Mocha is gone. I don't know a better way to start than with the fact itself. I've been coming to terms with it and couldn't bring myself to write or say. She passed away on Wednesday, June 26th. And her leaving has left a hole in my heart forever.
She is the best thing I've ever done in my entire life. I adopted her when she was nine. Five perfect years and no time with her is enough. I told her that we will always be together in one of the many things I kept repeating to her as she passed just a few days shy on what would have been her 13th birthday on July 6th. I will miss every bouncing run down the hallway. Every prance and circle turn at the door to go on walks. Talking to her about every move we make. Our plans for the day. What we will cook for lunch. For dinner. What we are planting. Where we are going. Taking care of her. This has been my entire life. I would have done anything to keep her. To save her. I tried.
She had gotten so weak the last few weeks. The tumor in her mouth returned and was growing at a rapid pace from one day to the next. It was starting to obstruct her throat and breathing. Though the paw healed after the necrosis, she had new sores pop up on some joints. I was carrying her everywhere for the last few weeks as she could no longer use her back two legs. Neighbors saw me carry her down my stairs to the front lawn. It was easier than going to the garden, but sometimes I struggled. For awhile, I would try to let her get steady, try to walk, but for the most part she would tumble and fall to the ground on her side like a limp doll. When I realized she could not stand and the flatness of the lawn no longer mattered, I started taking her back to her garden and forewent the topples and nightgown displays in the front lawn at all hours.
Her vet said he could no longer keep her comfortable. Her appetite was gone and even with a stimulant wouldn't eat much. She had lost a lot of weight. The lack of food alone was making her weak. The antibiotic too was no longer doing its job. My heart could not process any of this, but I could see what other people did.
When people came over to the house, there was sorrow and pity in their eyes. There was no longer hope. She started waking me up in the early morning scooting around, but unable to stand, except rarely. I would carry her out to the lawn or garden to sit awhile before the hot part of the day. A week or so ago I was out in the garden. The light level drops, the unbearable heat ceases and the temperature cooled enough for me to bring her outside. I have always told Mocha that this is her garden. She loved being told she was a great helper and stayed with me at every turn there. I made a note in my phone. 7-9 pm. At dusk.
I started getting information slowly. The name of the person from my friend Stacy who would come to the house and their number if I had to call. I spent a weekend with her, and had a feeling it would be her last. I was getting weak myself and couldn't do it alone anymore. I called my Mom to come down to see if she could see what they did. She did. I saw it in her eyes when she walked in the door.
But we took her to the vet to see what he thought. Mocha's vet said on the many papers and notes I've shared on one of the small notated lines that, "It was time." Trying to take the unfathomable out of my hands. I did not know how long to let this go on, but I asked my vet, "Is a week too long to wait ?" And he said, "Yes." Really, I was given no choice. I love her more than anything in this world, but did not want to be cruel to her. I looked daily for signs of her fight and while she never wanted to leave me, she was growing tired.
I told my mom I was glad she was here. To think of things I might miss in my tired weakness. I would do anything in the world for Mocha, but was struggling to come up with new ideas. My mom is a good mom with the details and I knew that she would pick up where I may falter. The fact that maybe Mocha would like to eat the ice cream I made to soothe her throat. She loved it and I beamed with a sense of pride that she ate lots of something I had made. The weather was turning. The wind picking up Tuesday. You could feel an atmospheric change on your skin. As she laid in the front lawn with me, the silhouette of the house backlit with a sky covering itself in encroaching gray as if to reflect the impending hurt that would hit our hearts.
After she ate her ice cream, the rain started. Slow at first. We moved Mocha to the porch. When the water reached her there, we moved her inside the entry way with the front door open, so she could watch the storm.
Since the decision was made for me, I said I would work my way up to it to call before dinner on Tuesday. I did. I tried not to let my head spin as I listened to the insufferable calming music of grief over the hold line. I spent time cooing over Mocha and using my brain to autopilot me through making plans. I painted my nails to give me something different to look at. They haven't been painted in years. I called my witch friend, Katelynn, to ask her if there was anything symbolic to do that I may miss. Make her comfortable she said with a blanket and spot in the garden. She said we could do a ceremony or celebration of her life after with a few friends. I said I wasn't sure what my state would be. She said it's more important for you to feel everything. Don't put it off. Don't delay. Feel everything fully, so the celebration takes a back seat to the feeling. My friend Lindsay said to, “let my heart break." That my friends would be there to pick me up. I committed then and there to feel absolutely everything. Cry when I wanted to cry in front of whoever I wanted to and say to Mocha the things I'd say to her when we are alone.
I asked my friend Gwenda for her opinion too. An author, she said she could do some research. Searching for anything to add meaning and distraction. Hawthorn berries, she found signifies the gateway to another world.
I went to hot yoga a few times as I have found it is the best way to cry in plain sight. Covered in sweat, the tears just mix in as you hide the gasps under the cold towel thrown over your face.
