I Love You, Spartacus – Photo: L. Weikel
He’s Actually Gone
Trying to write this post is a nightmare. Believe me, I don’t want to. It stuns me that it’s necessary. Eulogizing my beloved Spartacus seems redundant. Any attempt – inadequate. I’m going to have to let the million posts I wrote that referenced him and his mother Sheila speak for themselves. I don’t want to believe he’s actually gone. But he is.
The photo that was at the top of last night’s post was taken at 2:00 p.m. yesterday. The rapidity with which his health situation crashed was stunning. The doctors have no clue as to his illness’s etiology.
All I know is that our veterinarian and the emergency veterinarian both were at a loss. His blood work showed his liver and kidneys were failing. He was septic – apparently very much so, according to his blood sugar. And the chances of bringing him back from the brink of reuniting with his mommy, Sheila, were extremely slim.
Hangin’ on the porch – Photo: L. Weikel
Small Comfort
As with all loss, especially the kind that sneaks up and smacks you in the head from behind, questions abound. Regrets, second-guessing, and ‘what-ifs’ swirl unmercifully in your head, and even more so in your heart. While intellectually you might know without a doubt that the one lost (and here I’m making no distinction between the objects of our love) knew they were loved and adored – it is small comfort in the face of the fact that suddenly they’re gone.
Squeaky toy, muddy paws; Photo: L.Weikel
And Yet, It’s Everything
I think that’s probably the most excruciating part about being a human. It’s both the awareness of love and the persistence of that awareness once the beloved is gone. Because it’s that persistence of awareness that stops us in our tracks when we remember they’re gone. And it’s the persistence of that awareness that’s reflected in the pain we humans are terrified of knowing. At least that’s been my experience.
Pain is the direct 1:1 reflection of the depth of the love. It can feel unfathomable.
I love with my whole heart, without restriction. And when I lose an object of my love (particularly unexpectedly) the pain ‘goes there.’ It is hard to see straight for a time. And it’s tempting to wish I’d never opened myself up to being hurt so deeply, to being left so vulnerable.
The Four S’s – Photo: L.Weikel
And Then I Remember
I remember the joy. I remember what’s truly important about life and living.
Knowing the pain, I love all the more. In fact, I yearn to bring more love into my life. I’m not a glutton for punishment. I just know. Love is what lives forever. And it’s the most powerful force in existence.
Sheila and Spartacus Reunited 9/20/21 – 5 days shy of one year exactly; Photo: L.Weikel
(T-67)
So very sorry to read this. I know how much you loved him and how important he was (and is!) in your life. Our animal companions seem so transparent and easy to understand, but at their core remain as mysterious as the universe. Mourn as you should and must, but also take time to remember the happiness you shared with Spartacus.
With love and sincere sympathy,
Bill
Thanks so much, Bill.
He was a constant source of happiness (except when he would raid the cat box or sneak over to the neighbor’s house). And even then, all was forgiven when I looked in those big brown eyes.
I’m just devastated by the sudden nature of his departure. Didn’t see it coming. And that’s always awful, whether involving human family or animal family members.
Oh, Lisa, I am so sorry to hear about Sparticus! He was a sweet boy. I know what a hole this leaves in your daily life, in your heart. Sending hugs and hoping you get comfort from the memory of puppy kisses.
Thanks, Elaine. Yes, it is a gaping void that we notice every time we turn around. He was always there. Always enthusiastically loving us with his whole big heart.
Thanks for the hugs…!