Crumbled Heart
"You cannot make two people like each other."
These are the words I've been tossing around in my head since I first discovered this fortune last Friday, trying to figure out if this intended message was true, and if so, was it simply about people, or about things in general, such as resisting the impulse to impose a situation, or maybe a little bit about both.
It is true, of course. When two people, or two beings, like each other, there's no force needed, and when they love each other - fearlessly, unconditionally, endlessly - watch out, because there's no stopping it. It's the kind of love I carry for Awesome-O, my beloved two-year-old Corgi, but never in thousand years did I think I'd be reflecting on it in relation to what can only be described as the most devastating event I've experienced in my life to date.
Our beautiful Awesome-O, enjoying Central Park
It is with the heaviest of hearts that I share the news that our sweet dog died suddenly this morning around 6am, after being on what we thought was the mend from Immune Mediated Hemolytic Anemia (IMHA), an illness that first reared it's ugly head the day after Thanksgiving two months ago. The IMHA not only aggressively attacks the immune system and red blood cells, but also acts a symptom of a bigger problem, such as cancer or a tick-borne related disease. Both had been ruled out in Awesome-O's case, along with several other potential sources, and as such he fell into the majority percentile of those afflicted with this condition: never knowing the exact trigger.
We treated the IMHA with everything we had, enlisting not only our own incredible vet, Dr. Suzanne May, but also the wonderful staff at Animal General in the Upper East Side. Awesome-O underwent a blood transfusion, which he seemed to accept successfully, and after a dangerously low 17% RBC, he was quickly back up in the safe percentile of high 30s-low 40s. We administered steroids, which unfortunately came with their fair share of side effects including increased thirst and excessive urination, along with another immune drug, coupled with weekly vet check ups to monitor his progress.
The steroids made him much slower than usual, and as a result, as some point Awesome-O also strained his back, so we had added a pain killer on to his daily meds. While he definitely wasn't his normal goofy, spunky, playful, charming self (he hadn't been since the IMHA first hit), he did seem to be getting better, slowly but surely. In fact, his last check-up was just a few days ago on Thursday, and through the weekend my husband and I were also both remarking how his energy level seemed higher, while his pain level seemed lower.
Last night was no different than any other since Awesome-O first got sick; my husband and I were both up with him at various points throughout, refilling water bowls and changing pee pads. Then, this morning around 6am, I heard him up getting another drink, went to grab my coat to take him outside for a walk, came back to the bedroom, and he was just...gone.
Our devastation cannot be described, but we are searching for comfort in the fact that we were right there with him when it happened, and that it happened so very, very fast, so he wasn't in any pain.
As I mentioned, the vets were never able to determine what caused the IMHA. Usually, it's a sign of a bigger problem, and we think whatever it was that caused IMHA essentially led to heart failure, stroke, or an aneurysm that came on quick without warning.
The waves of grief crashing into me truly carry some of the most profoundly deep feelings of pain I've ever know. We loved Awesome-O beyond words, but we also know, 100% without question, that he loved us too. It was truly love at first sight. I've never had any living being or creature look at me the way he did - just eyes full of pure, effortless love. I know he loved every moment of his life, and I am so proud and honored that we were able to make him happy, even if just for the short time he had to share.
I am thinking about him every second, through tears and silence and tears and disbelief, and then the oh-so-empty silence again. I am thinking about how he loved to hoard socks underneath the dining room table, or sleep on his back with all four paws in the air, snoring louder than either of us. I am thinking about his unique yet perfect name, which stemmed from a "South Park" episode and became a litmus test of sorts: about 1 out of every 8 people got the reference immediately, and for those that didn't, it was always fun to explain regardless.
Awesome-O loved park benches.
I am thinking about how unbelievably photogenic he was, and how he knew it, and what a ham he could be. I am thinking about how much he loved to ride in the car, and how he would paw his empty water bowl like,"Service, please!" I am thinking about how wonderful he was with children, tender and sweet, from babies to tweens, and what a fan club he had in general - at the bank, his doggy day care, the store, our neighborhood. I am thinking about his puppy kisses, the way he would sit under my chair while I worked from home all day, follow me any and everywhere. How smart he was, how quickly he picked up on his training, how he would come bounding in from the front door to wherever you were after a walk, as if to announce, "I'm back!"