I insisted that I wanted them to arrive at seven. They said it was against the procedure to arrive at seven, but I didn't let up. The hours are 6-8 pm and usually they arrive at 6 pm after hours. I knew that was the time of day that Mocha was comfortable in the garden and I was going to stand my ground. In the end, she said she would make a note for the request and I said that was all I ask for. The vet that will be coming to the house texted with a sense of immediacy and said she was more than happy to arrive after seven. A trait that I would later learn was indicative of this woman's entire being. They said I would need a person to carry her after. I said I will do it. I always carry her.
On Wednesday, the skies were clear. I had laid Mocha in the bed with me Tuesday night. Woke up. Cried at yoga and returned to her. I wanted her to stay in that bed with me as long as she wanted. So, we laid there together napping and against one another and her head on me until the afternoon. I knew it would be the last time she was upstairs with me.
There was a chance of rain, but we hoped it would hold off. We did what you do when you're at a loss of what to do. I went to what is our local metaphysical store, which I call the witch store, in town. I called ahead for things. Myrtle was the incense of choice for spiritual love and immortality of the soul. No one had Myrtle. No elm, which signifies love, light, purification, death, and rebirth. Frankincense and Myrrh were valid replacements. Katelynn, my witch friend, recommended lavender incense for calming. I went. I got a few stones for love and for peace. No hawthorn, but a jar of hawthorn berries. We cleaned. We had two visitors. I asked Lissa what one would do with the berries? She said why not put them in little bowls and place them around. She brought an orchid and wine. Mom put the berries in bowls.
I knew when I picked up Mocha and carried her out the front door and through the side garden path toward the garden gate that it would be the last time she would enter her garden. I laid her in the grass to be near me.
I went into a rapid pace wanting the preparations to be over, so I could sit and do nothing but hold her. I cut flowers quickly. I arranged things on trays. I picked a colorful blanket that was laying in my floor in the attic from movie watching. I put two white candles next to her on either side from a culture I can't remember that said they put one on either side of a person who is passing with the shoes at their feet, so they might have shoes to guide their way into the afterlife. I was going to use a leash in place of the shoes; and it was missing. I decided she didn't need a leash to find her way.
I put lavender, frankincense, and myrrh incense together in one holder near the blanket I laid out for her. The spirit is supposed to pass up through the smoke. I threw the hawthorn berries all over my blanket. I scattered them all over every bit of grass in the garden. I laid her lamb chop on the blanket. I plopped down in the grass with her before 6. I laid her head on my lap. She was sleeping. I pet her and got a pillow for my back. I doused Mocha and me both in lemongrass essential oil to keep the flies and bugs off us. It worked.
I asked a friend if I should have a drink first or be fully present. They said they could see my conflict, but that they would do one drink to take the edge off. I decided not to get one as I pet her, and didn't want to leave. Mom and I had been talking extensively about Irish funeral traditions. My mom said, “Do you want a shot? I've never made one in my life, but I will do one with you. She returned with what was kind of a shot of bourbon and a thimble for herself. Bourbon is the only thing that can calm the nerves in the exacting way it does.
I kept talking to her. Petting her. The weather cool. The wind blowing. The vet called. She would be there in 20 mins. I told her to come around to the garden. That I would like to stay out in the garden with Mocha if at all possible, but if the weather hit that I could go inside if we needed to. Mocha was asleep and resting on me and never moved. We lit all the taper candles. The incense. The palo santo. The flames wavering in the wind but staying lit still. I heard in the distance the woman say, "I'm Dr. Madeline."
She talked to me for awhile and I glanced next to her at an old fashioned brown doctor's bag. I looked away. I had written her in advance that I wanted Mocha to be asleep for at least 15 minutes if not longer, I had read due to size. It was a two step process and the sleep portion could technically go on forever. Most just do one injection right after the next. Mocha's vet had recently experienced the death of his own dog and the only thing getting me through any of it was that he said his dog was asleep for awhile and then he administered the second shot. He said," He did not know it was me who did this. He was just asleep under anesthesia." I wanted Mocha to know we were having another day and another nap in the garden and nothing more.
The rain started falling slow at first. My mom asked me if I wanted to move to her blanket. I said, “No.” We stayed where we were. She started. I talked to Mocha, I told her I love you sweetheart, you are the most beautiful bravest smartest girl I know. I love you so so much. Thank you for coming to live here. We will always be together. I did not stop one second talking to her. Staring in her eyes. I let everyone, but us melt away. We were in our own bubble. The rain was picking up and pouring now. I stroked her head. The vet checked her reflexes. She was under. My mom asked if we should go inside I said no. I kept doing the blink test to make sure she was sleeping. The storm fell down on us drenching us in rain. It could not be a heavier storm. I sobbed. I nodded for the doctor to go ahead when she asked. She never stopped. She went with the storm at every turn. She rotated her. I never watched the last. I kept talking. I knew the next step would only last 30 seconds. I wiped the rain from her face and stared in her eyes. I kissed her as I watched her get more still . She was gone. The doctor said, "She is at rest."
