One is not the same as another
I swing between wishing to leave social media entirely and enjoying it’s better nature and the positives that it offers. This morning I’m reminded of one. Facebook Memories and the random photos it throws up. And how, through the photos, my mind then wanders beyond a single image and into the sometimes knotty emotions it evokes.
Today it was this one.
Beautiful Renae, three years ago, greeting the morning. She stood at the bedroom window with this pose every summer from the age of a few months old. I have a photo somewhere of her nose just reaching the bottom of the sill, unable, without bouncing up, to see over the edge. On the rare occasions she was left at home alone, she’d scuttle upstairs and watch us get into the car in the driveway. I’d look back up at the house and see her forlorn face and feel guilt every single time.
Her first summer here, when we were still living mostly in the UK and coming just for holidays, our neighbour reported seeing her head bouncing up and down at the open window as we drove away. I was mortified on hearing this and although it was unlikely she could have got out onto the window sill, resolved never to leave the window open if we weren’t with her in the house.
We shared eleven summers with Renae. If it had been one hundred and eleven it would not be enough. When she died I had a sense of a sharp injustice that her life was cut short. And yet, eleven years is not a bad age for a miniature schnauzer. Renae’s death has been one of the hardest things in my life. She accompanied me through a period of turmoil and change, out of which came the life I now enjoy.
When our lives are shared with dogs – and cats – it is inevitable that we will have the great sadness of losing them. But, that inevitability makes it no easier to accept, or to heal from when it happens. And having gone through it once, it is no easier when it happens again. All that happens is you know that you will, eventually, one day emerge and no longer be grief stricken.
Renae was a wonderful friend to us all and her death came suddenly, adding to the shock. She was our canine rock and helped her adopted siblings adjust and learn. She taught them how to enjoy life, how to love and accept love. It was from Renae that they all learned how to thrive in a regular home and how to have fun. She guarded them, protected them from dogs – or people – she felt needed a lesson or two in manners. She was their best friend and mentor. Her life was entwined in this from the age of nine months when she became big (little) sister to Susie-Belle. She was Albert Claude’s playmate and guide, his strong, confident sister. Of all the dogs it was Albert who was most affected by her death.
I know that I will, one day, adopt another dog. But, just when I think I am ready, I stop, as to do it without Renae still does not feel right. And yet, when Susie-Belle died, it was the thing I wanted, needed, to do quickly. Five weeks after her death, Cerise joined us. Just three weeks after our first dog, Jasmine’s death, Renae herself came to live with us. And yet, I cannot quite bring myself to imagine another dog in our home without Renae here.
What my experiences of pet loss show me, is that each is unique, carries it own weight and there is never a blueprint.
