Goodbye, Will

Tuesday afternoon (June 24) we said goodbye to our second four-legged son (Buster was our first) and longtime friend, Will.

Over the past months, Will began to deteriorate. About two weeks before his passing, one of his eyes began to bulge, and he became even more disoriented (he's been mostly blind for a while now). We took him for rounds of evaluation with our vet, and then with a veterinary opthomologist. He was put on a heavy cycle of drugs to control the bleeding in his eye (which is why it was bulging) and manage the pain. A week before his death, the vet opthomologist gave us two choices - remove his eye immediately, or increase his pain medications and remove it the following week. Not sure that we should put Will through this surgery at all, we opted for the latter to buy us more time for decision-making and began thinking that it was perhaps time to say goodbye.

In the following week, Will began to deteriorate even further - becoming very lethargic and disoriented. While it was sad to see, it also gave us more confidence that we were making the right decision. We also found a very large tumor on his side - which my Dad later diagnosed as a type of cancer - which ultimately was what was killing him (and causing the bulging eye - a symptom we were looking at as a root cause).

Will's death was certainly painful and sad. Not only were we mourning Will's deteriorating health - but also in a way, it felt like saying goodbye to a strong link back to who Mark and I were as a young married couple early in our adult lives.

We fostered Will soon after we lost Buster (who died unexpectedly (also from a tumor) in the middle of the night). I remember getting to know this new dog with some reservation because he wasn't our Buster. We didn't even intend to adopt him - simply foster him for the rescue society. We wanted another dog to distract us from the pain of losing Buster. But he quickly grew on us, and we decided we had to keep him.

Will was with us in Starke as we were trying to make our way in the world - while I studying engineering, and Mark auditioned for "the big job." He was part of our celebrations and tears through those ups and downs of getting further and further in the audition rounds - but not quite making it.

He kept Mark company while I spent two semesters away interning at Disney World. He kept me company during my last semester of school when Mark moved to Houston to begin his symphony job.

He got my apartment infested with ticks. Oh, the ticks.

He was with us as we moved into our first purchased home. He rolled around in the backyard in glee, and explored the house to Mark's and our delight as we would comment "look, he likes it!" He ate dog biscuits while we drank wine in our empty house after closing.

He remained patient and undemanding as we brought home our new baby, who consumed all our time, energy and focus - so much that even remembering to feed and let Will out seemed like a struggle. He did not hold a grudge when I snapped at him so many times for getting underfoot or begging just a little too much at the dinner table.

He was a good dog.

In our grief, I am also made aware of the intense beauty in life. Exactly how this connection is made, I am not sure. But I know there was beauty in his passing, even if it was hard.

There was beauty that he held on until my parents' visit. To provide us with support, to also say goodbye to a Granddog they so loved.

There was beauty that he had enough energy for one last family walk around the block. A walk that helped us say goodbye. That allowed each of us to hold his leash, to pat him with encouragement when he lay down to rest. That allowed us to watch Benjamin watch him walking one last time.

There was beauty that he was still interested enough in food to eat a piece of cheesecake at Benjamin's belated family birthday celebration.

There was beauty that I heard him get up from where he had laid all day in the living room to try to make his way to our bedroom to sleep with us during his last night.

There was beauty that my dad found the tumor on his side, and assured us that we were making the right decision to not operate on his eye.

There was beauty that our very cold, unpersonable veterinarian agreed to give my dad the medicine to euthanize Will, so we could do it privately at home.

There was beauty that my training course got out two hours early on the evening we decided to say goodbye, so that I could make it home in time to spend some time with Will, say goodbye and then get Will's body to the vet before they closed at six.

There was beauty that Benjamin took an unusually long nap that afternoon at just the right time, so we could all be focused on Will and saying goodbye.

There was beauty in sitting out in the grass surround by my family as Will rested his head against Mark to go to sleep for the final time.

Rest in peace, Willy Boy. You are a good dog. We miss you.