Saying Goodbye One Last Time
For days I kept replaying the day I lost my dog. I woke up one morning and found her dead in her bed, her eyes and mouth open, frozen in a death gaze. Her body was stiff. There was a smell. She had been dead for at least a couple of hours. After the initial shock and sobs, my husband and I had to act fast. OK, well what do we do with the body?
We cleaned her up, wrapped her up in a blanket and quickly drove her to the only clinic that was open (it was Saturday). My last look at her was of two vet techs pulling her out of my car as if she were an ironing board.
I did other things that day (donated her stuff, visited friends and family), but that specific memory has been on autoplay in my head since it happened. Everyone kept telling me that this was the best way for her to go — peacefully in her sleep. But how peaceful was it? She didn't look peaceful.
And how could she have been asleep? Her eyes were open. If anything, she was gasping for air. She was struggling for her life and I slept right through it.
On Monday I started researching the crematorium the clinic sent her. On their website they said they offered "visitation services" to give one final goodbye before they put the pet in the cremation machine. My husband thought it would be a good idea for us to do this because in his culture (Hindu), they always watch the body be cremated. He said it might offer closure. But at first, I wasn't sure.
Her body looked awful when she died. Did I seriously need to see it again? And then to watch her get thrown into an oven immediately afterwards? What if I traumatize myself?
Although I was apprehensive, I went ahead and scheduled the visitation. The appointment was on Friday morning, in a town 30 minutes outside the city. My husband and I woke up early and drove there. When we got to the crematorium, the lady told me "Lola was ready" and they took me to the back where she was lying on a table covered by a blanket.
The frozen "death gaze" that had haunted me was now gone and replaced with a calm, sleeping face. They had glued her eyes and mouth shut, brushed her fur, and sprayed her down with something to make her smell not-dead. It was a little odd, but honestly, not much different from the human funerals I've been to.
My husband and I cried while I scratched her neck and stroked her paw one last time. When we were ready, a worker came and placed her gently into the machine, closed the door, and turned it on. The whole thing was over in about 20 minutes. I was surprised at how I was able to keep my composure. I was certain I was going to breakdown the moment I saw her body, but I felt somewhat at ease. She was fine. We did the best we could for her, and now we were honoring her body.
A few days ago I cynically wrote this blog post about how I thought these companies were greedily taking advantage of grieving people by offering all these useless services outside of cremation, but...I think I get it now. Although it was expensive, I feel a little better having that last goodbye. Seeing her peacefully sleeping instead of seeing her dead and decomposing. Although it's not gonna be easy getting used to life without her, I think I can manage it. I think I'll be okay.