Tag Archives: sadness

Missing You Immensely

After more than eleven years of love and devotion, we had to put our beloved Pepsi down on Sunday.

Over the next several weeks, I’ll miss the routine I had with Pepsi for the last eleven years – all the daily interactions – from when I woke to when I went to bed.

Our pets affect us in ways that the people in our lives do not. Our relationship with them isn’t complicated by ego, insecurities, or pettiness. There are no traps, tripwires, or pretentiousness because our pets love us unconditionally. More significantly, they allow us to love with no contingencies—something we’re incapable of doing with people—no matter the relationship.

So, when our pets die, that pure and unblemished love and devotion disappears from our lives. The grief is so profound that it wrecks us for a time.   

How We Came to Know and Love Pepsi

In 2013, months after losing our lab, Walter, to Cancer, I found myself searching for shelter dogs. As I remember, it was just a whim; I had no intentions of adopting.

I have no recollection of what I typed for my Google search – but I ended up on this Facebook post:

The post included a link to this video, showing Pepsi and a shelter volunteer:

Pepsi – YouTube

Unfortunately, as often is the case with Pitbull and Pitbull mixes, a NYC animal shelter put this sweet girl on their kill list.

As I watched the video of Pepsi, I felt an immediate obligation to contact Second Chance Rescue to get her off “the list.” So, I corresponded with them through their Facebook page, which initiated a sequence of events (filling out an application, putting down a deposit, and having a consultant visit our home to ensure it was a suitable environment) and ended with the ASPCA transporting Pepsi from Brooklyn, NY, to the Mystic Aquarium parking lot in Mystic CT, where she went from a dog on a video to a cherished member of our family.

Second Chance Rescue of NYC rescues and rehabilitates critically injured and neglected dogs and cats and those at high risk of euthanasia.

The Reilly’s picking up Pepsi in Mystic, CT

Pepsi was our first experience with the pitbull breed. The consultant from Second Chance Rescue told us that Pepsi should be the only dog in the household. We quickly learned of her distrust of other dogs, but of people, her affection was undeniable. She developed a strong bond with our family almost instantly, especially with my wife, Meg.

Pepsi’s mood spanned the spectrum from stoic and intimidating to warm and loving.

Her smiling eyes could melt the coldest of hearts.

She was loving, observant, doting, and intelligent. She was also deaf and, thus, the quietest dog we’ve ever owned.

I work from home, so Pepsi was my constant companion for more than 11 years. She loved resting on the recliner next to my work desk, stretching out on our bed, sleeping and sunbathing on the patio, going for walks, lounging in the yard, and crunching on carrots.

She chased squirrels and bunny rabbits and killed a groundhog behind the shed one summer.

If Meg was outside, Pepsi wanted to be outside. She would dutifully follow Meg to her gardens and lie down in the shade while Meg weeded, planted, or watered. When Meg was done, she would follow her back into the house. Every time Meg went to the bathroom, Pepsi would follow her. If Meg locked the door, you could hear Pepsi knock her head into it from the living room. If Meg happened to leave the latch off, well, she had a visitor.

We will miss Pepsi deeply – we’ll miss seeing her navigate the swivel chair as she walks from the kitchen to the living room in search of hugs – we’ll miss the gentle snoring and weight of her in the bed – we’ll miss the sound of rhythmic hopping as she descends the staircase from the upstairs bedroom to the kitchen, ending with the slight sliding and clicking of her nails when she reaches the kitchen – we’ll miss watching her morning routine, slowly walking the perimeter of the yard, we’ll miss the thump of her tail on the bed or the recliner – we’ll miss how she helped connect us as a family – I think that’s the most magical thing a family dog does – they connect us because we all love them in the same way.

Dogs bring out our humanity and kindness in ways people don’t.

Even before putting Pepsi down, I said that she’d be my last dog. This time around, the slow decline was more challenging to deal with emotionally and physically. In her final months, Meg and I carried Pepsi from room to room, putting off the inevitable as long as we saw a spark of life or tiny moments of enjoyment—until the day they no longer came.

Maybe my feelings will change over time, and my longing for a dog’s love will outweigh the sadness I know I’ll feel when we part. For now, I’ll simply cherish what I had with this wonderful dog.

I’m so grateful for Pepsi’s love and companionship to our family, and I will never forget her.

Rest in Peace, Pep. You were the best!

Molly in Tow

It was 5:00 AM when she found his contorted body at the bottom of the basement stairs – his eyes wide open and empty of light.

She recollects hearing a tumble and thud in the middle of the night, waking momentarily before dismissing the sound as a fleeting element of a fading dream.

So, she went back to sleep.

She was so startled upon discovering him that she almost fell herself. 

