For the last two nights, I have relived Cocoa's dying when I closed my eyes. I see her struggle for breath. I feel her silky soft fur under my fingers. I hear my voice as I try to soothe her, and I hear my husband sobbing at my side.
I'm not the dog person my husband and children are. I don't love all dogs, but I loved this one with all my heart. My son was her boy, and she slept with him most of her life; but she was my dog. Ultimately, she looked to me to assess her worth. I loved her beyond reason.
It feels strange and somewhat dysfunctional to grieve for a dog as I have grieved for Cocoa. There was a connection between us that I don't understand but cannot deny. We have had other dogs and I have loved other dogs, but not many. I loved Jambo, our labrador retriever that we had since birth. I love my daughter's dog, Iali, almost as much as a grandchild, although that is not an experience I've had yet.
But Cocoa was mine in a way no other dog has been, or will probably ever be again. I do not want to replace her. I could never recreate the relationship. Perhaps someday, I will experience a new and different relationship with a dog, but he or she will not be Cocoa. Cocoa is gone forever.
And that is why there is an inconsolable part to my grief. It reminds me of the other parts of my life that are gone forever. I have had a wonderful life, with fewer regrets than many; but it is still hard to say goodbye, forever.
