Many of you might have heard that our family suffered a terrible loss last month—the death of our only son, Ryan. Truthfully, terrible is a wholly inadequate word for the devastating emptiness his passing has left behind. To put it mildly, he will be sorely missed by many.
For his final days, Ryan came to stay with my husband and me and Daisy dog in our home. There’s nothing like being cradled in comfort by your parents—at least that was our hope and the hope of most parents. And suddenly, Daisy’s routine changed dramatically. Oh, she loved the fact that every day was a Daisy Day—one where her people were all around her. But her daily walks became scarce. And the guest room was taken over by someone who was clearly unwell. Being a sentient being, Daisy sensed this and was gentle around him. In the living room, he perched in the spot on the loveseat where I usually sit. It is supportive and the most comfortable—the obvious choice. I took up the spot next to Hubby, which is where Daisy likes to stretch out on her back, legs splayed, to beg for belly rubs. In short, she was displaced, forced to seek other accommodation. For Daisy, it was either squeezing in on the long couch or using her plush bed against the wall. Either is perfectly acceptable, but still an adjustment.
Then came the visitors. Daisy is very keen on visitors, but her exuberance is legendary and not always welcome. First, it was the excellent staff from Mt. Evans Hospice, arriving at different times each day. At the beginning, we put her up in our bedroom and office—a spacious area, but apart from the exciting visitors. She went willingly when called, and after a bit, she was usually allowed out to say hello. Then came the family—sisters and their spouses who flew in from out of state, and drove up from down the hill. And the house was filled with laughter and music, conversation, food, and unpredictable activity. Daisy was in dog heaven, moving freely among them all, sniffing and familiarizing herself. Most she’d met before and was happy to see again, but there was a new baby boy who she found particularly interesting. Always fascinated by the tremendous capability of a dog’s nose, I’m sure she could sniff out who his mother was, despite him being passed from lap to lap. After her first few minutes of frantic greeting, Daisy was quite gentle and eventually napped on the floor in the middle of it all.
As is always the case when the house is full, Daisy got lots of attention. She went from person to person enjoying the last bites from so many plates and frequent treats from the dog cookie jar. She made the rounds visiting all who entered the house and was rewarded with pets and much fussing over. She gave Ryan a wide berth, though, seeming to understand that he was not to be jumped on or have his safe space intruded upon.
Daisy has always been particularly interested in the guest room, mainly because of its conveniently placed, large north-facing window where she enjoys spying on all the activity at the front of the house. But while the room was occupied by Ryan and his belongings, she avoided it. Instead, hovering nearby, but not coming in.
There was one exception to her giving him the space he needed, which was almost disastrous. When two of Ryan’s best friends showed up to visit, she got so excited that she was suddenly overcome with a bad case of the zoomies. She ran in crazed circles, leaping onto the loveseat where Ryan sat, narrowly missing landing in his lap. She is not a small dog, and he would likely not be comforted by the intrusion. From that near miss, she went from the arm of his seat to the long couch and back down to the floor for round two before I could wrangle her back into the master bedroom. The excitement of a houseful of young men was simply too thrilling a scene for Daisy to contain her exuberance. In all fairness, although it appeared to be a narrow escape, it could very well be that she knew exactly where her feet were placed for the jump onto Ryan’s chair and it was I who was overreacting.
Days went by with people coming and going, and then Ryan took a sharp decline, as was expected. Whereas the day before he was holding court, telling stories, performing impressions, and making us all laugh uproariously, he was suddenly unable to move around without assistance, and he mostly slept. Being a night owl, it was his dad who dispensed medicine in the night, and each time he got up, Daisy would track his movements and sit patiently next to the bed before accompanying him back. Normally, she would leap onto the bed, but she seemed to know the seriousness of the situation. She also seemed to know that Hubby needed support and that he shouldn’t be alone. Sleepless, I had been listening and tracking both of their movements throughout the night, and when they returned to the bedroom the second time, Hubby gently let me know that our boy had passed peacefully in his sleep. Daisy curled up on the end of the bed while we held each other and cried. Normally, she’d nose into any hugging scene.
When I went into the room to say goodbye, she stayed by my side like she had done with Hubby, never trying to jump on the bed. She was there to support me. She seemed to know that Ryan was no longer there—that his soul had left. After he passed, she never even glanced in the direction of the room where he lay. Instead, she was attentive to us, her presence offering comfort. Dogs know so much more than many of us give them credit for. They are sentient beings so attuned to our needs that even an overexuberant pooch like Daisy knows when to tone it down and simply ‘be.’ Daisy is not the first dog to offer comfort at a bad time in my life, and she probably won’t be the last. I think the universe pairs us with the people and the animals we need at difficult times in our lives. Being a sentient dog, she probably knew that Ryan’s soul was gone from his body; that he was out of pain and at peace; that he was with his maker and with his dog, Otis, whom he loved well. And Daisy knew instinctively to help Hubby and me—that we needed her and that her presence would be comforting. Dogs are good like that. After all, dog spelled backward is God.
