In late June, we said goodbye to our beloved yellow lab Maggie. We said it again today when we buried her ashes in a field overlooking the ocean. I am struck by how deep the feelings of loss continue to be, and by how much we still feel her presence. Also, with the passage of time, aspects of what her death means to me are becoming clearer.
I did not expect to be writing about this. People lose pets all the time. It is hard to think I can add to the collective dialogue. The topic is also a departure from my usual preoccupation with climbing, sailing, and cross country skiing. But thoughts about Maggie are strongly with me.
I shouldn’t be surprised. I remember several years ago when friends shared details of their dog’s final visit to a summer home down the coast. What struck me most was the combination of ritual, elegy, and love. A last shared act, a final gift as they prepared for farewell. And I was struck again when another friend, who spends his days leading one of the world’s largest financial institutions, texted a photo of his family’s departed pet with moving comments on his feelings of loss. Both of these were life events that made enduring marks, and the goodbyes mattered.
For the same reasons that I didn’t think I would write about Maggie in this blog, I didn’t think I would mention her passing on social media. But then I did, and I was glad I did. Amazing how sharing one’s feelings and receiving words of sympathy can bring such comfort. In my Facebook post back in June, I felt I managed to convey her spirit.
After 15 years of tail wagging, morning walks, swims, chasing (but never catching) rabbits, and gracing the word with gentleness and kindness, our beloved Maggie has departed this life for the next. She gave us so much, and we miss her terribly.
Like everyone with dogs in their lives, I have been tuned into “dog years”. In Maggie’s case, the multiple was seven. When she was nine, she was roughly at my current life stage. As she approached her fifteenth birthday, she had lived the human equivalent of a century. She aged gracefully; maintaining vibrancy, good humor, and an ability right up to the end to enjoy being outdoors with sun and wind on her face. I pray that I fare as well.
But life, as it does, began catching up to her. Moving was increasingly difficult, she could no longer go on morning walks, and she had to bark gently to be carried in and out of the house. She would lie next to my chair and make contented sounds as I massaged her aching muscles through her thick yellow fur. Increasingly, those massages were what I could most do for her. Finally, it got to the point that her quality of life wasn’t there. She deserved to depart with the same dignity and grace with which she had lived.
Having not been through it before, Jill and I were unclear on how it worked. Lots of practical details. We wanted her to be in her home, with her family, and for her final moments to be as relaxed and normal as possible. We wanted her to be near the fields, ocean, rabbits, deer, and birds amid whom she had spent fifteen summers.
The morning of June 24 was as good as it could be for her. She barked to be carried outside, barked to be carried back in, and slept happily in her bed with the sliding doors open to the ocean breeze. The vet arrived and explained to us what would happen. Jill and I knelt on the floor next to Maggie’s bed and talked to her. She woke up from her nap and wagged her tail. I gave her a last, long massage. She barely noticed the vet.
The first shot was to make sure she was relaxed and comfortable. She felt a prick and was reassured when we told her everything was fine. She kept looking trustingly into our eyes. I kept massaging her. I will never forget how her fur felt. The second shot did what it was intended to. Maggie departed. One moment, there was life and a spirit in that yellow fur; the next moment there wasn’t. We had done all we could for her. Again, I hope I am as fortunate.
When my Mom died 19 years ago, from an out-of-nowhere heart attack, she had been the picture of vibrancy for 68 years. While the feelings of loss endure, the fact that Mom was spared something she dreaded- decline in old age- remains a blessing. She was actively loving life right up to the moment that it ended. The night we got the horrible call, I remember the doctors in the emergency room asking if I wanted to go in and say a final goodbye. I wasn’t sure, but was glad I did. It was Mom’s body lying there, but not Mom. I hugged her anyway, and that last farewell helped. The vet offered us the same opportunity with Maggie. Again, I wasn’t sure. And again, I am glad I did. Goodbyes matter.
For years, one of my favorite summer rituals was morning walks with Maggie. I would wake up, grab a cup of coffee, and she and I would head off on narrow paths, watching the sun light up the ocean. This was very similar to my mother’s morning ritual with our dog growing up, and in these walks with Maggie I often felt Mom’s comforting presence.
Shortly after Maggie’s passing, Jill and I sailed into our harbor. A seal popped its head out of the water and watched us approach. Seals are uncommon in this area in summer. I said: “there is Maggie, here with us”.
My family tells me I am not that spiritual, but make of it what you will.
