It is with great sadness that I am posting of the sudden yet peaceful passing of Griffin our beloved pet of over seven years.
I met Griffin at the Humane Society on a cold January day in 1998 without great intention of adding him as one of my room mates at the time. He chose me over children’s cooing and begging to their parents. I took him home and he almost immediately filled the role of my first born. He was a challenge and a joy but so ecstatic to meet Mad and even more in the brief moments he just had with Baz, not at all miffed by his bumping in rank by my “real” babies.
Griffin became ill the night I went into labour and promptly visited the vet the next day. Finding nothing, they kept him for observation and returned him to the “spa” (my parents’ home) to recoup. After about two weeks, and visits home twice a week, Griffin seemed on the mend – but only briefly. His inexplicable diarrhea had returned and he went back to the vet where they took x-rays and found a blockage in which they recommended exploratory surgery. We rushed to his side and were able to take him for a walk prior to the surgery. He was a little slow, skinnier but his happy self with plenty of kisses for everyone. Within four hours of Griffin’s first return to the vet we were advised that he was suffering from advanced lymphoma and the cancer had spread through his small intestine and that putting him down while still under the anesthetic of the surgery would be the most humane thing for him. It was an excruciating decision not to be selfish and after seven years, five months and six days we tearfully said goodbye.
Griffin loved eating bubbles, chasing rocks into the lake, big sticks but most of all, Griffin loved being with people.
And then I mournfully returned from the vet and have to respond to: “Did you pick up Griffin? He was sick, he ate too many bones….
Why are you sad Mommy?”
Earlier, as I held Griffin, I petted his ears while they began to turn cold and through a tear filled haze asked the vet how I should go about telling a three year old about her dog. His response was this:
1. Tell her Griffin was very sick.
2. Blame the vet by only referring to him [the vet] in all explanation, such as:
2a: The vet gave Griffin some medicine to take any pain away and make him go to sleep.
…forever.
Umm. I know that I’m grieving – probably the most of the bunch – but 3 year olds aren’t stupid. That and they are quite literal.
So I would assume the translation as:
1. Griffin ate too many bones.
2. The vet is mean.
2a. Okay, so when are we picking him up. I want my dog back.
2b. oh… I’m never going to sleep again.
Here lies my call for help. How do people explain death for the first time? It’s got to be confusing and my tears can’t be helping that all that much to begin with.
With lack of other ideas I’ve tried to just be honest. I’m not going to sit her down for a “chat”, I’m just going to wait for the questions to arise and watching for clues carefully. So far “why are you sad, Mommy” is the #1 question and I simply tell her I miss Griffin. She’ll ask when Griffin is coming home then and I had to tell her that he wasn’t. Maybe she thinks that he moved in with the vet instead?
Recently she commented on a dead bug so I asked her what “dead” meant. She told me that it’s when you go away and come back again. So, maybe she knows something we all don’t. So far she’s been the one comforting me. Her and her brand new brother. Perhaps there is something in that coming back again, or just new life. The world just keeps turning.
