Goodbye old friend

Guin and Willow,

It's been three weeks since we decided it was time to say goodbye to Ringo.  In these last few weeks I've gotten a rare glimpse into a side of both of you that I have rarely seen.  You've been grieving.  And as always, you've been full of questions and a desire to understand how your world works.

Ringo has been around for your entire lives.  In fact, he'd been with me & Dad for 14 years.  He welcomed both of you home from the hospital when you were born and was immediately happy to have you as part of his pack.  He was 15 years old, and he woke up one morning with vertigo so bad that he couldn't walk.  We knew that day was coming, but it didn't make it any easier.  We gave him lots of love and ice cream, and took him to the vet that evening.

Dad and I wanted to give you the choice to be there when we put him to sleep, and while I know that isn't a decision every parent would make, we thought it was important for you to be included.  As much as we want to preserve your innocence and keep the world around you a happy care-free place, sadness and grief are very real things that you are going to deal with again, and we think it's important for you to know that it's ok to not always be happy.  You also saw me and Dad feeling very, very sad.  Kids don't often get to see grown ups being honest with big emotions and it's important to me that you know as you grow into an adult that those feelings are ok.  

It was harder than I expected to explain to you what was happening.  Willow, your honest questions were so hard to answer.  Why do we get to decide when Ringo dies?  Doesn't that mean we are killing him?  Isn't killing wrong?  You even commented on our drive to the vet that Ringo didn't know why he was in the car and that wasn't fair to him.  You knew he didn't understand.  Your empathy was grander than I've ever seen.
Guin, you had an incredible acceptance of your sadness.  You cried and cried and cried, and I'm so glad you felt comfortable doing it.  You sat with Ringo's head in your lap while he fell asleep for the last time.  You had this quiet understanding wisdom around what was happening, and you were able to sit with the discomfort of your sadness far better than I have ever been able to.

The last few weeks without our dog at home have been a huge, sad adjustment.  I miss my friend.  And it's refreshing to have your honesty - the moments where one of you will pick up a tuft of his hair still laying around and announce that you miss him.  Or accidentally call him to go outside when we get home at the end of the day.  You say all of the things that I'm thinking, and it's somehow healing to hear it in all of its raw honesty.  Your ability to be so real about your feelings gives me permission to do it too, and it's healing for all of us.

Thank you again for teaching me more than I teach you.

Love,
Mom