Buddy doesn't need wings to go to heaven

Buddy doesn't need wings to go to heaven
David Trinko dtrinko@limanews.com - 07.10.2007

Last Tuesday was Buddy’s time to go, even if our 5-year-old didn’t think so.
The gray-and-white Heinz 57-variety mutt didn’t eat much dog food in his final days. He couldn’t hardly walk either. He’d had a good 15 years of life, even if the last few weeks of it were painful.
Good luck explaining that to a 5-year-old girl. Really, good luck explaining death and grief to anyone, regardless of age.
At first, our 5-year-old, Lissie, showed classic symptoms of denial. She believed Buddy would be lying on the floor next to the couch, where he loved to lounge. She expected he’d want to eat.
Then her grief turned into taunting. She started making fun of my wife and me for how we tried to explain death to her.
At first, we told her he went far away forever. In her mind, that meant we sent him 1,000 miles south. The next day, as we looked at a map on a restaurant placemat, she pointed directly at Texas and told us that was Buddy’s new home.
Then we tried telling her Buddy went to heaven. She seemed baffled by that. As she rode past our church, she asked my wife if Buddy was living there now.
Finally we tried telling her he lived in the sky, above the clouds. She informed us he didn’t have wings, so he couldn’t fly.
My wife and I commiserated at how difficult it was to explain death. We’d had enough trouble explaining life, as she anxiously awaits the birth of a little sister next month.
This “death” thing was too much for her to grasp. For nearly a week, she seemed unwilling to accept that her beloved pet was gone.
She wasn’t the only one.
I had the sad task of bringing this member of our family to the veterinarian’s office that one last time, and I had trouble accepting his fate. I couldn’t understand why I couldn’t find his food dish the next morning. I got confused at night when it was time to put the dogs away; I couldn’t find the one who typically slept right behind the couch.
Our second dog, Amigo, was probably the most distraught of us all. He and Buddy didn’t get along. Buddy may have realized we bought Amigo a year ago to help ease the pain whenever Buddy passed. Whatever the reason, Amigo always liked Buddy more than Buddy liked Amigo.
Without his nemesis/best friend around, Amigo wandered around the house aimlessly. This usually rambunctious golden retriever settled down with a downtrodden look in his eyes.
We’ve all settled in for a post-Buddy life. Lissie accepts that Buddy is one of God’s dogs now, running around a big grassy field without that limp that plagued him the last year of his life. Amigo realizes he won’t hear the snarl of another dog when it’s time to go outside. And I know the dog that always curled up at my feet won’t trip me up anymore.
We learn to accept death, but I don’t know that we ever learn how to deal with it. There is no easy route for mourning. With a little time, though, we all heal.
Our recent loss reminds me how hard it can be to let go of people who mean so much to you.
While these people and pets may mean nothing to anyone else, memories of them live in our hearts and minds. We never forget.
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