I am thinking about my last night with him, holding him close to me, just over my heartbeat, giving him kiss after kiss and singing him silly, made-up songs that all came back to the refrain:
"I love you more than anything in the world."
He knew it. He absolutely knew, without question, how much we loved him. He always knew, from the second we got him at six months old, and I think that love might be the only thing that allows me to survive this.
"You cannot make two people like each other."
No, you cannot, and you should not. Why waste time trying to force situations, or relationships, or feelings. Embrace the ones that offer true love, immediately and selflessly, and cherish them, for however long it can last.
The love of my life.
These are the words I've been tossing around in my head since I first discovered this fortune last Friday, trying to figure out if this intended message was true, and if so, was it simply about people, or about things in general, such as resisting the impulse to impose a situation, or maybe a little bit about both.
It is true, of course. When two people, or two beings, like each other, there's no force needed, and when they love each other - fearlessly, unconditionally, endlessly - watch out, because there's no stopping it. It's the kind of love I carry for Awesome-O, my beloved two-year-old Corgi, but never in thousand years did I think I'd be reflecting on it in relation to what can only be described as the most devastating event I've experienced in my life to date.
It is with the heaviest of hearts that I share the news that our sweet dog died suddenly this morning around 6am, after being on what we thought was the mend from Immune Mediated Hemolytic Anemia (IMHA), an illness that first reared it's ugly head the day after Thanksgiving two months ago. The IMHA not only aggressively attacks the immune system and red blood cells, but also acts a symptom of a bigger problem, such as cancer or a tick-borne related disease. Both had been ruled out in Awesome-O's case, along with several other potential sources, and as such he fell into the majority percentile of those afflicted with this condition: never knowing the exact trigger.
We treated the IMHA with everything we had, enlisting not only our own incredible vet, Dr. Suzanne May, but also the wonderful staff at Animal General in the Upper East Side. Awesome-O underwent a blood transfusion, which he seemed to accept successfully, and after a dangerously low 17% RBC, he was quickly back up in the safe percentile of high 30s-low 40s. We administered steroids, which unfortunately came with their fair share of side effects including increased thirst and excessive urination, along with another immune drug, coupled with weekly vet check ups to monitor his progress.
The steroids made him much slower than usual, and as a result, as some point Awesome-O also strained his back, so we had added a pain killer on to his daily meds. While he definitely wasn't his normal goofy, spunky, playful, charming self (he hadn't been since the IMHA first hit), he did seem to be getting better, slowly but surely. In fact, his last check-up was just a few days ago on Thursday, and through the weekend my husband and I were also both remarking how his energy level seemed higher, while his pain level seemed lower.
Last night was no different than any other since Awesome-O first got sick; my husband and I were both up with him at various points throughout, refilling water bowls and changing pee pads. Then, this morning around 6am, I heard him up getting another drink, went to grab my coat to take him outside for a walk, came back to the bedroom, and he was just...gone.
Our devastation cannot be described, but we are searching for comfort in the fact that we were right there with him when it happened, and that it happened so very, very fast, so he wasn't in any pain.
As I mentioned, the vets were never able to determine what caused the IMHA. Usually, it's a sign of a bigger problem, and we think whatever it was that caused IMHA essentially led to heart failure, stroke, or an aneurysm that came on quick without warning.
The waves of grief crashing into me truly carry some of the most profoundly deep feelings of pain I've ever know. We loved Awesome-O beyond words, but we also know, 100% without question, that he loved us too. It was truly love at first sight. I've never had any living being or creature look at me the way he did - just eyes full of pure, effortless love. I know he loved every moment of his life, and I am so proud and honored that we were able to make him happy, even if just for the short time he had to share.
I am thinking about him every second, through tears and silence and tears and disbelief, and then the oh-so-empty silence again. I am thinking about how he loved to hoard socks underneath the dining room table, or sleep on his back with all four paws in the air, snoring louder than either of us. I am thinking about his unique yet perfect name, which stemmed from a "South Park" episode and became a litmus test of sorts: about 1 out of every 8 people got the reference immediately, and for those that didn't, it was always fun to explain regardless.
