Dear Tigger,
I woke this morning with a deep sadness on my heart. Today, I must bury your ashes. I know you are no longer here and it’s not really you that I bury, but nonetheless, I am deeply torn by what I must do.
I read a message today from a family member that said I needed to get back to being myself. It is true; I have walked around in a daze this week, as hurt and despair have washed over me time and time again when you’ve entered my thoughts. I know this is not good for me and you would not want me to feel this way, as you were such a gentle soul who wouldn’t hurt a fly. So I will try to pull myself together on this day that I honor your memory.
I guess I should start from the very beginning…
Once upon a time our family had a dog named Benson. He was such a wonderful, gently guy who loved us very much. He too suffered the same fate as you when he was struck down with a brain tumor, he was only seven.
At the time we had a two year old boxer dog named Jerri, who you knew very well. When Benson passed on I thought we would never get over it, but as life has it, we picked up the pieces and moved on. I tell you this because this is where you began. Your mommy Denise and brother Brandon decided we needed to get another boxer to be with Jerri because he was so lonely. Now, I have to admit, I was not for the idea. In fact, I was totally against it. But they convinced me to go and look at the puppies and as they say, the rest is history.
You were born in the suburbs of Cleveland, OH. Not a magical place I must admit, but one that I believe created some magic with you. Brandon was the one who picked you out of the crowd. You seemed to be the smallest of the group and the frailest. I actually tried to tell them to pick another because I was worried you wouldn’t survive. But Denise and Brandon were adamant you were the one, and we brought you home to become part of our family. Jerri immediately accepted you and you two became best friends.
You grew very fast and before long you were a very healthy, strong little guy. Although, for some strange reason, you were scared senseless if someone whistled. I guess it was just your way of showing us how sensitive a guy you were and would always be. You just didn’t have an aggressive bone in your body and loud noises or people yelling always made you cringe.
Most of the rest you probably remember and I won’t bore you by telling you what you already know. What I want to tell you now is how much you became a part of my life. I hope that you know how much I loved you and cared for you. You have slept beside my bed for nearly eleven years, and I burst into tears when I see that empty space.
You were so thoughtful and comforting. You developed this habit, of which I have no idea where you learned it, of coming up to people, sitting down and sticking out your paw. I always thought this was your way of getting attention, but now believe it was your way of providing comfort and joy. You were like, “Hey, stop worrying about life and let’s just hold hands”. Boy, I sure would like to hold hands with you now.
Please know that I didn’t really mean it when I would call you a stupid dog for piddling in the house or when you would tear something up. I know you were just acting out because we left you alone, something you seriously despised. I want you to know that I am sorry for those harsh words. Do you forgive me?
When Jerri passed away two years ago, I worried that you would have a hard time coping without him. I should have been smarter than that knowing how strong a guy you were. You grieved for Jerri for about a week and then turned your attention back to comforting the family, who were still very sad. That was just your way, always providing selfless love.
The last six months have been tough for you, and I hope you know we weren’t trying to make you suffer; we just wanted to keep you with us forever. I even began to feel like you were invincible after you conquered the pancreatitis. But unfortunately there was something much larger looming. When you had the first seizure we had no idea that’s what it was. I remember, with much regret, yelling at you for slobbering all over the place. I thought it was your reaction to the food I offered and you didn’t like. I know better now. When we came home last Thursday and found that you had done the same thing all over the house, I knew something was seriously wrong. We rushed you to the vet, but as you were doing ok then, they didn’t know what was wrong. They checked you out and found you had a heart murmur, which, with another pill; we could keep you going a little longer.
I guess what happened on Saturday was what needed to happen so that we wouldn’t keep patching you up and making you live on. When the seizure began, my heart sank because I knew what it was and what the outcome most likely would be. We rushed you to the hospital with hope in our hearts that they could make you better.
When Dr. Pennington took you to the back, I thought, maybe, just maybe, she will come out with a simple curable explanation and we would all go home together. When the she told us that you had a brain tumor, I knew all hope was gone. We discussed the various options, all of which would have required you suffering a great deal, only to reach the same inevitable outcome. We would only be doing it for ourselves to keep you for a very short time. Instead, we would have to make one of the hardest decisions, a decision that would be best for you.
We had them bring you in so that we could say good bye, a moment that will stick with me forever. They had given you valium to ease the pay of the seizure, so you weren’t able to stand, and they laid you on the floor at my feet. I know you were having trouble seeing me because you kept trying to get close to my face when you looked at me. You had Denise, Cady, Jayne, Dr. Pennington and me there with you. Did you feel our love for you?
As I held your head and she gave you the first shot to make you sleep, you made a little snorkeling sound. The same sound you always made when you would curl up in a little ball in your bed at night. I so miss that sound! She then gave you the second shot, the one that would stop your heart and I thought I was going to die with you. I still feel that same feeling today. I hope you know I did it for you because I loved you so much and didn’t want you to hurt anymore.
I miss you terribly Tigger and will never forget you. I will try to pick myself up today and move on by cherishing the wonderful memories left behind by one of the most gentle, loveable, selfless souls God ever created.
Good bye Tigger, you truly were this man’s best friend.
Love forever,
Doug
R.I.P 3/12/11
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