Mom went to pick up the blanket, a crochet thing that now felt like it weighed fifty pounds from soaking up so much water. She said do you want a different one I said, “No.”
I asked the vet to hand me the blanket and I wrapped her in it . I picked her up as I always do, the left arm under the back legs and the right forearm under the front legs. She was heavy. Her head hung, but she was covered in the blanket. The vet and mom went ahead . Sobbing and rain falling down I carried her body to the car the way we came in and I knew it was the last time she would ever leave her garden.
Mom turned to me at the end of the path and I said, “Go, go.” Mocha and the blanket combined were so heavy. The cars passed as I gasped for air. I saw the looks on the passengers faces. I laid her in the car. I crawled into the back and adjusted her blanket under her head. I kissed her. I closed her eyes. I told her how much I loved her. I adjusted her more and went back to give at least three more of the last kisses I could give her. I turned to the doctor, who had the calmest soul. Clothes and hair soaked in rain, she had refused the towels my mom offered her. She just looked at me as the drops covered her and said, "She was clearly a very special dog." I paused and said, "She was." I turned away. I didn't look back. And I sobbed. I sobbed and went to take a shower. I struggled. I wailed. I'm unclear where hurt like this lives. It covers every cell of the body. Somewhere in your being. Is it in your veins? Is it in something between the blood? The veins? The organs? How can it radiate? It certainly must fill every blank cell. Maybe it migrates to fill them, but it can make an ache that aches everywhere in an instant. Maybe hurt is migratory.
I went downstairs and filled a glass with ice and bourbon. And I cried. I ate and I cried some more. I hoped I did the right thing. The storm somehow felt appropriate like the physical manifestation of how I was feeling. In the shower, for a brief moment I thought I did the right thing before bouncing back with more grief and thoughts. I said I will never get through this. I came out on the porch and my friend said later she could hear me and my despair from the porch from the road driving by in her car . I leveled out and went back again. When I went to sleep and woke up the next morning I couldn't move my limbs. Only hearing my mom bustling and the possible visit from a friend got me out of bed. I appreciate them and know they are what will get me through. Otherwise, I can’t help battling the feeling that I am alone now.
I cried before dinner yesterday looking out at the garden before my shower. I haven't been back there. Seeing lamb chop lay there. The scene still set. I can't stand it, but I'm moving. I'm still crying under the cold towel at hot yoga.
Months ago, I babysat my friends dogs. I left Mocha to stay with the other dogs while I came to run an errand and it was the first time I had ever walked into the house without Mocha in it. I was hit with an immediate sense of sadness for what I knew was soon to come.
Mocha saved my life. I know I saved hers, but she saved me. She saved me when I was so unhappy myself. She is everything I have. Nothing can express the sorrow I have toward losing her. She is part of me always. What I got with all of her medical treatments, our battles and fight, was time. It's all been about buying time and in the waiting for improvements what you got was more time. You didn't realize that slowly 6 months pass from the last date of radiation. You get a month or two from a surgery. At one point a month or two ago her vet said, "We are lucky to get two years out of a dog once this starts." I misunderstood I said, " Two more years would be great!" Then I realized that I had been using that two years already. I was using the time I had already gained, but I wasn't getting two more. I got seven more months with Mocha than when this all started. That is over half a year that I got to spend with her and every second with her is worth everything to me.
I am thankful for friends that have been there for me when things are not easy and not fun. For friends that altered trips or dinners where I came back to check on her. I'm thankful to friends who gave me moments of laughter, of release, and love to get me through it. Things sometimes aren't perfect. Thank you for caring about her. About me. It means everything to me.
There's a part of me that will be never the same after Mocha. She's still the best thing I ever did. Roundabout five years of perfection. We needed each other. I will never recover the loss of her and will always miss her.
I wrote myself a note a bit ago. "Her hair is like silk when it's clean, I always forget. I want to remember that when I'm doing dishes in the sink. She comes and sits in front of the stove at my feet. When I sit down in the hallway she comes and sits in front of me. When I'm working in the kitchen she lays in front of the island. When I'm on one end of the front porch in the rocker she is at my feet. When I'm in the other porch chairs she's right there too. She simply wants to be where you are." Mocha is always with me. Even now. We will always be together.
This is such a beautiful piece of writing, and it broke something in me that finally needed to break. I have been severely ill with long Covid for four years and was unable to travel out of state last April to visit my beloved Dad on his death bed or to attend his funeral. It hurt beyond words, but somehow the hurt shut down prematurely (maybe to save me from completely going under) and I've just been numb ever since. But the beautiful death ritual you shared with your beloved Mocha somehow became the death ritual I needed to go through with my beloved Daddy, and that soaking rain leaked its way into my heart through the tiny cracks and finally blew it open. I have cried for you, for Mocha, for my Daddy, for all of us who love and hurt and lose and heal and somehow go on to love another day. I wish Mocha well on her journey and you well on yours, knowing with every confidence we will be reunited again someday with all those we have loved and who will continue to love and hold us from the other side.
Love you, my friend. Mocha was the most special of girls. <3