There'll Never Be

When I graduated from undergrad, one of my best friends told me he had a special gift that was so big he could not bring it into the restaurant where we were eating a celebratory dinner. I was puzzled and wondered what he conjured up. We historically try to outdo one another when giving gifts and I was nervous! When the dinner was done, we walked outside and one of the waiters was holding the tiniest and cutest Yorkie puppy with a maroon bow in the hair between her ears. I said I wanted a dog but was not ready for the overwhelming responsibility of being a new dog owner when I had never even been around a dog for an extended period. From the day I laid eyes on her to the day a decade later when I watched her take her last breath, she was a blinding ray of sunshine. She was my right hand, and she was my baby.

On this anniversary of her passing, I will try not to focus on how hard it was to return to a home where she was no longer an occupant or how I cried as I disposed of her worn toys. I want to talk about the joy that dogs bring and the power of letting go. Lexi developed an issue with her kidneys a couple of years before she passed, and we managed it well until we could not, and her condition deteriorated rapidly. Last year this time I was in France having the time of my life and stepping away to take a call from my mom regarding her care and medicine schedule and coordinating with my best friend to take her to and from the hospital. I felt so guilty being in such a beautiful place for a few days and Lexi was having a hard time.

Fast-forward to the day after I got back home. I took one look at her and knew it was time. I am a sentimental, nostalgic, keepsake type of person and gift giver and it is hard for me to throw away things that have personal value. It was only after experiencing grief in recent years before Lexi’s passing I realized that the value is not in the physical but in the memories we hold. I would trade items for hugs any day. I had to learn that physically holding on to something does not erase what made it valuable in the first place. After learning this, I was able to purge my belongings. It was this idea that crossed my mind when the nicest emergency vet broke the hard news to me.

Janelle Monae has a song called “Letting Go” that played all the time at a retail job I worked part-time after graduating college and although the tune is upbeat and inspiring, the act is so much harder. What we do not realize is how necessary it is. My mom has rose bushes that she cuts back in colder months to make way for new growth. Letting go is not easy but there is beauty in it.

To help cope I surrounded myself with flowers and plants. My mom started her garden. Seeing life flourish helps ease the pain of losing such a tiny but mighty part of our unit. Lexi loved her mama and her "granna" (as I like to call my mom). She could answer questions, was hilarious, very smart, independent, and the best cuddler. People in my life asked about her all the time and I always had a story. The girl was a character. She is sorely missed and forever loved. I walked out of the animal hospital without her in my arms, but she is incapable of leaving my heart.

When you are forced to let go, turn toward whatever light you can find and bask in it. It may take you a while to see it, but it will come. Love on those who lose loved ones and keep those in your community uplifted. Make room for new growth in your life with the rain from the storm. I will be thinking of you. 

To my Lexi, my yexi, my yexi schmoo schmoo, fat puppy, little one, shweet, I miss you so much!

There'll never be a better love...