Regrets

Regret is … an unavoidable result of any loss, for in loss we lose the tomorrow that we needed to make right our yesterday or today. (Gerald Lawson Sitter)

This past week had been unexpectedly emotional as the sudden passing of two of our London dog friends led to us talking about loss. As we shared our own circumstances of events at the time of death I realised there were things that I had not resolved. Things that I wished ever so often I could rewrite.

Hindsight is always 20-20. We need to forgive ourselves of all the things we could have, would have done. But not everything gets tied up in a pretty little bow.

From the day I learnt about her cancer, I was advised not to be emotional in front of Darcy. The only time I did was when we were watching After Life together. She had seen me cry watching telly so I used that as an excuse. I wanted to be in control for her. I remained stoic throughout. And I took that stance all the way to the evening when I brought her to the vet.

When the time came for us to leave our home, it was as if she knew. She was by then almost lifeless, though I could hear her breathing. Her expressionless eyes were staring blankly, as I cradled her in my arms on our last journey together.

On arrival, we were immediately shown to one of the examination rooms and we waited, just the two of us in a very still and silent room. Even though I had been fully briefed by Sarah days before of the process, it was still a new experience. When the vet appeared, he was an unfamiliar face. I had hoped to have Peter, the vet who had seen her from her first visit to be the one to send her off. But it was the weekend, and Peter wasn’t available till Monday afternoon.

Armed with the knowledge of what was about to happen, I handed a very tired Darcy over to him who then carried her to have a cannula inserted into her front leg. When he came back to the room, he laid her gently on the table. Though her heart was still beating, she was already still and limp.

I didn’t ask if I could hold her in my arms. Maybe that wasn’t the thing to do. Maybe because I thought moving her might be uncomfortable. Looking back, I wish I had held her in my arms.

I stood on the side of the table with her back to me and laid my hands on her body. I felt her last breath, just as Sarah had told me, she let out a huge sigh. Why didn’t I stand in her eye line so she could see me? Maybe because the vet was on that side administering the injection. I wish I had.

After the vet confirmed that she had indeed passed, I spent a few moments with her. Awkward and unsure of what to do, I held her paw, told her how much I loved her and thanked her for being in my life.

I am sure the vet wouldn’t have minded if I wanted to stay on longer. But I was mindful that they would probably be wondering when I was going to leave. Torn between dwelling and being considerate, I took the latter. I had already said my goodbyes, and seeing her body lying lifeless was surreal – what more could I have done in that moment?

I didn’t shed a single tear.

As I began to leave the room, I kept turning back to look at a body that was once hers. The dog who only had eyes for me, did not lift her head to watch me as I walked away.

When I was outside, getting into the taxi that had waited for me all this while, I took a peek through the window into the room. I saw her body lying still on the examination table and thought for a moment about going back for one last time … but I was being pragmatic, the taxi was waiting. I blew her a kiss and made my journey home, my arms no longer holding anything. I wanted to ask the taxi driver to turn back. Why didn’t I?

These were the thoughts that had lingered in my head all these months.

Back home, the place felt empty. I had sent George away for the weekend and I had wondered too if I should have done that. With time to reflect, I badgered myself wondering if I should have relieved her of her discomfort and embarrassment when she found herself unable to control her lower body functions on Thursday night and all day Friday. She wasn’t in pain, she just didn’t like lying on a wet training pad. She was truly a lady till the end.

People say, you will know when they are ready to go. And she did tell me on Thursday night that she was tired, she was ready to go to sleep.

Though confused by her lack of body control, she was still alert all Friday, her eyes kept tracking my movements. By Saturday she was drained of strength but still aware of all those who came to say goodbye.

For weeks and months, I queried my timing. Should I have let her go on Friday? Or Saturday morning instead of the late afternoon? On reflection, it was indeed the right time. If I hadn’t taken her in, she could have passed that night in her sleep. Or she might have continued to struggle a day or two longer and I could have Peter complete the cycle. But that would have been for my wanting, not hers.

The unexpected release of emotions this week, the speaking about regrets have allowed me to say all the things that had been in my head with fellow mourners. Going through the motions of that evening and verbally sharing it, made me realise that the regrets were all mine. I wanted a “perfect” ending, the way I would have liked it to be.

For all those regrets – wanting to caress her and wishing to tell her again how much I loved her, Anita had this to say, “She had left her body and was with you by that time – she was probably holding you.”

That was all I needed to hear. I had permission to let go of those regrets.

Some of you will ask why I am re-thrashing all this again? First, I wrote this for myself – writing for me is cathartic as well as revealing.

I recognised when speaking to those who had just lost their precious fur babies, that we ruminate on how and if things were different. Knowing that we cannot turn back time, made us feel desperately helpless. We badgered ourselves with regrets because we could do no more to ‘correct’ those moments. So we cried and we hurt in a way we have never experienced. But it is also one of the most beautiful thing to experience because it is all about LOVE.

After floods of tears, and sharing all those thoughts, it finally dawned on me that everything else was secondary to being there for Darcy. It was all she needed at that time. Everything else, all the regrets are mine because I didn’t get to fulfil my need to have everything perfectly tied in a bow.

In sharing this I hope it will help someone else process their living with their regrets and the many ‘if only’.

In reliving those moments, it might help someone be more prepared and be conscious of what to do. Though you can never be fully prepared for when it happens. Someone took the time to tell me how the process works and I was prepared for that. I wish someone had told me that I was allowed to ask to hold her.

And so we dwell in our own thoughts and our memories. These moments of grief comes and goes and that little emptiness will always linger.

How often had I wish I could relive certain memories or freeze moments in time. But life does not rewind itself. Life goes on. And the only beneficial thing about regret is we learn from them.

I may have released myself of regrets of things I wish I had done but the grief and that emptiness never goes away. Time doesn’t heal when losing something so pure, so honest, so true – and I don’t want it to. 

In loving memory.