Writing about death
We lost our dog this weekend. It is very odd when you write about death so often but have been lucky enough to avoid it in real life.
The dog was 14 but very perky. We went to work leaving a happy, yappy little dog and came home to one that could scarcely move. Multiple vet visits followed and 2 stints in doggy hospital. Her pain would be quenched and she would be rehydrated and then we would bring her home, and she would cease eating and drinking which meant there was no way of getting pain killers into her. There was no diagnosis either - just something causing awful pain in her head.
It is agony watching something you love die by inches and you wonder if your wish to end it all is really the wish to end your own suffering. Yesterday we went to the doggy hospital and she didn't recognise me or my voice. She could scarcely stand. She cried in pain and fear as the vet approached and I held her and spoke to her as she had her last injection.
It took less than 10 seconds for her heart to stop. The Tibetan Book of the Dead describes how you should speak to the dying as hearing is the last sense to go.I hope she knew I tried. We laid her to rest just below the verandah where she would survey her territory and bark to the wind.
What did I learn as a writer? Nothing more than we all learn as humans. Love is the most wonderful of all things human, but it has a cost. All things end.
The dog was 14 but very perky. We went to work leaving a happy, yappy little dog and came home to one that could scarcely move. Multiple vet visits followed and 2 stints in doggy hospital. Her pain would be quenched and she would be rehydrated and then we would bring her home, and she would cease eating and drinking which meant there was no way of getting pain killers into her. There was no diagnosis either - just something causing awful pain in her head.
It is agony watching something you love die by inches and you wonder if your wish to end it all is really the wish to end your own suffering. Yesterday we went to the doggy hospital and she didn't recognise me or my voice. She could scarcely stand. She cried in pain and fear as the vet approached and I held her and spoke to her as she had her last injection.
It took less than 10 seconds for her heart to stop. The Tibetan Book of the Dead describes how you should speak to the dying as hearing is the last sense to go.I hope she knew I tried. We laid her to rest just below the verandah where she would survey her territory and bark to the wind.
What did I learn as a writer? Nothing more than we all learn as humans. Love is the most wonderful of all things human, but it has a cost. All things end.
No comments have been added yet.
