A Double-Dose of Sadness
January 10, 2009
Ever take a one-two punch to the heart?
I did, recently.
On Dec. 13, after a stunningly fast bout with pneumonia, my Mom died. Carmella Estelle Caliendo Bowman was 87 when she died, and, just a few days before, was looking forward to a Christmas with her entire family. That was a rarity because my wife and I and my parents and brother are in two different states, separated by about 1,200 miles.
But those plans fizzled at 10:58 a.m. on Dec. 13, when I received the call that I had long dreaded from my brother. “She’s gone, Bill,” was all he said, and, I guess, all he had to say. At first, there was disbelief, then resignation, then anguish.
We traveled down to Florida for the funeral and cremation, then stayed until the day after Christmas. My Mom made the best tomtato sauce, and people raved about her sausage and meatballs. (Sounds silly, but food was love to my Mom. She’d cook extra just to bring a pot to the neighbors.) On Thanksgiving, Mom made baked ziti and saved a bowl of sauce and meat, putting it in the freezer.
So on Christmas Day, I defrosted the bowl, and my wife, Dad, brother and I had spaghetti and meatballs, one last time, made by my Mom. Later that day, my wife and I made a more traditional Christmas dinner.
We also toasted my Mom with some wine she’d purchased, specifically for Christmas dinner.
That was the first punch.
On New Year’s Day, one of my Shih-Tzus, Sashi, died. She had been suffering for many months with kidney problems, and her little body just grew too tired to fight anymore.
She’d actually passed for 10 or 20 seconds the previous Saturday, the day we were leaving Florida. I grabbed her up and shook her, and for some reason she didn’t want to leave us just yet. Her heart started to beat, and then she started breathing again.
My brother drove us to an emergency veterinary hospital, where she received oxygen and fluids. The vet told my wife and I that we might consider euthanasia, but we were against it because Sashi had come back, and to us that meant she didn’t want to go anywhere just yet.
There are those animal lovers who feel it’s cruel to keep an animal alive if they are terminal and their “quality of life” is poor. But who defines “poor?” Sashi was getting up and eating and drinking and raiding her brother’s food bowl and making decisions about where she would sleep just about up to her last day. I’m not a fan of euthanasia for animals, any more than I am for “DNR’s” for humans. As long as there’s a chance, a living thing deserves a chance.
So we left Florida and came home, and Sashi was doing her thing. Then, on Jan. 1, I was getting ready to give Sashi some more food (she would eat, then stop, then eat again later. That was her pattern her whole life), when I looked down at her and saw she was not breathing. I grabbed her again, but this time she was gone.
She died in her sleep, curled up on her favorite little rug in front of her couch and among her family. I told my Dad that my Mom must have wanted some company.
So now I grieve for two. It seems that one wave lessens, then the next begins.
I’m not a religious person in any sense of the word, but I am spiritual. Because of that, I know that my Mom and Sashi are in better places, finally free of pain. Still, the selfish person within me wishes they were still here, so that I could hug both of them one more time and tell them that I love them.
Keep the faith.
