Gema’s Gone ... Gently.
Copyright by Dan Windisch 080900
August 8, 2000 4 PM or so
Gema knew. Gema was ready. It was us it was
so hard on. We will miss her so.
Usually when we took Gema to the Vet her
whole body shook with fear. You had to drag her into the door.
Gema’s fear eyes looked at us with soul eyes wondering how
people she loved could bring her here. When previously we had
lifted Gema onto the stainless steel exam table, her whole body
shook. When receiving vaccinations she whimpered, trembled. She
couldn’t wait to rush out the door.
Today Gema did not shake as we entered the
vets office. Gema walked steadily, despite her labored, fast,
heavy breathing. Her eyes did not flash fear as we lifted her
onto the stainless steel exam table. She panted heavily in the
hot afternoon, on that cool table. That, and her distended
belly were the only indicators of her failing heart.
She enjoys the cool of the table, my
massaging her neck and spine, Mary Joyce petting her, Debbie on
the other side petting her. I’m looking at Gema’s
face. Gema looks straight ahead, head up, a regal old red golden
retriever, eyes focused at a place beyond the walls. Gema has
that semi-smile golden retrievers have when they know they are
loved. She does not notice our tears. Tears of 40 and 50 year
olds are thin, and flow fast, down our faces. Gema doesn’t
notice. She feels only our love.
Dr. Pinckney is an old man. Stooped. Warm
heart kept covered... perhaps that is why he had that heart
attack so many years ago. Very professional, doesn’t say
much.
His vet assistant is new. Her compassion is
apparent. This is obviously hard on her. She says so.
Gema continues looking ahead, not shaking,
enjoying our touch, feeling our love. Dr. Pinckney turns away
from us. He tries not to let us see as he fills a syringe from a
vial that says “Poison” in bold letters. I think only I
see that.
Dr. Pinckney says “I will need to
remove a bit of Gema’s right front leg hair.”
With gentle quick scissors clips he removes the hair without even
nicking Gema. I am surprised that this stooped, shaky old man has
such steady quick hands.
He wipes the injection site with alcohol. I’m
shocked, between my tear, with the irony. No worry of future
infection here! No need... yet somehow comforting. Habits no
longer needed are often comforting.
We continue to pet Gema, our eyes filled and
flowing with those 10W weight tears, sending her our years of
love and thankfulness for all she has meant to us.
Dr. Pinckney puts a rubber tourniquet around
Gema’s right front leg, tightens it a bit, inserts the
syringe, (Gema doesn’t flinch, continues to look forward),
injects the fluid, and then releases the tourniquet. For a second
or two Gema looks ahead with just the slightest quizzical look,
then lowers her head gently to the table, eyes open. Dr. Pinckney
puts his hand on her side, says “She’s Gone.” He
walks out the door.
I pat Mary Joyce on the back. I wish I
could do more for her, but there is this HUGE block of sadness
blocking my throat. I can’t talk as the tears roll down my
face. I’m mute with grief and sadness. Yet despite how hard
it is, I am also glad I am here. Glad I could love Gema and pet
Gema and massage Gema at the end. Honor her. Yet it is SO hard.
The lump in my throat so huge. The sadness so overwhelming.
Gema’s eyes are open and she looks so
relaxed. Debbie asks if we can close her eyes, the vet
assistant says they can’t be closed.
I continue to pet Gema, massage her.
Mary Joyce says I don’t need to pet her anymore. She’s
gone. I say nothing... The lump in my throat blocks my voice. Yet,
if I could have talked I would have said that “I think Gema
is still a bit here, and I want the last thing she feels to be my
hands loving her.” And my the throat gets more constricted,
the light weight tears flow faster ... I don’t want to let
her go.
*****
That night for the first time in a very long time I decide to go
gambling. I tell Gema as I drive to the Casino that if I win, I’ll
give half of my winnings to Mary Joyce. I play Caribbean Stud,
have a string of good hands, then the streak ends. I know
it is time to stop, I thank Gema, win $56. The casino has a $15.95
steak and lobster special. I eat alone cherishing the lobster and
steak, and between tears no one can see, I raise a glass of
ice water in Gema’s honor. Thank you Gema.
*****
August 8th Midnight
Tears stain my clean pillowcase as I thank
God for all that GEMA has added to my life.
