Trading One Heartbreak for Another

"Four hundred years ago, a well-known English guy had an opinion about being alone. John Donne. He thought we were never alone. Of course it was fancier when he said it. "No man is an island entire unto himself." Boil down that island talk and he just meant that all anyone needs is someone to step in, and let us know we're not alone. And who's to say that someone can't have four legs. Someone to play with, or run around with, or just hang out."  - Marley and Me

Anyone that knows our family knows how much we love dogs. Typically, the bigger, the better. For us, dogs are more than just dogs. They are part of the family and treated and such... the best food, all the stuffies and toys they can handle, and full reign of the house and the beds - the dog hair be damned. Since before I was born, mom and dad have never not had a dog. But we've had our fair share of tough goodbyes over the years. 

On October 1, 2015 we lost Daisy at 4 years old to a horrible cancer that’s only common in two dog breeds... the Bernese Mountain Dog being one of them. The loss hit our family hard. She was beautiful and sweet and stubborn as hell and boy, did we love her. 

A few months after she died, a friend of a friend of a friend posted on Facebook about a dog in Indiana who needed a new home or she would be sent to the pound. I forwarded the link to mom and told her that she was meant to save this dog. She was meant to give her a wonderful, spoiled rotten last few years and keep her from dying on a concrete floor in an overcrowded shelter. It took some work convincing dad, but a few weeks later, a massive St. Bernard walked through our front door like she just knew she was home and instantly became part of our family.

Izzy was a gentle giant. She was loyal, goofy, and an excellent snuggler. More importantly, she was mom's girl. Don't get me wrong, she loved dad and the rest of us, but nothing made her happier than laying in bed on the weekends with mom until late morning, getting her head rubbed and watching Golden Girls. She helped mom and dad get over their grief of losing Daisy. And then, when mom was diagnosed with cancer, Izzy was there for her through a different kind of grief - always remaining her steadfast companion. As mom went through more and more treatment, it took a toll on her body and her energy, and she ended up spending a lot more time at home. Izzy was always right there, even if it was just to bring a smile or sit with her in the silence. She had the weirdest quirks that could make anyone laugh, even in the hardest moments. Mom was her person, and she loved her fiercely. 

The day that mom died, we thought we were going to lose Izzy too. By that time, she was basically lame in both her hind legs and was confined to the first floor, unable to get up the four stairs to where mom later said her final goodbye. Izzy didn't move on February 10. She stayed in the same spot, refusing to eat or drink. She was in pain, and I think her big, giant heart broke that day. Before they took mom away, we asked them to give Izzy a chance to say goodbye. She walked up to mom and just laid down - like she knew she wasn't coming back. It was heartbreaking to watch, and even more heartbreaking to sit here and recall that night and the immense pain that we all felt - humans and dogs alike. 

But, Izzy stayed with us. I think she knew that dad needed her more than ever, that her job here wasn't done. And soon, they were the best of friends. Izzy was not only lame, but almost completely blind and a little hard of hearing. But despite that, she remained goofier than ever. Every night, dad would come home and fix her a big bowl of food... rice, gravy and hamburger, with a dash of dog food mixed in. 😌 Dinner was usually followed by a bowl of lactose free ice cream and a pretzel or two. I hate the word spoiled, because I believe that you can’t "spoil" a dog when their single mission in life is to make you happy and be there for you. I prefer to say that she was loved.

The house has felt so empty without mom. So empty that it hurts just to walk through the front door and realize she won't be standing at the kitchen counter making dinner and watching a rerun of Ellen. But somehow, even after she died, it felt like there was still a part of her there when you walked in and saw Izzy's giant, fluffy head and wagging tail (and plenty of drool) to welcome you home. She became dad's best bud, and they spent every night watching TV and just being together. I think that, in a way, she helped him get through those horrific first few months. She was able to step in, and let him know he wasn't alone, and there is something pretty awesome in that. 

Dogs are amazing creatures, and when a 140 lb. animal licks at your tears and tries to sit in your lap, it's hard to feel sad. Izzy was a joy in hard times and a best friend to both mom and dad when they individually needed her most. 

And she was loved. Mom and dad gave her the BEST final years of her life, and I think it was meant to be that they were able to rescue her. I'm not sure who saved who, but it doesn't really matter. 

Izzy fulfilled her purpose and left us yesterday to go be with mom again. I am a true believer that all dogs go to heaven, and there isn't a doubt in my mind that they are together, snuggled up watching Golden Girls. 

It was painful to let her go. To say goodbye and watch her go to sleep. So many tears were shed as dad, Charlie, and I kissed her head and told her what a good girl she was. Because she was the best girl. Dad and I got home late last night from the emergency vet and walked into an empty house, her leash in hand, and it felt like I was punched in the gut all over again. We lost the final piece of mom yesterday, and that hurts. The house feels bigger and emptier without her in it... without both of them in it. But I know they are OK, and I can find solace in that. 

Goodbye sweet Izzy. You will be SO missed. Take care of mom, OK?