Saying bye to the Bean
Yesterday evening, friends came by to say goodbye to the Bean. We sat on the porch and Arlene was on a leash to keep her from wandering off the porch, but she got a little anxious so we ended up coming inside and giving her her tranquilizer.
It seems weird knowing she is going to die tomorrow, but is it? My full on recognition of where we were with Arlene hit me like a MACK truck last week, but every day of saying goodbye to her is making the transition not necessarily less sad, but more acceptable.
I worked with a guy who was dying of AIDS – loved him. He had a coterie of good friends who came to his bedside to be with him as he died. It was no less sad, but comforting to all of us to have had that time to say goodbye.
My friend brought home her daughter from the hospital and we all sat with her, held her, kissed her, as she died. It was no less sad, and still is, but there was time to say goodbye.
I read about an old letter that was found from a husband whose wife was dying. As she lay in the bed, he transferred first to the floor beside her, and then to the sofa in the bedroom to get used to not being near her. No less sad, but he did what he had to do to say goodbye.
There is an acceptance of the inevitable that comes from this process of saying goodbye that is less shocking than say finding my father dead of a massive heart attack months after he retired and moved back to New Orleans. Or friends who died in car accidents young and at middle age. Or colleagues who committed suicide (I’ve known two).
The Bean would have been 14 years old this Friday. She has been a good and constant companion. She had a good life or as my friend who is a long term survivor of AIDS says he wants on his tombstone, in the end “she had a nice day.”