I don't know if I really agree with the often quoted saying, "We all die alone." I guess I concede that the moment when your heart stops beating, no one else joins you in that activity, unless you're in some sychronized suicide pact with a group of apocalyptic lunatics who believe the end of the world is coming at 12 a.m., EST, on December 22, 2012. From a religious or spiritual perspective, if you're a believer, there is a point when that essence that makes me Me and you You leaves our body and floats off into the afterlife or into a holding tank awaiting the next step, be it reincarnation or ascension into heaven--or descension into hell. But if you listen to the stories, even at that point, you're not alone. There's a light or some angel types or your Grandpa Frank to guide you to the next step.
I can't comment one way or the other. I've never died before, that I know of anyway, but I think the originator and the countless repeaters of"we all die alone" are a sad group of folks. Sure, I get that lots of hearts stop beating with no one around to notice. And that is sad. But hopefully, the majority of us will take our last breath surrounded by people who love us. And though their hearts will continue to beat after ours stop, that doesn't mean we died alone.
Why all the death talk? I have to take my sweet old dog, Sally, to be put to sleep soon. I thought I was going to have to do it Monday when I came home from work and she couldn't move her back legs anymore. I carried her into the backyard and let her lay in the grass and I talked to her and petted her and cried my friggin' eyes out. I had no idea how I was going to do what needed to be done. I couldn't imagine sitting with her at the vet's office, watching her die. This sweet dog who I saved from death almost 14 years earlier when I adopted her the very day she was scheduled to be put down, as the big red "X" on the index card hanging from her cage indicated. I just didn't have it in me, and I frantically scanned my mental rolodex for anyone I could ask to handle it for me. I wanted to hand her off and pretend that she was going to doggy day care, and then she just wouldn't come home. My ex was not able to help, except that he did in a way by telling me I needed to stay with her when it happens. I think he said " It's about time you grew up."
And he was right. How could I send my sweet Sallybear off with someone else, or worse, drop her at the vet's office alone? I couldn't. As hard as I know it will be to stand there and pet her while she drifts off to sleep, I will be there when she takes her last breath and her heart stops beating. She will not die alone.
I'm not sure why my first instinct was to reach out to someone else to do that for me, or with me. I guess more than anything, I didn't want to go through it alone. For some reason, I don't have enough faith in myself and in what I'm capable of that doing things alone is terrifying. I think it's human nature to want to share your life and your love, and your pain, too, with someone else, and at times like these, a blinding spotlight shines on the fact that I've lost that person who I shared everything with. He's still in my life, and I know he would have gone with me if he didn't live in a completely different city and all. But he does, so I have to be strong, all by myself.
Much like the morning that I got up and found that snake lurking in my bedroom closet, I'm faced with a choice: go run for help, or find what I need inside myself. Well, the only running I'm going to be doing from now on is what I need to get ready for my Mudder. I killed a snake in my closet, and I can sit with my sweet puppy and be the last face she sees in this world so she knows she is not alone.
Monday night, she seemed to be resting comfortably, so I decided to wait until the morning to take her, but then the morning came, and she was walking again. Not steadily, and not easily, but she was doing it. It was almost as if she knew what was going to happen, and she wasn't ready. So I've decided to keep a close eye on her and take her when I feel it's time. I don't want her to suffer, but I don't want to be hasty, either. When she's ready to go, I'll be ready to take her.
I'm not sure if this was the kind of the thing the Mudder people thought training for their race would prepare me for. But it's just one more step in the journey to becoming a strong person. I don't want to be the girl that runs to others when she's scared of something; I want to be the girl other people run to.
Speaking of Muddering, it's rest and stretch week on P90x. Yawn. I hate yoga, have I mentioned that? I'm not feeling it. I don't like it. I am ready to be working on my pushups again. But follow the plan, I must. I was going to hit the streets and get some good runs in this week, but we're in hell down here in Houston--it's in the 100s this week. Brutally hot. I think at those temperatures, the pavement actually burns the tread right off your shoes. And I just got really cute new shoes. The ones I buy from New Balance (I have to get this one kind bc I have feet that are as wide as they are long and I overpronate) are in orange this year. And the Mudder colors are orange and black. A good sign, I must say. So I'm not risking melting my new shoes or suffering a heat stroke. Guess I'm stuck with yoga. Did I mention I hate yoga?
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