Strategic Loss

I've been putting off giving away my dog for a year and a half, almost since we bought him.  I love this dog, and this dog loves me.  The problem is he viewed my husband as public enemy number one.   He was a rescue from a family who physically abused him.  The woman who rescued him actually broke a window to pull what she thought was a dead cat from a hot car but which turned out to be an overheated puppy, getting baked in the car. 

This vet tech, who rescued the puppy, carefully chose us from among several others (including one offering $1000, probably with the intent to turn him into a breeder) to be the family to take on this pomchi, Twixie.  I strove to live up to the responsibility.  Except Twixie associated my husband almost from the beginning with his previous owner, the abuser.  My husband simply picking him up turned the phrase "scared the crap out of him" into a literal reality.  Twixie would go nuts barking whenever my husband walked through the door, when Twixie expected my husband to walk through the door, or when my husband so much as twitched, changed positions, or stood up to walk around. 

                                                                 
And we truly tried everything to soften Twixie up.  My husband would give him lots of treats and love.  We tried pheromone emitters plugged into the wall, calming treats, and a tube of pheromones to be rubbed onto his nose.  We tried a Thunder shirt, a vest that is supposed to make a dog feel more relaxed.  We fixed him, thereby devaluing him with the hopes he could stay forever.  None of it changed his violent reaction in the slightest.  I seriously have sunk a small fortune into that little boy, hoping to smooth things over.  No dice.

 

I loved my little Twixie with his big, beautiful smile, his faithful way of following me everywhere, and his glorious, flowing pom tail and rear fur.  But he had started to exhibit behaviors that showed stress, Chihuahua impishness, and feeling overcrowded.  He knew the rules but sneaked away to steal flavors from the litter box, scattered garbage everywhere, pottied in every corner after sitting around outside, doing nothing, and just generally made himself difficult.  All of this was something we could work with.  But what it came down to was my depressive husband couldn't take getting told he wasn't welcome in his own home.  He bore with it for a year and a half and totally left it up to me.  But I finally decided it was time. 

I just hate loss.  I hate having to say goodbye or, worse, not getting to say goodbye because of all I've been through with child loss.  This was one of my furbabies.  And every loss hammers on that tender part of my heart that still aches with separation.  It's not that giving away a dog is comparable to child loss but that every loss compounds the one that came before and brings many of the same emotions to the surface.  We actually prayed about rehoming my little Twixie.  Both my husband and I felt good about the family we found, a waitress with little money who had had lost her Pomeranian babies stolen a couple of years before.  She paid us about the same for him as we had paid for him in the first place, about enough for gas.  At first, Twixie found the separation hard, but the next day, we heard back that he'd taken both the waitress and the uncle she lived with into his heart.  He was doing very well and was not barking at anyone.  He was happy. 

And, meanwhile, we rescued a little girl pom from a backyard breeder.  The little whitish creamish thing smelled of urine and clearly has lived in a cage much of her life.  She doesn't know how to dog.  But she loves everyone and has latched right onto me.  I still sometimes miss my Twixie, but I love my little Snow and know this change was for the best, that we were guided.  Everyone is happier now, including Twixie.  No, it's not loss like child loss, like I said, but it is hard to make a change like this.  I am thankful I did for all of our sakes. 
                                                                                                                                                                                                           

Express Your Grief

[self-expression: Source]

Once upon a time, long before I had a real reason, I took a class on trauma writing.  In that class, I learned about the importance of finding a way to express your grief.   When I had just lost my brother then (a month later), my baby, I found bottled up emotions were bound to explode at the worst possible times.  Some people turn to unhealthy forms of self-medication and sometimes even self-destruct if they don't have some way to express their pain.  Some people do both self-expression and unhealthy self-medication.  If self-medication feels like a valid option, it's time to turn outward to a professional for help.  However, if you feel like you can do okay working with your pain, I recommend finding some form of self-expression as a means to processing grief. 

[Writing=love Source]

This could take the form of writing  as with poetry, memoir, blog, journal, letters to the loved one, true experience encoded in fiction, or any other written form. When I lost Alli, I frequently wrote poetry whenever my emotions spiked for whatever reason.  It gave me a place to process what I was feeling inside.  Most of those poems will (thankfully) never be read by anyone else.  But they were there for me when I needed them.  I wrote out the worst of my pain in journals that only descendents may ever read (assuming they can make out my scrawl--there's a reason I type more than I write long hand.)  I would sometimes write letters to Alli or my brother, telling them how much I miss them.  I have at least one novel waiting to be edited that features a mother losing her baby, which is my encoded experience.  Obviously, I also blog.  I highly recommend writing privately if you can't handle the idea of your words being read or publically if you think others can find help and hope with your words.   

For example, here is an unpolished poem I wrote the day after she died:

06-30-2010

Pain

Blinding, numbing

Burning like a volcano

And clouding out everything

From my vision.

Everything tastes like dirt.

I choke it down to fill the emptiness

But the real emptiness remains.

Everything I see, touch, think about

Links back to chubby toes,

Chunky little legs

Soft little cheeks,

Bright blue eyes

Staring at me from around the breast,

Peach fuzz across the soft head,

Round little bum

Aimed at me for a change

Preparatory to eating.

Where are you, my angel?

I long for you.

My every thought is for you,

Wondering how yesterday could have gone

If I’d have been just a little more careful

With your fragility.

My only comforts,

Your older brother and sister,

Your daddy

And above all knowing one day

You will fill my arms again. 

This poem heeds few poetic conventions, but it did capture my pain with imagery you can feel.  You don't have to be a great poet to write in ways that express your pain.  

[My baby, as an infant and as an angel]

Self-expression can take the form of any kind of art such as sculpture, painting, sketching, or anything else.  I had noticed while Alli was alive that she could have been a twin to my boy.  When I lost her, I first drew a picture of a baby picture I had of her.  I then took an older picture of my boy and turned that image into a girl.  That is how my baby probably looks as an angel.  I keep those pictures by my bed with the photos.  You really don't have to be a master artist to draw or paint or sculpt something that is a tribute to your loved one.

[Source]

You may also consider music and dance as forms of self-expression.  My nephews both write music to their beloved mother, about whom I blogged recently.  I have no talent for music, but if I did, I'd probably put some of my poetry to music.  You can find many dances on shows like "Dancing with the Stars" dedicated to lost loved ones.  You don't have to be a master dancer to dance out your loss and pain. 

[source]

It's true that some people prefer to bottle emotions up inside or pretend it never happened.  But for many people, expressing their pain and working through their grief process and into healing is a helpful thing to do.  I recommend you find a way to express yourself if you haven't already.  If you'd like, you can share what you make here.  If you don't want to share, do it for you.  You'll feel better when you do.