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January 17, 2008
REFLECTIONS ON GRIEF by Ken Blank
I spent Saturday afternoon digging a grave in my back yard for our third cat, Timothy. We’d just come home from a 1:00pm appointment with the Vet who said he has cancer and wouldn’t get any better. He’d become increasingly distressed with breathing since Thanksgiving but we were hoping for late onset asthma. They offered to euthanize him then and there but we decided to take him home for a few days and say our goodbyes. We would bring him to the Vet on Monday morning, if he didn't die on his own over the weekend.
We got Timothy 15 ½ years ago when our neighbor said a cousin had a litter of kittens he was trying to place. Our first cat, Cyrus, had died in ’91 when we already had our second cat, Abby, for about 9 years. Our cats seemed to get along well when they had a companion and the kids liked the idea of playing with a kitten. It was a good choice on our part. Abby died at nearly 16 years of age in ‘98 and Tim was okay as an “only” pet for the past 10 years.
I cried off and on during the three hours it took me to locate the other headstones in our backyard pet cemetery. There are seven headstones; one each for Cyrus and Abby, the smaller stones are for four hamsters and one for an unnamed Blue Jay we found on our sidewalk when the kids were young. The last time we’d used our cemetery was for Abby about 10 years ago and since then, I’ve only “cleaned it up” once, maybe seven years ago. I was surprised how “buried” the headstones had become under leaves, dirt and twigs beneath the large cedar tree. In fact, the headstones were so buried that I needed a pitchfork to dig down and find the stones; they were not in the area I had remembered them to be. I was pleased to find the headstones in good condition with only some letters and drawings painted by the kids worn or washed away. I decided to clean them up, repaint were the weather had worn them clean and replace them on Sunday. I marked the spots of the headstones and drew a map of their location in case it rained. Then, I dug the grave for Timothy.
As these feelings rose to the surface, I realized my grief was about so much more than Timothy. Over the past year or so, I’d had feelings of grief arise at unusual times, almost breaking in on me when least expected. I knew my soul was trying to tell me something, yet I’d not paid that much attention to these feelings as I might have. I realized that the intensity of grief with Timothy opened me to these additional losses.
So I reflected on these feelings over the weekend and this is what I’ve thought about. First, I’d turned 60 and then 61 and for the first time, I could see the close of my career as I know it. I also knew that even if I wanted to make a change in jobs, there was a slim chance I could find anything meaningful due to age discrimination. (I have a friend with a very successful career and after retiring at 63, tried to re-enter the hospital ministry field, only to not even get an interview for a position in a medical center.) Second, I also remembered that no male in my family has surpassed 74 years of age except one, my grandfather, who reached 77 but was totally disabled the last 6 years of his life from a serious stroke. So, I thought to myself, maybe I have 15 years left. Third, what kind of changes had Audrey and I planned for when we would be retired and living on a fixed income? Sure, we’ve talked about it and made a decision to stay in Oklahoma but it was a decision more of “fact” and not so much of feelings. Frankly, I don’t want to make any changes when I retire, but I know I will need to. My identity as a financial provider for my family, which continues to be important to me, will shift but I suspect this is easier to talk about in the abstract than actually do. Fourth, we’d just taken Audrey’s parents, who are in their eighties, to visit two retirement centers in Oklahoma due to the possibility that they may need assistance in the future with activities of daily living. This means they might give up their home on the New Jersey coast where my family has vacationed for 30 years. In these four areas, I felt my powerlessness to change much of anything and I was in grief.
Through this weekend, I honestly acknowledged my own changing circumstances and decided to pay more attention to my losses. Writing this brief paper is a serious beginning of that process. I’ve also thought of returning to a 12-step program which was very helpful to me in the mid-1980’s. Paradoxically, it’s when I admit my powerlessness that I find the power to live in the present!
On Sunday evening, I confessed to Timothy that I was powerless to change the course of what was happening to him and then thanked him for the many years Audrey, Suzanne, Allison and I had spent together with him. I realized that over the years, he had made the transition from a pet to a member of the family!
Timothy survived the weekend but barely, obviously in respiratory and cardiac distress. No physical pain; just hard to be comfortable. Audrey and I took Timothy to the Vet at 8:00am on Monday, January 7th. We both cried as we drove to the office and talked about who would bring him in. Since I’m a “natural crier”, I knew Audrey could hold it all together better then me as she dropped off Timothy. I had thought about being with him when they “put him to sleep” but as I sat in the car in the parking lot, the pain felt just too much for me. The thought of holding Timothy as he died brought me back to an earlier grief in 1986 when I held my father as he died in a small New England hospital. That evening was the most painful yet somehow the most fulfilling experience of my life. Back then, I had gathered dad’s younger sister and an Elder from his church to join me for his final hours. I’d done everything I thought I could do, including allowing a DNR order to stand in the chart. (I just now remembered; that experience in New England lasted three hours as well.) As I sat in the car in the parking lot, I was just emotionally wrung out!
Yet, as I drove home, I began to talk with Audrey about returning and being with Timothy. I knew I couldn’t do anything to change the course of Timothy’s death but I also knew I didn’t want him to be only with strangers in his final moments. I felt that to be home when I knew this was going to happen would be abandonment on my part, which was a significant dynamic in my growing-up years. I decided again to change my historical family dynamics. Timothy, by this time, didn’t seem to respond any differently to whoever touched him; yet, I knew I wanted to be with him. I was reminded that Faithfulness isn’t dependent on the knowledge or awareness of those we are faithful to. I retuned to the Vets at 9:00am, Kleenex in hand. Timothy was breathing hard but very weak. By 9:10, Timothy was dead.
Today, January 7, 2008, is Audrey and my 30th Wedding Anniversary and Timothy had been with us for over half our married lives. That morning, we decided to postpone our anniversary dinner to this coming Saturday evening and we buried Timothy at 5:00pm instead.
Thank you, Timothy. Thank you.
In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, Amen.
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Posted by Perry Miller, Editor at January 17, 2008 10:03 PM