Hours ago, I held Hunter in my arms as he took his last breaths. The vet who came was an angel. She was right there with me as Hunter passed. He died in the living room, right where I wanted him to. I even had a CS Lewis lecture playing quietly on the TV. Right as Hunter took his final breaths, Lewis was talking about the passing of his wife.
"...And what a gift..." Lewis sighed just as Hunter took his final breath.
I couldn't have asked for a better, more peaceful, poetic passing. Hunter died listening to the words of one of the few Christian theologians who managed to drag me out of the pit of nihilistic atheism. I hope, now, that Hunter is enjoying the Paradise Christ talked about. And one day, I believe we will meet again.
Still, the pain is immense. I haven't stopped sobbing for over a day now. I can't eat. I can't sleep. Physically, pain shoots throughout my body from my heart with each beat. It's hard to breathe. I'm nauseous and dizzy. I am just... broken.
No matter how many times I'm confronted with death, it never gets easier to deal with when it actually happens. Especially when your loved one literally dies in your arms, as Hunter did.
I know I gave him the best damn life and death anyone could ask for. This morning, when I reluctantly got out of bed after holding Hunter all night long, it was like we both knew. Hunter didn't even try to move or get out of bed. He just laid there, staring at me as I got dressed. Then, I swaddled him in a favorite blanket of his and carried him into the living room, where Mom had laid down another blanket for him to die on.
Hunter was absolutely ready to go today. He wouldn't eat. He wouldn't drink. He could hardly stand anymore. He slept in my arms as I went through the paperwork with the vet on my living room floor. He didn't even flinch when the vet injected him with anesthesia (he refused to eat the pill, even when it was slathered in peanut butter and wrapped in cheese). Then, as the wind comes and goes, so did Hunter. I felt him take his final breath. I closed his eyes as his soul faded into the next life. Then, together, the vet and I folded him up in his blanket, and I carried him to the car.
In two weeks, I will pick up his ashes, which will be kept in a wood and glass case with his picture on it. I also have a large plastic baggie full of his fur, along with his collar. Still, the pain remains. There are no words to describe how utterly excruciating it is to lose those you love so dearly.
Hunter passed away almost exactly a year after my grandma Shirley passed away. I remember sobbing like this while on the farm in Minnesota. I refused to sob around my grandma. I refused to let her see this side of me. But, damn. Did I cry. Damn, am I sobbing now.
To make things harder than they already are, my grandma Connie has come down with covid. It's only day one, but it's already severe enough for her to go to the hospital. She's vaccinated, and I know there are treatments now that can help her. But, I can't help but fear the worst for her as well.
I'm trying so hard to remain hopeful and strong. But, I can only do so much. In fact, the only thing I can do at the moment is write.
This time last year, I remember standing in the middle of barren cornfields on my family's land, halfway between my uncle Wes' and the farm. I remember sobbing loud and hard, shoulders heaving from the grief. I remember having so much to shout at God. I remember how it felt to rage against the Lord, shouting obscenities and insults at the slate grey skies. I'm surprised that nobody heard me. If they did, they haven't told me they did. Regardless, all I could do in that moment was fall completely apart, because I saw what the cancer was doing to my grandma, and it broke me.
And, how did God respond? Once I'd stopped shouting for a moment, I heard a laughing screech from above. When I glanced upward, a huge bald eagle soared just above me, not even ten feet in the air. It circled me once, then landed gracefully in a small grove of nearby oak and ash trees, where he then continued to call. At that moment, I remember my rage disappearing as I was filled with awe. I still cried, though, for I was overwhelmed with so many emotions at once.
"Th...Thank... You..." I stuttered aloud as I bowed my head and limped back to Wes', feeling the presence of the Lord walk beside me.
I am certain Hunter also had some form of cancer, as all old dogs tend to have. His symptoms mirrored my grandma's almost to a T. And, that's part of what's made these last few months of his life so fucking hard.
But, I'm glad that I was there for him in his final days. I truly believe God gave me Hunter to help me survive my childhood. Now that I have reached the "wise old age" of twenty-one, Hunter was allowed to go back to where he came from. He'd done his duty as my companion, up until his very last day. Now, he's somewhere within those pearly gates, waiting with my passed loved ones for me to return. I miss him so much already, but I hope that he doesn't miss me. I'm probably gonna be stuck on earth for at least another fifty years. I don't want Hunter to spend the next 350+ dog years waiting for me like he'd wait for me to come home each day.
Thankfully, I believe that time works very differently beyond the veil. Perhaps, the moment he took his final breath, his paws landed on the soil of the new heaven and new earth, with me right there with him. Indeed, it feels as though a chunk of my soul was ripped from me the moment he died, and is now serving as a placeholder of sorts in the presence of God... If that makes sense.
Hunter and I were inseparable from the day I first got him. I am led to believe that if I didn't have a dog to take care of during my childhood days, I wouldn't have survived. Hunter gave me an immediate purpose each and every day. I couldn't stay in bed forever, for I had a dog to feed. When I was at my saddest, most depressed and anxious, Hunter was there, snuggled up against me. I can't tell you how many times I've sobbed into his fur, and how many times he's pressed his entire body against mine, begging for my undivided love and attention. Or how often he's sat in my lap while I've played video games, or eaten meals, or worked on schoolwork, or simply chatted with loved ones.
In 2018, just as I was regaining my physical strength after my long fight with Pseudomonas, Hunter walked right alongside me. With his help, I slowly but surely worked up the strength to be able to walk to and from the library for school. Then, as he aged, my mom and I went to every damn vet in the state to get him the best care he could ever have. At home, he napped with me. He ate with me. He shared my bed and meals with me. He followed me literally everywhere I went, and would scratch and cry at the door if I closed it before he could get into the same room as me. Not a day went by where Hunter wasn't with me.
For that, I am forever grateful to have been his chosen human.
Now, he is no longer here. But, my God... he was so ready to go today. Had the vet taken an hour longer to arrive, I am almost certain that Hunter would've gone on his own.
These are the days I dreaded the most when Trikafta came along. But still, I am glad that I was there for Hunter right as he died. I feel so tremendously honored to have been holding onto his frail little body as his soul left it, in the comfort of my own home, with Bibles at our side, crosses on our walls, effigies of saints and angels and Christ on the mantle and shelves above us, listening to CS Lewis on the TV talk about what it was like to lose the love of his life.
Because... in a way... Hunter was the love of my life, too.
A true gift from God.
May we meet again, my little old man.
CS Lewis: My Life's Journey: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=96uT-BvRi-k&t=4703s
Finally, I will be putting this video on loop for as long as I have to. I first discovered it when I was fourteen years old and struggling with the reality of Cystic Fibrosis and my dad's relationship with his wife. I listened to it constantly when I effectively lost my faith in 10th grade, because I longed for God but couldn't yet believe in Him. I listened to it often again as I lay awake in a hotel suite in Canon Beach, Oregon, staring down a vial of Pseudomonas-destroying phages. Again, I listened to it when my grandpa Bob died, and as my health deteriorated again shortly thereafter, and again when the pandemic began, and again when my grandpa Lyle almost died of a heart attack, and again when I heard the news of my grandma Shirley's cancer. And, again... as I prepared my beloved old dog for his journey to the other side, and held him in my arms as he died.
Also, I don't know how I found this article, but it has been helpful to read, and often closely mirrors my personal views on life at the moment (though I don't necessarily agree with all of this professor's positions). I've probably read it about five times now:
https://theotherjournal.com/2006/10/theology-from-the-pet-side-up-a-christian-agenda-for-not-saving-the-world/
