On Losing D'Marcus
The void created by loss does not get filled in over time. It just changes shape. In the beginning, it is vast, deep, enveloping everything else in darkness. Its edges are jagged and raw, piercing the heart, inflicting a relentless, intense throbbing.
With time, the void gradually seems to shrink. Light shines into crevices of the abyss, and the edges seem to soften. One day you notice the throbbing has lessened. Maybe, you think, there will come a day when the throbbing will completely dissipate and only recur when you bump up against the void.
Then another loss happens. The void opens up, and all the original pain mixes with this new pain. You can’t keep them separate or even discern which is which. You feel it all – the past and the present simultaneously. Sucked into a black hole again. Darkness. Throbbing. Wave upon wave.
You’ve done this before. Maybe more than once. And you learned the hard way that the only way to get through it is to stop fighting it and allow the waves to crash down on you. When a wave subsides, you take that opportunity to give your mind and soul and body a reprieve. You turn on the TV or call a friend. You open a book or take a walk. You can’t stay there in the water just waiting for the next wave. You’ve learned this is a process. And you will get through it. A wave at a time.
Usually when I write, our little wienie dog D’Marcus is somewhere nearby. Propped up on the corner of the couch or curled up beside me in the backyard as I tap away on my keyboard. Not today.
On Saturday, we had to say goodbye to D’Marcus. Chip told us on Sunday that the day we rescued D’Marcus 11 years ago, the thought struck him, “If we adopt this dog, someday Charli is going to be heartbroken.”
And so the void bursts open. The edges sharpen. The tears fall.
Here we are again. First, brush your teeth.
After bringing D’Marcus home from the shelter, he quickly became Charli’s shadow. To say he was enamored with her would be an understatement. When everyone else was asleep in their rooms at night, D’Marcus was planted firmly in Charli’s world, existing just to be near her.
How do you begin trying to live without your shadow? D’Marcus was with Charli when she did homework, when she walked to the refrigerator for a snack, when she went upstairs to change clothes, when she went to the bathroom to brush her teeth, when she slept, ate, showered...all of it. His favorite place to sleep at night was wrapped around her head. An image etched forever in my memory is that little dog curled around Charli’s head as she lay in my bed recovering from a frightening neck injury, complete with a ride from the soccer field in an ambulance. He never left her side. My heart literally aches for her.
When my kids were babies and were inconsolably crying, sometimes I would drive them around in their carseats until they would eventually fall asleep and find some relief from whatever was causing them such distress. Sunday, driving home from a walk on the beach with Chase and Karen, I looked over to see Charli sleeping peacefully. The night before had held little but agony and tears. I just wanted to keep driving, to keep the pain at bay for as long as possible.
But the time comes to wake up. And the waves crash. So hard. So very, very hard.
You couldn’t help but love D’Marcus. I can’t tell you how many people through the years have told us that if we ever got tired of him they’d take him. He was a silky soft bundle of love. The perfect remedy for a stressful day.
For all his sweetness and light, he was also a pain in the butt. True to dachshund form, he never decided that it was a good idea to go outside 100% of the time to pee. Oh, he was definitely housebroken. It’s just that he enjoyed regularly watering the leg of the pool table, Chip’s computer bag, and the living room chair. Sometimes he preferred to hike his leg in the kitchen beside the doggie door that lead right outside. The most puzzling and, quite frankly infuriating, was when he would jump up on the kitchen table and water my plant or my centerpiece filled with fruit. If you ever ate an apple from that bowl, don’t worry...I probably washed it.
He regularly greeted us with the most annoying, deafening bark every time we came home as if he had forgotten we live here.
And that dog loved toilet paper. More than once, we discovered a continuous white runway from the downstairs bathroom traveling up the staircase. It was really quite a feat on his part to somehow grab a square from the roll and pull it unbroken up the stairs. That’s in addition to his consistent habit of robbing the trash cans of toilet paper and hiding it under the table or under a bed.
As weird as it sounds, I find myself wishing I could catch of whiff of dog urine when I walk in the front door and know that D’Marcus is still here. I would exclaim with feigned disgust, as I’ve done hundreds of times, “Doggone it, D’Marcus!”
If there’s anything that becomes clear through the process of grief, it’s this – you hurt deeply because you loved deeply. You will never know the greatest joys of life if you are unwilling to experience the greatest pain. Yes, the temptation is there to close your heart and build walls, to love conservatively rather than extravagantly because you know, in the end, there may be a world of hurt. Don’t do it. The beauty and the pain mingle together, they co-exist. We see the waves ahead, and yet we choose to love.
And this is what makes us human.
