You can do a lot in 13 years. Can go through a lot in 13 years. And after those 13 years when you lose someone it can feel like you’ve been ripped in half. It is not an understatement to say that after losing Gretchen today I have lost my best friend of 13 years. Whatever it may mean that my best friend pees in the backyard probably says a lot about me. Nevertheless, Gretchen remains the longest relationship I have had, save for any blood relatives. That she’s gone makes me incredibly sad, as I have told my wife I feel lower today than I did when I lost my father 19 years ago. The most dreadful part about it is the one I depended on the most in the hard times over the past 13 years (nearly 14), is gone. No matter the problem; personal, professional, Covid, Trump campaign ads, Trump reelection ads, I could easily hug her neck and immediately feel better.
She was forever there, looking out for me, looking up at me. Never judging, always loving.
Losing Gretchen today it's not a surprise. And because of that the past few weeks, months really, I found myself heavily contemplating the last 13 years that has been my privilege to spend with her. In this reminiscing, I feel like I tend to focus on the extremes; Gretchen when she was young and the puppy versus Gretchen over the past year. I'm am inexorably contemplating her youth, her energy versus today, her fur tinged with gray, her struggling to stand on her own while taking a few meager sips of water.
However, I am a firm believer that the Gretchen we saw today (and perhaps the past couple of weeks) wasn’t even her. This is because the act of dying is simply a show for the living. A way for those left behind to understand, to provide closure, to grieve so that the living can cope with the dying. I have found myself repeating this sentiment a great deal, partly because by the very nature of being, the longer you live the more people you are going to lose.
The irrational part of me also hyper-focuses on what I could’ve done better, should’ve done, how I could’ve helped her more. I am reminded by my wife that there is no one else on earth who could’ve given Gretchen a better life than I did, than we did. We have exhausted our minds, bodies, bank accounts, and spirits doing anything and everything we could to improve and sustain her quality of life.
Though Gretchen's loss for me is tremendous, aching, and seemingly something that I will never recover from, I also know that it is fresh. Beyond that, I recognize that she is no longer hurting, no longer looking at me trying to figure out why she wants to eat but can’t. The fact that I didn’t have a way to explain what was happening to her being the biggest burden I carry.
As far as weighing extremes (old vs. young, health vs. disease, etc.), I feel Gretchen’s memory is better served by all the time in between when Gretchen was truly herself. Past the mischievousness of being a puppy, but not yet plagued by the finite essence of life, but of course always the best and the cutest.
I take solace in the fact that my friend is on another plane, her youth and energy restored, reunited with Dieter, Cali - hell maybe my dad’s even tossing a tennis ball around for them. That notion puts a smile on my face. Although, it pales in comparison to the idea that I will see her again someday.
-You can rest now my Gretch. I love you and I miss you.
A.K.A.: Baby Gretch, Gretchen T. Dog, Gretchen Obama, Gretchen Fitzgerald, Gretchen the Potatoe, Gretchen the stinky Potatoe, Gretchie, Gretchen the Tomato and of course The Gretch.
12/11/2006-10/15/2020
