging tail and his loving smile - but I know they are only images burned in my memory.
There is much emptiness, but sweet memories fill the void.
***
Two weeks ago I sat on my living room floor in front of my laptop with a heavy heart. I’m not sure what flowed more freely that evening, my words or my tears, as I shared our family’s tremendous loss with all of you.
Frankly, I hesitated to write a column about the death of my black Labrador Zeus. I questioned if I was overstepping my role as an ocean-related columnist. I was exposing a very raw and emotional chapter of my personal life for all to read, and it had nothing to do with the Pacific blue. In a bizarre way, I felt vulnerable not knowing how my sadness would be received.
My worries were quickly put to rest first by MidWeek editors Don Chapman and Terri Hefner, then by publisher Ron Nagasawa and finally by many of you.
Simply stated, my family and I were blown away by the heartfelt e-mails, greeting cards, phone calls and letters we received and continue to receive. I truly had no idea so many island residents have endured the roller coaster of emotions that one experiences following the loss of their best friend.
***
Our family is hurting once again after saying goodbye to a special member of our family, our sweet Nui. But while we ache, we also embrace and celebrate the memories made with our gentle Thai ridgeback. She wouldn’t want it any other way.
Several years ago, I shared a very personal story in this column about the loss of my dear friend Zeus. In January 2010, I made the most painful decision of my life when I let him go. He was suffering, and he deserved to leave this world with dignity.
Many of you expressed your condolences about our Labrador’s passing. Some of you even opened your hearts and talked about your losses. I read each email and letter with deep appreciation, and I thanked all of you individually because your well wishes and stories helped in our recovery, and eventually allowed us to move forward as a family without his physical presence. His memories were still very much alive.
Some of you may recall that we welcomed Nui into our home Jan. 14, 2012, nearly two years after saying goodbye to Zeus. I shared, in a follow-up column, my initial reluctance to open my heart to Nui, fearing I’d grieve again one day.
But those fears quickly were put to rest the moment she walked through our front door and I focused on her loving eyes. You were correct; I was able to love again. We all fell head over heels for her.
Nui was everything Zeus was not. She was quiet, while Zeus playfully barked at his own shadow. She was gentle, while Zeus tore apart every pillow, T-shirt and towel he could get his mouth on. And she was polite. Zeus was rambunctious and rowdy and sneaked into the house every chance he got.
Boy, do I still miss him! He was, after all, me.
I don’t think Zeus would mind me saying this, in fact, he’d probably agree, Nui was the smartest dog ever, and she had an uncanny gift of knowing what each of us in the house needed.
The cancer came out of nowhere and swiftly moved through her 9-year-old body.
She fought a valiant fight, but it was obvious she was tired. We struggled with the thought of losing our beautiful girl, but true to her character, she waited until she knew we were ready.
Unconditional love.
The morning finally came when we knew it was time to let her go. It was the right thing to do, for she, too, deserved to go with dignity. We know she’s running wild with Zeus right now, free of pain and free of cancer.
Thank you for the memories, Nui girl … Thank you for walking into our lives.
No comments:
Post a Comment