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Hathaway was confused. First, Hathaway didn’t realize
how small she was and was often taking on those who were much
larger than she. Secondly, Hathaway didn’t get that
she was a girl. At first we thought she was a lesbian, but
later we realized she was bisexual. Finally, Hathaway didn’t
know she was a dog. But there was one thing Hathaway was very
clearly about and that was that I belonged to her and she
belonged to me.
If Hathaway were sitting on my lap and our Labrador, Maggie
came near, Hathaway’s lip would start to quiver, she’d
bare her teeth and slowly work her way up to a growl making
sure Maggie knew that this was her time with Mommy. And there
was nothing Hathaway enjoyed more than being held by Mommy.
She would lie on her back in my arms for as much rubbing and
scratching as she could get. If I stopped she would lean her
head against my chest as if to say, “More, more!”
Only other dog lovers can really understand this bond. One
that is closer than that of many humans. Hathaway and I were
a perfect match of her desire for love and my need to give
it.
Hathaway was small even for a Jack-Russell Terrier with
red/brown markings on her otherwise white body. We thought
we were getting a smooth coated Jack-Russell, but her fur
grew long and shaggy which only added to her charm. Cute could
hardly describe her sweet little face, and her attitude was
much larger than her twelve-pound body. She was full of mischievousness
and curiosity. She rarely ever walked anywhere, there was
always a spring in her step as if she was on a very important
errand.
When Hathaway was in puppy training, I learned just how
afraid and meek she was. When she wasn’t hiding under
a chair, she was coming to me, lifting up her little paws
asking to be picked up and comforted. The trainer of the class
told me not to respond or encourage this behavior because
throughout her life she would be coming to me to be held and
comforted. But I didn’t have a problem with this; I
thought it was little to give in return for the many gifts
I received from Hathaway.
When I received the call that Hathaway had gotten out, I
was out of town. Perhaps you’ve heard of the “People-pleasing”
syndrome, which is what I was doing. I was on a trip I hadn’t
wanted to go on and I did it because I was trying to make
someone else happy. Now there’s nothing wrong with wanting
to please someone, but when we do it at our own expense we
hurt ourselves in the process.
The “People-pleasing” syndrome also known as
the “Disease to Please” involves attempting to
earn affection, approval and gratitude by putting the needs
and desires of others above our own. We can become so attuned
to the needs of others that we completely ignore the inner
voice of our own needs and desires.
Another example of this which took place on the same trip
happened the day we left. We had been driving all day and
decided to stop at In ‘n Out. As we walked in, my boyfriend
asked me what I wanted, I said, “a cheeseburger with
no onions”. He exclaimed with shock and dismay, “No
onions!”
So I found myself eating, not only a burger WITH onions,
but a double cheeseburger at that. I would never have ordered
this and I sat there in shock and dismay at my behavior.
A couple days later we walked into an import store. My boyfriend
really liked the great buys and was throwing all kinds of
things into our cart. I saw a “Circle of Friends”
and decided I really wanted it. When I showed it to him, I
once again, got “the look” clearly communicating
that this was not practical, had no function and that to please
him I would abandon this frivolous pursuit. This time I held
out. Little did I realize how much the Circle of Friends would
come to mean to me.
So here I was at the other end of the phone hearing the
news that my precious little Hathaway had gotten out. The
news hit me like a 2 X 4 in the middle of my forehead because
I believed this wouldn’t have happened had I listened
to my inner voice and stayed home.
I flew home immediately and started looking for Hathaway.
I had to return home several times that first day as I got
soaked from walking in the rain and leaning out the window
of my car calling Hathaway’s name. We put flyers on
every lamppost and telephone pole. We went to the Humane Society
and even called the police. I pulled aside people I saw on
the street, showed them a picture and asked if they’d
seen her. Pretty soon, I pieced together the path that Hathaway
had taken, but it always seemed I was a day behind her. This
went on for several days while I didn’t get much sleep
or eat much. On the third day, I got up determined that somehow,
someway we would find Hathaway that day. I bundled up against
the bitter cold; fortunately it wasn’t raining anymore,
and set out on foot to follow the path that Hathaway had taken.
I planned to be guided step-by-step by my inner voice, the
one I had ignored when I went on the trip. As I walked, I
listened and found myself being guided to a particular street,
to the school in the neighborhood, to this corner where I
sat down in a moment of utter hopelessness and despair because
I realized that my inner voice was telling me I needed to
let go of Hathaway.