Now she stood frozen in the doorframe, unsure what to do. 

This situation was a first. 

There was nothing from her past to draw upon that might guide her.

She fumbled around the pockets of her bathrobe for her phone while staring down at the crumpled and twisted body of the man she had spent 50 (mostly good) years with.

The gravity of her loss began to rise from within, and she felt rubber-legged and light-headed. She grabbed the railing of the stairs to steady herself.

She entered the security code for her cell, opened the phone app, and stared blankly at the number pad.

“Fuck” she whispered to herself.

Who to call?

If there had been any signs of life, this wouldn’t be a question.

But the 911 emergency had passed — her husband was dead.

She dialed her son, with no idea what she would say when he picked up, so she panicked on the third ring and hung up the phone.

“FUUUUCK!” she screamed, her voice so loud she reflexively looked down at her husband, thinking the sheer amplification of sound might snap him out of his death, which it did not. However, she did wake her dog, Molly, who now stirs upstairs.

Her phone rings. It’s her son. She bursts out crying as she hears Moly coming down from upstairs.

“Pull yourself together,” she commanded before answering the phone on the tenth ring.

“Mom, is everything okay?”

“No. It’s not. I’m sorry I hung up on you!” sobbing uncontrollably.

“Mom, what’s wrong!!??”

Your father fell down the stairs. I think he’s dead.

She knew he was dead.

She wasn’t sure why she said, “I think he’s dead” – maybe she was trying to protect her son from the devastation she was feeling? Was a fifteen-minute drive with false hope better than one with the hard truth?

There was a prolonged silence, followed by “I’m on my way.”

She still hasn’t found the courage to go to him. She’s still at the top of the stairs, and he’s on the cold basement floor.

Molly sits at her feet, wagging her tail, looking up at her and wondering, “What are we doing standing in the doorway? 

She pats Molly gently on her head and says sadly, “Daddy’s gone.” Her moment with Molly is abruptly interrupted by the crunch of car tires on the gravel driveway.

She hears the car door slam, followed by a rapid knock on the front door.

She glances again at her husband before heading to the living room with Molly in tow.

The Last Dance

When trouble sits in worry’s kettle

and scattered thoughts refuse to settle

we fold our days into tomorrow

and look at time as blood to borrow

Our parts are portions of the sum

we suck the pit out of the plum

and press its truth into our tongue

We swim around each other’s silence

Refuse the gift of self-reliance

then wear the badge of our defiance

We stretch our souls on to a drum

We beat it bare until it’s numb

then grind our smiles to the gum

to the nervous laughter of everyone

We paint the stars on to our eyes

We sing sad songs and lullabies

We crack the door, let in the light

to wrestle darkness from the night

We sit across from our despair

It smiles back, without a care

We let it in, we close the door

We dance above the kitchen floor

The Cleaner and His Cat

He stares blankly at his coffee, wondering how long he’s been sitting, cup in hand. The last sip must have been hot. He can still feel the blister on the tip of his tongue.

A dark sadness hangs on his face like a Picasso. He hates the look.

“Definitely his blue period,” he muses, half smirking at his reflection in the dining room mirror.

He mostly avoids reflective surfaces. Feeling depressed is terrible enough; he doesn’t need to see it. He doesn’t need to be reminded of it.

His cat circles impatiently, rubbing against his calf. “Time to eat,” he purrs. . . . “Snap out of it!” he meows. 

On days like today, he’s grateful for his cat. The cat’s well-timed reminders keep the man from the doorknob and belt and the dark thoughts that tie everything together. 

He whispers, “My demise will have to wait; there’s a cat to feed and a litterbox to clean.”

His apartment is a shambles. It mirrors the cluttered chaos in his head. Based on experience, he knows a good house cleaning will lift his spirits.

He often wonders how feng shui works its magic on the mind. “I’ll have to google that,” he says toward his full-bellied cat, who bathes contently in a patch of sun on the kitchen floor.

The sink is full. There’s half-eaten food caked on dishes, the remnants of last week’s menu. Why not just clean up after each meal? Especially knowing that cleanliness and order help quell his anxiety.

“Why do I let things pile up?

What keeps me from staying on top of things? 

Will I ever grow out of this?

That last question knocks around the inside of his skull like an unselected lottery ping-pong ball.

Will I ever grow out of this?

Of course, he didn’t know the answer to that question. He remembers a bright era of pre-affliction, which gives him hope. He thinks, “If I magically went from being happy to depressed, why can’t I miraculously go from depressed to happy?”

Unfortunately, there’s a history – a consistent footprint on the ladder of his family’s DNA. He’s been branded in a sense, and sometimes that feels so fatalistic he simply wants to give up.

But he doesn’t.

He continues to clean.