I am thinking about how unbelievably photogenic he was, and how he knew it, and what a ham he could be. I am thinking about how much he loved to ride in the car, and how he would paw his empty water bowl like,"Service, please!" I am thinking about how wonderful he was with children, tender and sweet, from babies to tweens, and what a fan club he had in general - at the bank, his doggy day care, the store, our neighborhood. I am thinking about his puppy kisses, the way he would sit under my chair while I worked from home all day, follow me any and everywhere. How smart he was, how quickly he picked up on his training, how he would come bounding in from the front door to wherever you were after a walk, as if to announce, "I'm back!"
I am thinking about my last night with him, holding him close to me, just over my heartbeat, giving him kiss after kiss and singing him silly, made-up songs that all came back to the refrain:
"I love you more than anything in the world."
He knew it. He absolutely knew, without question, how much we loved him. He always knew, from the second we got him at six months old, and I think that love might be the only thing that allows me to survive this.
"You cannot make two people like each other."
No, you cannot, and you should not. Why waste time trying to force situations, or relationships, or feelings. Embrace the ones that offer true love, immediately and selflessly, and cherish them, for however long it can last.
This is a beautiful tribute to a truly magical relationship. I hope your heart begins to heal soon, SG. It might not heal completely, but it will heal.
Reply to this
"I am so proud and honored that we were able to make him happy, even if just for the short time he had to share."
YES, and this sentiment will help carry you through the dark days you're in now. Awesome-O knew love.
Reply to this
I am so sorry to hear about your sweet puppy. I have a dog that I adore and can really relate to your relationship with Awesome-O.
Reply to this
This is a beautiful tribute. I never got the chance to meet him but I felt like I did. Yes, he was a rock star! You are too. Perhaps you will write about him and keep his memory alive; a graphic novel of a magical dog.
Reply to this
Hi,
I received the sad news from Karyn Bosnak and wanted to honor Awesome-O. This a loving, tremendous tribute to his sweet self. You could have him for 2 years, you could have had him for 20, the pain of losing a being who loves you so perfectly is the same. And I am so very saddened at his sudden passing from you.
We adopted an old Golden Retriever in 2005, Nick, because the rescue wouldn't allow us to get a younger dog since we have a parrot. He was 12 1/2, our first dog, the love of my life. He was with us for 20 months before cancer took him. We didn't intend to rescue another "Olden Golden," but we are on #s 3, 4, and 5 now. We lost Achilles in June after only 22 months with us, and we have Milo, Laverne & Shirley now.
I'm sorry, I don't mean to turn this into me, but I wanted to tell you about your incredible capacity to give love. Our dogs teach us that, without us even being aware of it. We never thought we could get through getting another dog, but we did rescue more, and we realized we had benefitted from our dogs more than they did from us.
Awesome-O is with you and always will be. He will find just the perfect four legger to bring joy back into your life, and you will know it when you see him or her, whether it happens in 1 month or 10 years. You'll know it is a gift from your furbaby. Hang in here until then. The pain is deep and searing, and I'm sorry you're in the midst of it.
We don't know each other, but we both have known the love of a beloved dog. You are in our thoughts and prayers, and I hope Awesome-O is up in heaven giving my Nick and my Achilles the business!
Reply to this
what an amazing thing to do. it makes me happy to know that there are people like you in this world. thank you for posting your response, it is so inspiring and uplifting, and restores my faith in the human ability to be decent, loving, amazing people!! i wish you all the best in your life! you've honestly inspired me. thank you!
Reply to this
You were a wonderful dog Mom. I don't even know you personally but I could see that, just from the anecdotes and pictures that you've shared, and merely from the way that you spoke of him. It was obviously true love - and he was a precious gift.
Reply to this
Sarah Grace, I was so sorry to hear about this, no one should ever have to go through that. Much love to you.
Reply to this
I am so sorry for your loss. My heart goes out to your and your husband.
Reply to this
Thank you so so much for the incredible outpouring of support. Really, it's the only thing that's helped push me forward and keep me in the game - knowing that I'm not alone and hearing from others that AO will indeed always feel my love and be in my heart. PS I am positive - POSITIVE - AO is bossy EVERYONE around in dog heaven.
Reply to this
Nice article. I just stumbled upon your blog and wanted to say that I have really enjoyed reading your articles. Anyway I'll be subscribing to your feed and I hope you post again soon.
Reply to this