Thursday morning when I got home from work Riley wasn't able to get up and his breathing was shallow. I quickly put on some bacon so the kitchen would smell wonderful for him. It seemed like he was pretty close to the end. I called my husband at work, sobbing, "I'm really doing much better than I sound, I promise," I lied. My husband left work to come home and be with us. We took turns sitting on the floor with Riley, stroking his face. We had a beer. We wondered why he was still hanging on.
The Boy. He was waiting for his boy, the only person on the planet that he wasn't afraid of. We went and picked our son up at college and brought him home. The three of us took turns sitting with Riley. His whole pack was here now, he could relax. By Thursday night he was in that in-between place, not really conscious anymore, but still alive.
When I got home from work Friday morning Riley was still alive. He had waited for all of us to be awake and together one more time, and then he quietly slipped away. He died early on a cool fall day with Orion in the morning sky and Venus rising just before the sun.
We have all carried on with our routines today, but our routines are no longer braided with Riley's. There is an emptiness in the house as an emotional vacuum takes the place of his massive spirit. My husband went to work, my son went to school. I know that my task today is to clean the house, but I am in no hurry to wash the spot off the wall where Riley used to sleep, or sweep up the last dusting of his hair that my kitchen floor will see. So I'm sitting here, listening to the new silence, drinking a margarita and thinking that if Riley had been a guy, he would have enjoyed drinking tequila with me this morning.
I'm grateful for Riley's gifts and lessons. He made this household slow down and pay attention. Everything we did after he moved in was more deliberate and thoughtful. He forced us to live in the moment, every day. He taught us about second chances and our ability to drop that baggage from our past and walk into a new life. Riley showed us how to do that.
What will stick with me the most was how very gentle he was. Humans had hurt him so badly. He had no reason to trust people, but he did. He was curious and protective and infinitely sweet. That is the piece of Riley's heart that I hope repairs the breaks in my heart today. I want to be that forgiving and loving, even with people who have hurt me deeply.
My son is outside digging a grave. Any day you dig a grave is a bad day, but the sun is shining. Riley the Valiant and Courageous has been released from his body, and as he leaves this mortal coil I know he can see and hear and run without pain. He was such a good boy.
Good-night, sweet prince;
And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest."
--William Shakespeare, Hamlet
2004 - 2017