A wonderful meditation, Tom. Thinking of you all, and of Maggie and Mom, and of all that they both meant to you (and to all of us). Love, Hilly
Tom I am saddened for your loss as Maggie was clearly cheerful and enduring friend to you and your family. I also still clearly remember so many wonderful visits to your folks house and the every friendly and wholesome person that your Mom personified for me as a young person. I still remember the shock when you told me that she had passed and I know what a terrible loss that it was for you and your family. Your words are a good reminder to all of us to always cherish our friends and family. Bob
Tom, As i read this, head down staring at my phone, Craig and the boys move about the kitchen. I don’t hear them and stay focused on your writing, feel the tears well up not only remembering Maggie at your place in Dartmouth but think of our two dogs, Dillan and Norman, who we lost this winter. Thanks for putting into words our feelings for these precious members of our family who remain a part of us each day.
Tom, as always, beautiful and poignant. From one dog lover to another, thanks for sharing.
Really well put Tom. Reminds me of losing Sheila this time last year. I still think about her fondly all the time. People can definitely feel as close to dogs as to other people and I think dog people all understand what it’s like when they die.
Tom,
The great sadness that comes with the love of a dog is the inevitable loss and together they go. You took me back to a special place with this blog and that is a gift for which I thank you.
James
So well said Tom. Oliver is mostly Ellen’s dog, but he’s endeared himself to the rest of us, and most people he nuzzles up to. He’s 14-1/2 and will soon follow Maggie.
While we’re blessed that my dad stayed around, it’s been hard to watch him drift away to Alzheimer’s, so your words about your mom also struck a chord.
It’s nice to know we’re not alone as we bear these trials, so much gratitude for sharing.
Tom–my eyes are brimming with tears. You so captured both the loss of Maggie and your mom–both brutal losses in very different ways. I too found a silver lining in my mom not suffering the indignities of aging, as she use to say “age is rude”. I found it comforting that you DID know when it was the “right” time for Maggie–I look at Oliver and know we aren’t there yet and I’m thankful for every day with him. Thanks for sharing.
This is beautiful, Tom. I regularly passed you and Maggie on your early morning walks. We were on the same schedule. Dogs are soulful, loving creatures. There is nothing like the simplicity and purity of their devotion. Having attended a number of beloved pets in their last moments, it is striking how quickly the life leaves them.
I don’t know if you are familiar with Ricky Gervais- he is a British actor and comedian and he loves animals fiercely. On his most recent Netflix series, which he wrote, someone asks him why he likes dogs better than people. He answers, “because they just get on with it.”
Yes. Maggie will always be there in your field.
Those who leave us, live on in our hearts…
Thank you for sharing this wonderful note Tom.
Tom:
Those of us who bring these animals into our families and into our hearts all know the pain of losing these special “loved ones”. Retrievers In particular are hard-wired to love and bond with people, it’s in their DNA. I once met an avalanche rescue chopper unexpectedly at around 12,000’ on a patch of snow in the Rockies, and when the doors slammed open, four labs hopped out and all of them greeted me like their best friend. That’s why retrievers are favored for that sort of duty, they’re strong, they have tremendous noses, and they will literally sacrifice their own welfare to help a person, and I mean any person. That sort of unconditional love is inspiring, and it is humbling. We are all blessed that Maggie came our way… -ghc-
Thanks for sharing the loss of Maggie. It is clear that Maggie was a big part of your life. Sorry about your loss!!
I am sorry for your loss, Tom, Jill and family. I have had similar losses including our 15-year old Bouvier who was part of our family across four African countries. When they are young, dogs help us learn to be better parents. Their aging process, while accelerated, is often similar to that of humans, and we learn to be their caregivers. You are right to point out their grace and dignity to the end. When a dog dies, the grief is genuine and we learn how to process that grief and continue to find meaning in life. It is not surprising that reflecting on Maggie’s death brought you to reflect on your mother’s death – an infinitely more painful loss – and perhaps that is her final gift to you. Wishing you beautiful sunrises to soothe your soul.
Very moving. Very germane to the Schwartz household situation; our retriever is ~13 years old and slowing down. And while nothing can prepare us for the “down the road” dreaded decision and its consequential emotional response, I will do my best to focus on the many years of great times and memories when it’s our time. Hope you and your family are coping. THANKS FOR SHARING!!
After Nanda Devi Unsoeld died on the mountain she was named for, Willi and the other climbers saw a bird that they took to be her spirit. So too with Maggie and the seal.
Sorry to hear about Maggie. Our four legged friends are all taken too soon and leave a hole when they are gone. We still miss Banjo. It sounds like the last moments were peaceful and swift. I was also touched to hear the story about your mother’s sudden goodbye and your ability to feel her loss, say goodbye and appreciate the fact that she avoided a long slow decline. Goodbyes do matter.