At the end of September, we put our most favored family member to sleep. Our sweet Goldendoodle, Ginger, who was just shy of sixteen years, let us know that it was her time to leave this earth. She’d chased all of the squirrels, deer, coyotes, and rabbits off of our yard for the last time. The air space surrounding our yard was now also fair game for birds, owls, and hawks that Ginger would not tolerate up to this point. She’d kept us safe all those years and now she trusted that we could carry on without her. How truly wrong she was.

We, and most especially me, are heartbroken. Ginger chose me out of a series of other humans who came to gaze at her. Once chosen by Ginger, one wouldn’t even consider other options. And so, I wrapped her in her human brother’s baby blanket, put her in the passenger seat of my car and started our two hour drive to our home. As I quickly learned, Ginger was going to get her way and that was that. Thus, half way through our car ride home she began to cry until I put her in my lap and proceeded to fall head over heels in love with her. She was wily like that right from the start. Ginger’s plot in life was to have every human who met her, love her, and I think she was mostly successful in that quest.

How does one grieve the loss of what felt like an appendage? How does one say good-bye to their most loyal and trusted confidant who spent every moment at their side? How can it be that we will never (at least not on earth) see each other again? It’s a unique pain that seems beyond words and also beyond understanding for those in the world who don’t love dogs. My family has grieved the way we’ve done most other things. We gather together, tell stories, eat, and drink. My children came home to say good-bye to their beloved dog and to have us all gather together to tell funny Ginger stories and look at Ginger pictures.

How does one say good-bye to their most loyal and trusted confidant who spent every moment at their side? #pets #dogs #friendship #love #mourning Click To Tweet

We have no shortage in either area. Ginger was the most outgoing dog I’d ever met. She greeted everyone who came to our home as if they were returning from war and had barely survived the battle. She would put your arm in her mouth to drag you further into our home and thus insist you were hers and you must move in immediately. Luckily, most people chose to eventually leave, but not without teeth indentations on their arms and dog saliva in a variety of other areas on their bodies. If you didn’t like Ginger, well, she didn’t care. She never gave up on connecting with humans, even a few that weren’t so thrilling to me.

Ginger hated her puppy crate, loved our bed, refused to be left behind, and was known to sneak into my minivan in order to guarantee that she was included in all carpool adventures. One time when I opened the automatic sliding door of the van, Ginger used her opportunity to hop out of the van with my daughter, run into the dance studio, head all the way to the performance room and jump on some of the dancers to show how proficient at dancing she was. Our family laughed hysterically at this. However, the dance teacher and a couple of the students weren’t as amused. Ginger also favored the dog park where she was far more interested in humans than in other dogs. She once went running into a woman with white jeans on and knocked the poor woman into a mud puddle. Our family pretended Ginger wasn’t our dog, but we laughed for years about that day.

Learning to Say Goodbye

The stories are endless, as is the joy and yet we knew that it had to end. Why did we think it would be easy when the time came? What made us think we’d be relieved that she wasn’t in pain and yet still away from us? What made us think that just because we knew it would happen, it wouldn’t be one of the most painful times of our lives? Maybe the thought of it was just so sad that we pretended we’d be okay, but now we really aren’t. Or maybe I should say that I’m not. If I was home, Ginger was with me and even more so during the pandemic. She was my constant sidekick and I treasured her presence, especially during some very dark and lonely days when my life was so very different than it was prior to the pandemic. I’m not sure how I would have survived a lockdown, a dramatic change in how I do my work, and the absence of travel and in-person connection if not for my Ginger.

The grief is real, it is painful, and it is incredibly joyful because in that grief is love. One of Ginger’s dog sitters came over the day after Ginger died with flowers and a card that carried this poem. I’ve reread it hundreds of times because it perfectly captures how I feel.

There is a cycle of love and death
That shapes the lives of those who choose
To travel in the company of animals.
It is a cycle unlike any other.

To those who have never lived through
Its turning and walked its rocky path,
Our willingness to give our hearts with
Full knowledge that they will be broken,
Seems incomprehensible.

Only we know how small a price we pay
For what we receive.
Our grief, no matter how powerful
It may be, is an insufficient measure
Of the joy we have been given.

—Suzanne Clothier

This beautiful card ended with this, “Never forget . . . somewhere between hello and goodbye, there was love. So much love.”

Love,

Lisa Kaplin Psy. D. PCC