Haunted, But Not Enough

Haunted, But Not Enough, Part 1

Each night as I'm on my way to bed, I dread the emptiness that will follow me to where Panda used to be. Stubborn shadows remain that used to give up their strong hold because she so easily filled my life with light. With each dark and very late night I am stunned at how much my heart remains broken. I feel my very soul searching for my little dog, Panda, as I walk the hallway to my bedroom. My ears listen for her tiny footfalls coming down the hallway behind me, stopping to get her last drink before bed. Sometimes, I think I hear what I want to hear and I whirl around, but see only the darkness I've left behind me as I've turned off the lights. 

It has been a month since Panda's passing and yet the pain is as fresh as feeling it for the first time just a few days ago.  

Reminders of Panda remain everywhere throughout my house. I cannot seem to put them up, clean them up, or move them for fear of forgetting that she was ever here. Panda was here, in this house with me for fifteen years - the whole of her life and for the whole of my life after divorce. I find I don't know how to move forward without her. 

I know, of course, that I must move on, and that eventually I will move on, but for now, every room haunts me. Every room, every hallway, even the bathrooms and the kitchen breathe her life essence. Each one emits memories of her having lived here, with me. Just me and her. 

The same year as my divorce, I had major surgery, transferred from a College to a University, lost my wonderful father to dementia, lost my whole family to the underhanded evilness of my ex-husband, lost my way of life, and slowly gained my independence.

Losing my mind was not an option, although I felt the sweet warm darkness of letting go to madness nearly every day. Finally, I graduated with a Bachelors degree and began working for the County. Shortly after that, I found a loveable little fur puppy I named Panda. She became a life line I didn’t know I needed. Panda became my whole world because I had no one else. 

Panda and I went on daily walks after I got home from work. We had special places we liked to go and her little face perked up as the car got close enough for her to smell the area we were driving to. If I went to a store, I often bought her a treat, or a toy, that she would love to dig through a bag trying to find – especially if I asked her if she would like to smell it.

We had a language. When my daughter was young, I forbade anyone to baby talk to her because I didn’t want her to copy it, but Panda and I went one step further that even baby talking. Panda was fluent in baby talk as well as “garble” talk. I could use words that a person would understand, but to Panda and I it would mean something else entirely, such as “don’t fall down” accidently became “stay”.  If Panda was on the couch and I was going to be right back, I would say, “don’t fall down”, and she knew to stay there and to await my return.  

She also recognized several grunts as do most dogs and cats learn from their pet parents. One of my biggest regrets, though is that try as I did, I couldn’t learn all of her squeaks and cries – and she had many. I thought I had learned most of them, but in the end, one of the most important ones I didn’t know.

The Sunday before she fell so impossibly ill, she cried at me all day. Panda actually got in my face and was trying to tell me something. I didn’t understand. As with a baby, I made sure she had water, I took her out to potty, I reviewed her medications and when she had eaten last. I tried to figure it out, but I did not. Panda was in pain, or trying to tell me something was wrong.

By that Tuesday, Panda stopped eating and for her I knew that was very serious. I called her doctor and by Wednesday, Panda was in the hospital. She refused to eat or drink. Every test they ran was negative for anything and everything. Finally, they did an ultrasound, but missed a large calcium deposit in each kidney. Two days later, Panda’s little ten-pound frame was down to nine pounds or less. They were feeding her with a tube as well as giving fluids and meds with an IV.

By the following Friday, her prognosis was not good and I told them I wanted Panda to be at home. I wanted her last days to be at home with me. I knew she would be happier at home than in the hospital with people she didn’t know. The doctors wanted her to remain in the hospital.

I will forever be haunted by my decision. Did I make the right choice?

Part 2 to come.