I have always been a person of great faith and when we’re
asked to let go, I believe it is an act of strength and trust,
believing that God has a plan for us and the results will
be in the highest good of all involved. So in that moment,
I visualized Hathaway before me holding up her little paws
as she had done so many times. I picked her up and held her
in my heart. I could almost feel her warm little body against
mine and her fur against my cheek. Then with all the strength
and courage I could muster, I lifted her up and gently placed
her into the hands of God.
The Circle of Friends will forever remind me of the circle
of family and friends who gathered in my backyard that afternoon
when we buried Hathaway.
At first I told everyone that God just needed another Angel
and surely he got one of the best in my blessed little Hathaway.
But as the days and weeks passed those words rang a little
hollow for me. As I found myself experiencing a gut-wrenching
pain, I started to question it, wondering, was it worth it?
Was it worth opening up my heart to love so completely to
be in so much pain now?
It’s a common question for people to ask in the process
of grieving. Everyone has experienced love and loss at some
point in their lives. In those dark nights of the soul that
never seem to end, it feels like the pain could actually kill
it runs so deep. It’s a normal and human reaction to
shrink from pain. When we’re burned by a fire, do we
not learn to pull our hand away? Sometimes the greatest gifts
come at the greatest cost.
I referred to the shock of the initial call with the news
that Hathaway had gotten out as a 2 X 4. I received it that
way, because in that moment I knew that there was a very big
lesson for me in this experience. The most painful experiences
in my life have always been wrought with learning and growth,
the impact of a 2 X 4 being that I could never live life the
same again.
The Buddhists refer to the act of eating poison as necessary
for growth. The beautiful colors in peacock’s tail are
the result of eating plants that are poisonous to other animals.
Thus the beautiful colors in our lives are a result of taking
painful experiences and finding the gifts.
In this case, I was receiving a lesson of listening to my
inner voice when it tells me things like, “Don’t
go on the trip” or “this relationship is not nurturing
and empowering, leave”. Learning to act in my own best
interests and being clear about my motivation when doing things
to please another were central.
I found myself feeling urgent and anxious about integrating
this learning into my life. I became vigilant about my boundaries
and harsh with anyone I felt was trying to manipulate me because
I didn’t want Hathaway’s life to have been wasted.
I didn’t want all this pain and grief to be in vain.
I began to realize that just as I had believed I needed to
earn the love and approval of my boyfriend, I was also trying
to earn the worthiness of receiving this great gift I had
received from Hathaway.
In the movie, Saving Private Ryan, several men had lost
their lives in the effort to find and prevent the death of
Private Ryan. At the end of the movie, the character played
by Tom Hanks was mortally wounded. As Private Ryan stood before
him, he was trying to say something. He could hardly speak
because of his injuries, but as Ryan leaned close to hear,
he said, “Earn this”. He was trying to convey
the importance of having a meaningful and fulfilling life
to honor those that had died to save him. This too, was the
urgency and purpose I felt after losing Hathaway.
But I realized when someone gives you a gift; they do so
out of love. To honor Hathaway, I needed to receive the gift
with the same sense of love and grace. It was hard to let
go of that need to be worthy. In focusing on “getting
the lesson”, I found another way to numb the pain. But
to simply allow myself to have been loved that much was a
way to return Hathaway’s love.
Sometimes the greatest gifts come at the greatest cost.
What are the greatest gifts? I believe the greatest gifts
are those experiences that bring us to a deeper connection
with who we are, our essence, our soul. And the greatest gifts
are those relationships that bring us to a deeper experience
of life and unconditional love. Clearly these are gifts I
received from Hathaway, along with her joyful exuberance,
her youthful spirit and her love of me. Upon reviewing all
of these “gifts”, I knew that the answer to the
question “Was it worth it?” was a resounding,
“Yes. Every single second.”
From here, I find I must simply go on. I live with this
grief and pain every day and gradually it is getting better.
But sometimes there is a voice inside my head that says there
must be an end to grief, like there is a certain amount of
time allotted and after a month, maybe two, I should be back
to normal. It doesn’t always work that way. I decided
that a gift I could give in return to Hathaway, was just to
“be”, to allow myself to feel the pain. So I find
myself crying a lot. I cry when I’m jogging, I cry in
my car, I cry in those early moments of the morning when I
wake up and remember the stark reality of her absence. But
I also realize the depths of my pain are merely a reflection
of the joy and love I felt when Hathaway was with me.
It may be that the greatest gift I received from Hathaway
was that in losing her, I somehow found myself. Perhaps the
greatest gift I can give her in return is to joyously celebrate
her life and so I say, “Thank you, Hathaway, for these
many gifts. Thank you.”
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