I find myself visiting this forum maybe once every 4 months or so, for the past year and a half. Today for some reason, I thought I would share my state of mind, two years after the incident. I don't know, but I hope it might help some of you to know what you might feel as time passes on.

My Punky died of terrible means on December 22, 2004. It was, in fact, right now, two years ago exactly, that I was driving non-stop up to New York City from Florida, in a very panicked, desparate effort to get him on experimental cancer treatment. His spirit was ejected from his body less than two weeks after his first treatment.

It took me a full year, exactly, to overcome the raw, immediate shock. That first year, I cried nearly everyday, and weekends were even worse. Then on the one year anniversary of his passing, December 22, 2005, I stepped outside to see the moon, which was hanging in the exact same place in the sky, between the the tops of trees, as it was the year before. I sat in the yard and recalled what it was like seeing that moon a year ago, just after burying Punky, and knowing then how it would become symbolically important to me in the years to come. That night, December 22, 2005, I knew, just as I had hoped, that a closure had been brought by seeing the moon that night. That was the last night of devastation. Never since then have mornings and evenings been destroyed by the memory of Punky's last months, days, hours, minutes, and seconds before his death, and then the seconds, minutes, and hours immediately after his death.

For the year after that night, until now, still not a day goes by where I don't think about him and even casually talk about him conversationally to others, as if it's the most natural thing in the world. But it has shifted into happy memories and happy recollections. He was such an important figure in my life. There are too many memories to not be reminded of him constantly. I still tear up and even cry once in a while, but mostly, I can think about him and smile, even giggle...(though giggles are more likely to lead to tears than smiles are).

My age caught up to me on the day of his death. The years before that I wondered why I felt and looked so young for my age (was I a vampire? haha). After that night, and the immediate recovery time that followed, I knew that I suddenly looked my age. In all my stress and crying, my face has drooped a bit and I see lines and shadows that weren't there before. My entire outlook has changed. My life is cut into three chapters that feel very distinct in every way: Life before Punky (childhood, with all its hopes and dreams), life with Punky (14 years of happiness and completeness), and life after Punky (sadder and wiser, aware of the ticking clock).

I dream about him a lot. In every single dream, the underlying theme is this (no matter what our adventure might be for that night): I know he has been diagnosed with cancer, but he seems just fine! The vets don't know what they're talking about. This is not unlike a several-month long period in real life, when I was starting to believe that Punky was beating the odds. After he was diagnosed, in January 2004, the vets said he had maybe two months to live. After his January surgury to remove the cancerous growth from his mouth, I kept taking him back every few months for tests, and the cancer had not returned. He was vibrant and happy that whole year. It was not until mid-November, that I saw he was starting to take a turn. In all, he lived nearly a year after initial diagnosis, surpassing all medical expectations, staving off the most deadly and aggressive form of cancer a dog can have. In my dreams with him, sometimes he is just a vision in front of me, and he kisses my face and I am filled with so much love, it wakes me up. Other times, we have action-adventure fun dreams, where he is my partner and side-kick, just like he used to be. I love all my dreams of him; they are like gifts from the beyond. I hope there is an afterlife out there that include animals.

Two years later, I can still smell him. I still know what his sweet doggie mouth and ears smell like. In my mind, I can still run my hands over every part of his body and I still know every curve of bone and muscle that make up his head, torso, arms, legs, and tail. I know exactly where black hair meets white hair in the pattern of his fur, and exactly what that fur feels like, and where. I'm sure I could even still tell you which toes are pink and which ones are black. He is memorized, completely.

So, what does all this mean... I suppose it means that you never forget. The wretched painful memories are mostly replaced with happy ones, but life is never the same again.

I hope this helps. Thanks for letting me share.

It was one week yesterday since we had to put Jemima to sleep. Those words you wrote helped. Life is never the same once you've lost someone you loved. I know I will never forget and I also know somehow time does help to heal all wounds.

I agree that we don't ever forget, but then again I wouldn't want to forget Daisy, no matter how painful it is to miss her. She passed away on April 1, and now when people who I haven't seen in awhile ask about her, I can usually say she is gone without tears filling my eyes. But, the tears are still inside and I miss her as much, perhaps more.

I am glad to here that after two years, the memories remain, perhaps with a little less pain.


Thanks for posting.

Daisy's Mommy

Oh your Punky was so handsome! For me it's 10 years since I lost my best friend and kitty cat Butch. While it does get better, it still hurts sometimes. My Moustache Kitty left us less than 2 months ago. I'm decorating for Christmas and I found Butch's stocking, I can't get rid of it, and it made me cry. Of course right now everything does.

I understand what you mean about the 3 stages. I was profoundly changed, for the better I hope, when Butch left this life. I am forever grateful to have had a friend like him.

I'm so sorry you lost your Punky, and I'm glad you can remember the fun times you had with your boy.

Thinking of you
Lori

Thank you for posting your beautiful message.It helps to know that with time the pain does get better.I think about my boy Sox almost every day and I miss him so much but it is good to know that in time the pain will be replaced with happy memories.Last night my husband and I had our annual christmas party and in honor of our boy Sox we set up alittle grotto for him in our garden surounding his gravesite.We placed sixteen little votive candles all in a row to honor the 16 years we had him with us.All of our friends thought it was a touching tribute and it gave me so much peace.I know he is celebrating the holidays in heaven this year but I will miss him so much not being here with his family.We miss you,sweetie,and we think of you every day.Thanks again for your lovely post and please come back more often than every few months.We could use your knowledge here and you could really help others who are going thur the first stages of grief.May God Bless you.Sincerely,Renee (Sox's mom)

Punky's Mommy,
I'm always so grateful when people who've lived through this experience come back and share what's happened to them since their loss. Even though I know it must hurt you to relive what happened, it gives people hope that they too can make it, and come out on the other side with their psyches intact. Cause of course at the beginning we all think we'll never make it through an experience this painful and traumatic - I know I did. But hearing from folks like you who are generous and thoughtul enough to share with us, makes a real difference. Punky was blessed to have you for his mommy. Thanks again - Barbara

Just a heartfelt thank you to everyone who replied.

My advice is that ritual seems to help the passage of pain. Candle ceremonies, things like that. Set timeline landmarks for yourself. Many cultures historically have done this to mourn the passing of their loved ones, and would say that it does help. A weight was lifted on Punky's one year anniversary, when I went out to look at the moon, which I knew I would do when I noticed it on the night he passed. Even saving up those terrible, gut-wrenching cry-fests for weekend mornings seems to help contain and structure it all. But I learned this slowly through it all, because I know I was a total mess for the first year. I am surprised I kept getting up every morning for work and continued to brush my hair and shave my legs!

My heart goes out to everyone feeling all the raw feelings for the first time.