Favorite memories of Gema
February 1, 1989. I meet this new lady on my
40th birthday via her response to my personal ad. It is snowing
that day. Schools are closed, my young niece and nephew, Danika
and Robbie, come over to my house. They recognize the photo of
this new lady as Ms. O'Brien, a school teacher they know. They
say I’ll like her. They are right. I call her that night and
bring her some birthday cake. She has this 5 month old
golden retriever named Gema, named so because she is a gem. I
love petting Gema, especially her ears, they are so warm and soft
and can be rubbed between my fingers. I joke about wanting to
have them after Gema dies.
Gema, Mary Joyce and I go on our first walk
together. In the snow, up Lawrence Street to the University of
Puget Sound, through evergreens, past the A frames on campus, and
back. it is a magical night, fresh snow makes everything new,
white, fresh. Gema wearing her young dog body rushes ahead,
smells everything, leaves paw prints in the snow. Life is fresh
and new. Many more walks will follow.
*****
Ocean Shores and Newport. Gema is a
puppy still. We go crabbing off the docks. Wire cages with salmon
head bait thrown into blue waters. Gema excited, sees the ocean
for the first time. So much to see! Moving ahead she looks to the
right and walks over the left edge of the dock! I have to lean
over, with someone holding my legs, to pull her out of the
freezing water. That night at the motel she is distracted again
and falls into the swimming pool! For the rest of her life Gema
is leery of water. And Gema is a water dog! It would take many
years before she would walk into the lake on very hot days to
cool off. She never swam or went out beyond where her feet
touched the bottom.
*****
Summer School. Mary Joyce and I are both
teaching classes at Saint Martin’s. A call comes. Gema is
starting to have her puppies. MJ and I rush home in separate cars.
Gema is in the basement, in the cool. Puppy after puppy comes out.
We hold hand size puppies up to her to lick. She hurts, and is
exhausted, but does her mother thing. She’s glad we are
there. Puppies new to the world with eyes closed snuggle against
her, drinking milk in the frantic way new life does.
****
Later that summer. Puppies grow so fast, so
many, Gema is a bit overwhelmed! Most of the puppies are given to
family.
****
I pet Gema, she looks up, and lifts an
eyebrow, and looks so deep into my eyes with her sad eyes. I stop
for a second. She nudges me with her hand to start again. A
pattern develops, every time I stop petting her or massaging her,
her tail starts wagging. “More.” “More.”
***
Gema Loves chasing the tennis ball. Isn’t
too smart though! Time after time I pretend to throw it one way,
she runs in that direction, sees nothing, turns around, and I
throw it in another directions! She is so funny, I
can’t help but laugh. She wants to fetch the ball, but doesn’t
want to give it up after she brings it back. I have to pry it out
of her mouth! Seems very human to me.
****
Gema is prancing, golden red, ahead of us on
our walks in the woods at Dupont. Smelling everything, chasing
smells into woods, looking back to make sure we are coming.
Reveling in the fragrance of the woods.
*****
Gema licks her leg, won’t stop. Over
the years it becomes a gaping wound. “Loneliness” says
the vet.
*****
An ugly wart develops on Gema's nose. We
have it removed finally. It never totally heals.
*****
Gema has heart failure, often can’t
raise her head. Doesn’t eat for 3 weeks. I often go over and
lay beside here, tears flowing, just petting her, reminding her
of all the great times we’ve had together. Thanking her.
Sometimes for an hour or more. Dr. Pinckney prescribes some heart
medicine that might help in a few weeks. We think Gema is going
to die. But she gets better! To my joy we walk again in the woods,
Gema prancing ahead. Smelling everything in her dog ways. It is
sheer joy to see her do that again.
****
For 6 months she is better. Then begins to
degenerate. Slower on the walks, hard to get up, stomach starting
to distend with fluids. My final walk with her is August 7th.
Gema is walking because she loves us, not because she enjoys the
walk. The next day she goes on a walk with MJ and her dad. After
she gets back, she falls down, can’t get up, has a terrible
time breathing. MJ calls me. We both know it is time. Time to
have her put down. I lay next to her on the cool floor once again.
Tell her once more, and again, how much I love her, as I pet her.
Tears flow, but that’s ok. I stop ... her tail starts
to wag. I pet her again. We decide to call the vet. Gema goes
outside lays on the cool pavement. Then lays on the beauty bark
in the garden, smelling the smells as she breathes so hard and
fast.
We call her and she gets into the car and we
drive to Dr. Pinckney's.
*****
Thank you Gema for all your love.