Riley has his own Facebook page, Living the Life of Riley. He tries to spread the word of canine epilepsy and what it means to live with it. Through that page we have connected across the globe with other who live in that same world, and we are as united as any family. Common threads. I posted this on his page today. The canine epilepsy family had another loss today. I never met them, didn't know them, but my heart broke for yet another pet parent facing what we can't fix. There has been a lot of that this year.
Dealing with losses. Our little Facebook family has seen so many
lately. Too many this year. You question, why? Why my baby?
They didn’t deserve this. All
they ever did was love me. You doubt
God. How could a loving God allow this
to happen? Surely there is no Supreme
Being if innocent animals are allowed to get sick and die. It just isn’t fair.
You grieve.
And then you start to live
again. Tentative at first. Is it okay to laugh? Too soon?
Am I a bad pet parent? I just
slept through the night and didn’t wake up at every little sound, worried. We just went all day and never thought about
med times, even once.
Without loss, in my opinion,
there can be no growth. A tree planted
in a flowerpot will only grow so much.
There is no place for the roots to spread and pull all the necessary
nutrients from the ground that it needs to reach its fullest potential. Losing someone you love hurts like hell. No question.
But if we can focus less on why they are gone and more on why they were
in our lives to start with, then maybe the doors start to open a bit. Something, or someone, can move in.
Christy and Stormy were the
original Tanksley "Girls". Precious
Pomeranian hairballs! Mom and Dad loved
and adored them. They went everywhere
together and it was a perfect little family of four. Later Molly would join the family as the
first rescue, adopted from the Wyandotte County animal shelter. And then Midnight as a stray “let’s get this
baby out of the 10 degree winter Kansas night and find her owners in the
morning”, for whom that morning never came, but so many other wonderful
mornings did as a Tanksley. And life was
good.
One day Mom noticed sores on
Stormy’s little pink tummy. She took her
their vet, whom they really liked, and it went from allergies to bacteria and
needing her teeth cleaned and back to allergies and back to teeth cleaned. Mom got a second opinion. Stormy was diagnosed with Cushing’s
Disease. Mom and Dad did their research
and learned what they could. Not long
after, Christy faced the same diagnosis.
They took their medicine and it was easy to treat.
Until it wasn’t.
After several years of living
with Cushing’s, Stormy had developed right-sided heart disease (yes, there is a
difference in heart disease based on location).
They took her to the emergency vet at her Cushing’s doctor on a Friday
night, came home with Lasix to try to relieve the fluid around her heart over
the weekend and they would do more test on Monday. Mom took her on Monday, and they ran their
tests and sent her home. That night Mom
was trying to give her the medicine for her heart. It had not been easy. She was carrying Stormy in her left arm and
talking to Daddy on the phone with her right hand. Stormy’s heart suddenly seized up and she
died. Just like that. Right in the crook of Mom’s arm. They said it could have been a blood clot from
the Cushing’s or the heart disease. We’ll
never know for certain.
Mom and Dad cried for three
straight days. Barely able to even
move. It was a loss unlike either had
ever experienced. It seemed senseless
and completely unfair. She had just
turned 11 years old the week before.
Still young in their eyes. She’d
never done anything to anyone except to love unconditionally.
After toying around with having
Stormy hermetically sealed in a space bag or cloned (animal cloning was big in
the news about that time), Mom and Dad decided to cremate her so that, like in
life, she could always be wherever they were.
Looking back now, I can see how
much I have benefitted from Stormy being a part of Mom and Dad’s world. I never knew her. Mom and Dad didn’t even move to Mississippi
until after she had passed. But the
things they learned from her may have been big contributing factors to them
even agreeing to keep me when they found me.
They learned that no matter how much you love your vet, it is okay to
get a second opinion. In fact, it may be
crucial. No one person can know
everything about everything and you have to ask questions. You don’t always just accept. Mom never would have done that before, and
she does it all the time now. They
learned to research; to seek out their own information to pose the right
questions. They learned about diets and
medications and supplements. That the
world is not a one-size-fits-all kind of place.
Christy lived to be 16 with
Cushing’s Disease. Her lesson to Mom and
Dad was that sometimes things do get managed.
You find the right fit and life rolls on. I was definitely the beneficiary of all
that. Mom and Dad working as a team with
multiple vets in various disciplines earned me two seizure free years. If they had followed the advice of some of
the first vets, I wouldn’t be here today.
My tenure as a Tanksley would have only been months instead of the
almost seven years I have gotten so far.
They learned that hearts
heal. And get bigger. So many people won’t get another pet after
they lose one. Hurts too much they
say. Mom and Dad not only got another
one, but there was a whole population explosion! Every time we lose a family member, seems
like there is another someone in need waiting in the wings. Had Stormy lived as long as Christy, there
might not have been room for Frankie, or Patches. Molly’s passing made room for Maggie. Midnight left a spot that Gabby ultimately
filled. If Mom and Dad hadn’t taken me
in, I would not have made so many wonderful friends through this virtual family
we have. The world of canine epilepsy is
so much vaster they realized and they learn from others every day. Mom wouldn’t have connected with a fabulous
woman with not just one but two epi warriors.
That gave her the strength to consider a second one for us when there
was a warrior in desperate need of a safe home.
In the end, his family kept him, but Mom and Dad probably wouldn’t have
even given it a glancing thought five years ago. I was enough of a handful!
So yes, losing hurts. But it is what is left behind that makes it
okay. You don’t always see it, or know
it, immediately, but one day it just “clicks”.
And you know. There is a reason
why we come into a life, and a reason we leave it, and leave it when we
do.
When our work here is done.