Amazing Friends

My cat Mittens died on February 6, 1996. Exactly 15 years later, I scattered her ashes and the ashes of Jersey and Gus. Mittens was my first great loss in life. When I realized she was terminally ill, I became obsessed with getting a puppy. My friends and therapist admonished me at the time, telling me it was a horrible thing to do to my beloved cat.

So many aspects of grief are universal and yet the grieving process is a highly individual journey. I went ahead and bought the puppy anyway.

Jersey came from a litter of three shih-tzus who were named Jerry, George and Kramer (Seinfeld Show) by Pat Leone, shih-tzu breeder extraordinaire. Pat screened me over the phone to make sure I was good enough for one of her dogs. I told her I would name my dog Jersey, so she began calling him Jersey even before I arrived to take him home to our loft in Manhattan.

Contrary to my therapist and friends’ admonishments, Jersey did not stress Mittens out more. In fact, she loved him. She was protective of him. During his crate training days she slept on top of his crate. The day I brought him home from the hospital after having him neutered, he was wearing one of those Elizabethan collars to prevent him from licking his stitches. I swear to God, she gave me the filthiest look that seemed to say, “What the hell are you doing to this poor puppy.”

At the end of Mittens’ life, I fed her (and Jersey) filet mignon. On a bitter cold February morning my friend Ron road the train with me from Manhattan to some place in upstate New York where the pet crematorium was located. Because I was paranoid and a bit nuts with grief, on my request, he watched over Mittens’ cremation to make sure the ashes I would receive were, in fact, hers. The first time I took Jersey for a walk after she died, he ran back into the apartment and looked all around for her, crying. I’m crying now just thinking of it.

My collie dog Gus was a gift from an ex-boyfriend. He dumped me and he dumped his dog on me. My therapist (the same one) called Gus my guru because I learned many lessons about love, acceptance and commitment from my relationship with Gus.

I lost Gus on April 6, 2007. Both Jersey and I slid into dark depressions. I needed Zoloft to cope; he needed a therapist.

Jersey was diagnosed with kidney failure about two weeks after Gus died. I was told that it was likely I would lose Jersey too. That night, one of the worst of my life, my dear friend Delfina came over to my apartment where I was lying on the floor in a fetal position, clutching Jersey, sobbing. She brought me soup. She sat with me and we prayed for Jersey together.

An extraordinary team consisting of an internist, Craig Maretzki, DVM, and acupuncturist/Chinese doctor Ella Woods from San Francisco Veterinary Specialists treated Jersey the way I would hope to be treated by doctors if I ever became seriously ill. And then there was Heather King Singh—a gifted family/marriage therapist who happens to specialize in companion animals. She worked with Jersey and was able to help him and I “negotiate” measures he would need to take to help his team save his life. For example, he agreed to eat again if I promised to take him to see ponies. I swear to God.

[I’ll write more about Jersey’s therapy in another post.]

Team Jersey helped Jersey and I share three and half more years together.

My friend Shannon came with me to SF Vet Specialists the day I had to euthanize Jersey. I had prayed and prayed that he would die naturally; that I would not have to make the decision. His doctors strongly recommended euthanasia. His death was inevitable; he would have suffered. One of my biggest concerns about not euthanizing was the possibility he would die alone, while I was at work. I could not bear to think of my baby dying all alone without his mom there telling him how much she loves him.

My friend Charlane came with me to SF Vet Specialists to pick up Jersey’s ashes. We went out for coffee afterwards; she carried the ashes, refusing to let me leave them in my car or carry them myself for fear that, in the state I was in, I would lose them. I am so grateful for my friends for carrying me through those difficult times in dealing with the mundane, yet heart-wrenching, details of death.

I was blessed to have Mittens, Gus and Jersey. It’s a huge design flaw, in my humble opinion, that cats and dogs live such short lives. My grief, while no longer crippling, is still palpable, always present.

Someone once asked the Dalai Lama: If a man and dog were both drowning and you could save only one, which would you save. The Dalai Lama replied, and I’m paraphrasing here, that if the man were a miserable person who brought suffering and the dog was a good dog who brought happiness, he would save the dog.

This is why I love the Dalai Lama.