Grief. Unimaginable, painful, swooping waves of grief. I’ve experienced a similar journey before with my dad’s passing in 2017 but this, this is different. This is me missing a limb. It’s been less than 24 hours since my sweet, wonderful, light of my life dog named Obadiah passed away. And I’m writing to help process these wild and gnarly emotions.

I knew Obie’s big and beautiful life was nearing the end, but I didn’t think that yesterday, September 15 2023 would be his last day on earth.

Backstory

As many of you know, my Obadiah was a strong, fierce, warrior of a dog. He developed osteosarcoma and beat the odds, confusing and wowing every doctor he came across. He broke his leg the day we moved into our new house (March 2020) and after 4 hours in the ER they wrapped up his leg and told me he needed an amputation or he’d have to be put down. He was 6 years old at the time and full of life and I knew I had to do everything to keep him alive. So we went with the amputation, and I started a fundraiser to help with the costs (it was five grand after the ER and surgery) and to be surprise my amazing online community donated nearly the exact amount to the dollar that we needed to cover his bills. It was … nothing short of a miracle. And then Obie, as he always would, survived and thrived with only 3 legs. A traditional oncologist in Austin gave him 3 months to live with chemo. I couldn’t accept that. So I did tons of my own research and found a holistic oncologist who I believe is half the reason Obie survived his cancer diagnosis for over 3 years. His name is Dr. Charles Loops and he is a miracle worker.

Recently

Obie had developed a cough a few months ago but it wasn’t too bad. The thing with osteosarcoma is that it spreads quickly and first to the lungs. So we assumed that was the case – we did an xray and found a small nodule on his lung but he was still breathing normally and acting normal. In the last 3 weeks, Obie’s health had significantly decreased. I was in Mexico for 6 days (should have been 5 but that’s another story) and when I got back, he was not himself. He was trying, with all his spirit, to be himself but he was struggling. I saw the pain in his eyes, and I made an appointment with my vet but she couldn’t see him for two more days, so we got him some extra painkillers in the mean time. His cough was so hoarse and deep and rough I could tell he wasn’t getting enough air. And he couldn’t get comfortable – he kept moving all around and wasn’t sleeping through the night. Then Friday morning came (September 15) and it was time for the vet. In my heart I knew it was a possibility that this could be his last day but I was in denial. I thought, I’m sure it’s just excess fluid and they can drain it, or there’s something that can help him get better because he is constantly beating the odds. He didn’t eat much breakfast, and he looked at me in a way he’s never looked at me before. It was as if he was saying “please help me be out of this pain.” My heart sank as I held him close and told him how proud of him I was. That I would do whatever it takes to make him feel better. That he was the goodest boy there ever was.

September 15 – His Last Day

Trigger Warning- death.

This is hard to write. But I keep replaying it all in my head. Trauma will do that to you. Trying to reconcile the complete and utter tragedy while not wanting it to be true.

When I got to the vet, I had a few ideas of what to expect. But it was happening so fast. The doctor came in – a very kind and compassionate doctor – and told me what I figured… Obie’s breathing is extremely labored and it’s as if he’s breathing through a straw. Can you imagine how painful and uncomfortable it would be if YOU were breathing through a straw for days or even weeks? I knew my boy was in extreme pain. When she told me this I knew what I had to do to bring him peace. The doctor told me that we could try some bronchital expanders and different things to help but that he would not be recovering from this and to think about end of life options. I had been thinking about this for awhile – a dear friend of mine had to help her dog pass but there are services you can do in your own home to have that experience. I was in such a state of shock and wanted to help Obie feel better immediately, so I told the doctor that I think it’s best to do the passing of life procedure now. That it isn’t fair to keep him around for my own wants. She agreed and said it was the most selfless thing I could do for him. I hope that’s true because it still feels so awful and conflicting. Obie didn’t get a say in how he wanted to breathe his last breath, and I hope I made the right choice for him. I’m still struggling with that, to be honest.

So then it was time to say goodbye. I Facetimed Joel and Nadia first, then my mom and my sisters. I don’t know if he understood but I wanted him to hear that so many people loved him. As I waited for the doctor to come in with the medicine, Obie laid down in my lap, and I explained what would happen. I hope to God he understood that I was doing this to get him out of his physical pain, that I loved him more than I knew I was capable of loving, and that he taught me so much in his 10 years on earth. As much as I didn’t want to make this decision, I wanted him to leave this earth peacefully and not in a state of crisis aka suffocate (which was potentially what would happen since his breathing deteriorated at such a quick pace the last few days) I repeated over and over “I love you so much. I’m so proud of you. You are the goodest boy.” Over and over and over. And I held him in my arms as I felt his body go limp, my head on his chest as he breathed his last breath. The doctor told me “he’s gone” and I felt my whole body convulse in uncontrollable sobbing.

How Do I Move On?

I will never forget the day I adopted him, and how he was immediately my partner in all the things I did as a 21 year old. He was there for so many big moments, and in the mundane stuff too. He was always there. Always. And now, my heart is broken into a million pieces, searching for my companion that was always there. This morning, I went to go feed him but he’s not here. I went to go find him on his spot on the couch, but he’s not here. I went to bring him back in from going potty in the yard, but he’s not here. I can’t reconcile that a piece of my heart is no longer physically here with me. I know he was in a world of pain but he held on for me for so many years. It feels so wrong that dogs don’t get to live as long as humans, because to me, they are the most wonderful creatures on earth. I’ve experienced deep grief with my dad’s passing, and this feels like accumulated grief. Very important male figures in my life, leaving earth too soon, in an unfair way that hurts more than anything I’ve ever felt. I’m not sure how to do life without him. With this gaping hole in my chest and my whole body aching and confused.

I’m grateful for the years I had with my Obie, and all the love that he gave me. From traveling across America together, to being my safe place after big breakups, to moving houses 10 times, to welcoming Joel into our lives, being the gentlest giant with Nadia, fighting cancer like the fiercest fighter and all the inbetweens. He had a big, exciting, love-filled life. I feel privileged that I was chosen to be his mom. I’m so proud of the boy he was. (Ugh, was..past tense sucks)

Rest in peace, my sweet Obadiah. Mama loves you.