Goodbye, little life.
Thank you, everyone, for your kind messages.
Zeki slept peacefully, in my arms, yesterday and today. He was extremely weak, but he wasn’t in distress. I saw no sign of pain or agitation. He enjoyed being caressed, and he ate enthusiastically.
When I woke up this morning, he was so deep asleep that I thought at first he’d slipped into a coma. But when I stroked his head, he stretched and nuzzled his face in my hand. I offered him breakfast: He perked up and dug in. I was relieved. I thought I had a little more time with him.
But suddenly, a few hours later, he cried out and began gasping for air.
I called the vet immediately. He arrived half an hour later. The end was merciful. It really was as if he’d peacefully gone to sleep.
Zeki had five littermates. They’re all gone now, except for Suley. Suley and Zeki were inseparable. They’d never spent a day of their lives apart.
Suley understood everything. When Zeki began laboring for breath, he came over and with immense gentleness wrapped his tail around his brother’s. Then he sat vigil by his side until the vet arrived. I was so moved that I took a photograph.
And then, when it was over, he cried.
Strange, is it not, that of the myriads who
Before us pass'd the Door of Darkness through,
Not one returns to tell us of the Road
Which to discover we must travel too.
Oh Claire. Even when you know the moment is coming, the loss is hard. These small furry creatures give us so much. I imagine you and Suley grieving together, and finding comfort in each other.
I have resisted replying to these two posts regarding Zeki, Claire, in small part because everyone said already what I would say - but better; and in large part because I still am raw from my own similar experience.
The form of the habit our pets assume is large and great; my dog when he was alive made me a better version of myself; in his absence, I founder. Life continues.
Sweetness
Stephen Dunn
Just when it has seemed I couldn’t bear
one more friend
waking with a tumor, one more maniac
with a perfect reason, often a sweetness
has come
and changed nothing in the world
except the way I stumbled through it,
for a while lost
in the ignorance of loving
someone or something, the world shrunk
to mouth-size,
hand-size, and never seeming small.
I acknowledge there is no sweetness
that doesn’t leave a stain,
no sweetness that’s ever sufficiently sweet.
Tonight a friend called to say his lover
was killed in a car
he was driving. His voice was low
and guttural, he repeated what he needed
to repeat, and I repeated
the one or two words we have for such grief
until we were speaking only in tones.
Often a sweetness comes
as if on loan, stays just long enough
to make sense of what it means to be alive,
then returns to its dark
source. As for me, I don’t care
where it’s been, or what bitter road
it’s traveled
to come so far, to taste so good.