About Grief and Foster Puppies
The puppy you see here came into my life on August 18, 10 days after we lost Cal. Her name was Heidi—she now has a different, perfect name, but to me she will always be Heidi.
Heidi came into my life because I fostered her for a rescue organization I've volunteered with for the past several years. I always knew I wanted to foster after Cal passed, but hadn't planned to do it quite so soon. Cal had only been gone for two days when I signed up, a period I largely spent crying when I wasn't busy agreeing to take three-month-old puppies into my home. It was, admittedly, an impulsive decision; David knew this but agreed to let me do it anyway, possibly because he was alarmed by how much Kleenex I had gone through.
I didn't expect a puppy to take away my grief, but I did expect it to keep me busy. I am great at keeping busy, particularly when I'm sad, and while I didn't want to ignore my grief, I did wish to be distracted from it for several hours a day. In this regard, Heidi gave me exactly what I needed. From the moment she arrived at our apartment, she distracted me from work, sleep, personal hygiene, and quite often my sanity.
As the above photo attests, Heidi was unbearably cute. Several friends took one look at her and predicted a foster fail. This was an understandable reaction, but one that sparked complicated feelings. I knew I wasn't ready for a new dog, and to even consider otherwise felt like a betrayal of Cal. And as the days went by, I realized that while I adored the small demon in my care, I didn't want to be distracted from my grief.
On the morning Cal died, I waited beside his bed for the vet to arrive. I picked up my phone because that's usually what I do when I'm waiting, just scroll until it's time to stop waiting. Then I looked at Cal, and put the phone away. In these, the last minutes of my dog's life, I wanted to be fully present for him. There was nothing to do but sit and watch him breathe and wonder if he'd still be there by the time the vet arrived, and it was unbearable but also somehow holy, to sit inside the enormity of the passage from life to death, and to honor it without distraction.
When I began fostering Heidi, someone told me that Cal would have wanted me to. While I appreciated the sentiment, it made me laugh. Cal would have hated having another dog in his home, especially this puppy. Our other dog, Bear, did hate it; he's 13, anxious, and gentle, and thus wanted no business with Heidi, who for her part wanted to get in his business night and day. When I wasn't cleaning up after her, or prying her needle-sharp teeth from my skin, I was brokering peace between two animals, one of whom was not yet domesticated and had no discernible interest in becoming so.
I was also busy persuading David not to move to an Airbnb for a month. In the end, he stayed, and so did Heidi. Then, just as life was starting to feel slightly more manageable, she got adopted. This past Saturday, her new, wonderful owner arrived to take her home. I was all smiles as I introduced them to each other. When they left, I sat on the floor and cried.
I cried because I missed the puppy I had started to bond with, but mostly because I missed the dog I had lost. I was too exhausted to do anything except let myself sit there and welcome the grief that had waited so patiently to be allowed back in. It felt a bit like welcoming an assassin; if I've learned anything lately, it's that I've always been afraid of grief, and sadness, of the possibility that they will overtake and define my life. Hence my aptitude for staying busy. But two-plus week of unceasing busyness had left me with the dawning understanding that this shit will stick around, like a stubborn stain that resists all attempts to camouflage it.
I have no doubt I'll foster again, even if David would prefer I not talk of such matters, just as I have no doubt that I'll one day be ready for another dog. In the meantime, I'm going to try to let my grief hang around for as long as it needs to. And catch up on some sleep.
What I'm consuming this week:
Reading: Leah Koenig's gorgeous new cookbook The Dessert Table: 100 Joyful Jewish Sweets, just in time for Rosh Hashanah.
Listening: Rihanna, "Love on the Brain."
Watching: Because of my horror movie aversion, it took me until last Saturday to watch Misery, and now all I want to do is rewatch it so that I can properly absorb the demented brilliance of Kathy Bates.
