Communication Break-Down

“I wanna go home!” I screamed through my tears.

“You are home,” Kevin said quietly.

It was the night before our scheduled visit to the vet to put down Shasta, my beloved dog of 14 years. As I sat in our newly-rented dream apartment, all I wanted to do was go back to my parent’s house.

In the past three months my dad had a stroke, I suffered a miscarriage, my assistant Val -whom I adore- told me she is leaving, and now this.

There’s a reason people live with their parents until they’re 40. We had lived with mine for seven months in an effort to save money to move downtown, something we’ve dreamed of doing for years. Now, however, I didn’t want any part of it. I had fallen into a deep depression after my miscarriage in May and it was safe there. Someone else would make dinner if I wasn’t up to it. I could crawl into bed, pull the covers over my head and not worry about bills, work or other adult concerns. I wanted to go back to mom and dad’s. I wanted my dog.

We had been struggling with whether to take her to the new place. At 14, she was declining. She had debilitating arthritis for years, and it got to where she would need help getting up off the floor and often fell when walking. “But she’s fine!” I would wail. “She’s not fine, we’re pumping her full of meds,” Kevin replied. I pointed to my dad who was sitting at the counter as we debated. “We’re pumping him full of meds too! What, should we put him down?”

I knew I had to let her go.

I can barely count on one hand the people who have known me since I was 24 years old. Shasta saw me through a major depression, a divorce, a miscarriage and so much more. She was the one constant in my life- always waiting for me when I arrived home, never angry when I accidentally stepped on her tail getting out of bed in the morning, always up for a car ride. She had a snout that inexplicably smelled like maple syrup and a smile that could charm the perm off a poodle. I’ve owned three dogs in my life, and Shasta was just…special.

The morning of the appointment I woke up and finally admitted that I’ve been stagnating for the past several months.  Ever since the miscarriage, Kevin and I had been circling each other, afraid to get too close again. We would both pour our love into Shasta and withhold it from each other. In all honesty, I was afraid that we wouldn’t be able to take care of each other if we were on our own again. Somewhere along the way I’d lost myself and we’d almost lost each other. It was time to let Shasta go, but it was also time to get back into the game of life.

I couldn’t stand to watch her last moments so Kevin took her to the vet. He gave her a pig’s ear, and cried all the way to the vet as she hung her head out of the window, panting happily. She was taken to a room that had a metal examining table covered with a fluffy blanket. Kevin held her as they secured the IV, petted her and whispered that we loved her, and she slipped quietly away.

Later, as we drove downtown, I saw families with strollers and couples walking their dogs. “Great!” I quipped, “now seeing babies AND dogs is going to send me over the edge. It can’t get any worse.”

“You could see a baby walking a dog,” Kevin replied.

I laughed for the first time in a long time. And I started to focus on what’s ahead. I meet with a publisher next month. A new group dynamics training is in the works. I’m even optimistic about a new admin, as much as I hate to lose Val. I’m seeing a naturopath who assures me I won’t have any trouble getting pregnant again.

So last night, after looking through pictures of Shasta and bawling my head off, I poured myself a glass of wine, sat on my balcony, and enjoyed the amazing view of downtown. I turned to Kevin and said, “I’m glad we’re here.”

And I’m glad we are.