Getting down real low

This will be a short one — I think. My sister texted me ((Don’t you find it peculiar that a lot of the up-and-comings communicate through text? It can be so cold in that fashion, but when seen in a different lense it can be so vivacious.)) that my parents decided to put Kay, the oldest dog in our family — maybe some 16 odd human years old — to sleep. She had suffered from a stroke this past morning, and it seems that my parents thought it best to let Kay go.

There’s an uncanny coincidence here. Early in the second semester of my senior year, my dog — my loyal pug, Muffy — fell victim to what we supposed to be a coyote. Furthermore, she was on her back in a Wisconsin winter for an entire night. The afternoon before she died, when I was coming home from school, I remember walking into the patio and watching both Kay and Muffy run over to me like they hadn’t seen anyone all day (and they really hadn’t). I remember looking at Muffy because there was something different in her stare; taking that into consideration, as well as the fact that I hadn’t had quality time with her for the entire week, I flirted with the idea of having her sleep with me for the night.

As the evening dragged on, that idea slipped my mind, and instead of my snoozing on my bed, Muffy rested — literally and eternally — outside. Sometimes I wish I had brought her in, but I think I know that it really doesn’t matter. There’s no sense in toying with what-ifs.

Her death was the first death I had ever experienced on a personal level. I see that as God’s way of easing me into dealing with death. In my pursuit for a career in medicine, I had better learn how to deal with death. Now with the death of two dogs — two dogs who I literally grew up with — I feel like I’m ready to deal with human death. If someone very close to me had died before Muffy and Kay, I think I would have become psychologically insecure.

I said before that there was a coincidence in Muffy’s and Kay’s deaths; before each passed away, I had a small urge to want to be with them. Earlier this week I was thinking about Kay and how blessed I was to have her in my life. I wanted to bring her onto my bed, pet her, and just think. I wanted to do that this weekend.

My sister texted me right before orchestra rehearsal began. When I read the words, my heart sank the slightest measurement. The impact of death bounced, and I’m predicting that it will continue to bounce, right off of me. Generally, I find that a good quality. I don’t mean to say that I have no emotion or sympathy for when someone passes away. I only mean to say that death doesn’t seem to wreck me — not the slightest bit; at least, it doesn’t initially.

Now on a brighter note, I’m aiming my next blog to be one of hope and inspiration. In a nutshell, I’ll be presenting the last project I ever completed in high school. Let me share this verse as it seems to capture the idea of this post, and projects some insight of my next post.

Not only so, but we also rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not disappoint us . . . Romans 5:3-5

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2 comments
  1. kate said:

    texting is bomb.

  2. Tikaniu said:

    I kinda get what you mean about the “bouncing off” off you part. It feels like a dream, right? Almost like it didn’t really happen? I’m so sorry to hear about your loss… I’m glad it’s not hitting you too hard.

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