Inseparable

 

My dear, loving Nephew-Son,

I love you, Robb.  I hope you know your value to me and the love I hold for you are opposite sides of the same coin  I've sat here for some time trying to sort out my feelings since I received the startling news of the choice (which really was not a choice!) that you had to make yesterday.  Rufio has been "put down!"  Euphemisms drive me bonkers, even as I understand why we use them.  "Put down" attempts to soften the gut-wrenching, heart-splitting truth.  Rufio. Is. Dead.  How harsh and impersonal a declaration. Yet, "dead" falls far short of this permanent turn of events.

Your mom didn't have to tell me how you agonized over the non-choice: You couldn't bear the thought of life's final ending for the "gentle" giant of a friend.  Your dependable, best friend,  and literal "Road Dog."  I was visiting Chicago fourteen years ago when you chose each other and the team coalesced.  Just that quickly.  "I'll take him," you declared, and a whole new life sprang forth. Rufio's life here on earth ended yesterday, true.  But, you'll be reunited because if you "straighten up and fly right." You'll meet next time in Heaven.  Yes, our animals return to heaven! 

And I'm only half-way "kidding" when I pull rank as your favorite aunt.  I've merely exercised the temerity to speak of life after death to you, knowing and respecting your (to put it mildly) skepticism about "religion."  However, I don't speak of  "religion," even though I am an ordained minister it comes from the Holy Spirit through me.  I can see you "bristling up" now.  No problem.  Your anger simply reflects what I call one of the "movements" in the grief and loss process: shock, denial, anger, guilt, sadness, and acceptance.  Grief's movements are far from predictable, as you'll experience.

Grieving and mourning will be the most difficult work you'll ever do; death's power feels cruel, inane, and pointless.  You've stepped onto the rollercoaster of grief.  Some seats are empty but soon emotions, responses, and reactions crowd in without warning, draining, and debilitating.  You'll tire easily, especially as you hold on so tightly to the back of the seat in front of you.  The rollercoaster starts and stops of its own volition. If you're feeling numb now, give it a minute or two and it'll mutate like the weather in Colorado. The ineffable pain moves at will throughout your body.  Beginning in the heart and traversing, willy-nilly, across miles of nerve endings, muscles, and sinew.

Now is not the time for me to try to provide solace and comfort.  No room now for philosophy or pragmatism or reason.  Nephew-Son, even after over two decades doing grief work, I have no answers and would not presume even to suggest any.  I offer my love, listening ears, and welcoming heart for you to access whenever.  No either-or;  just feel what you will. Go stand on the sands of Lake Michigan, near your mom's home, and be!  Read 1 Corinthians 13.

Nina Simone, the late great jazz artist, sang, "It bes that way sometimes." Eventually, healing memories will peek forth, muting the pain of his last few days of life when Ruffio seemed oblivious to all that he loved.  His lethargy and lack of appetite alerted you, but nothing. nothing could have prepared you for Monday or its aftermath.  A friendly warning: the "aftermath" may last for what seems forever, but it's not.  Almost, though.

Is it alright for this preacher-aunt of yours to reassure you that God loved Ruffio more than you do, and He loves you more than I love you! Which is going some! "In the sweet by and by, We shall meet on that beautiful shore; In the sweet by and by, We shall meet on that beautiful shore."