I suppose this is my first true, real experience with death. I’ve kind of marinated in that thought for the past twelve hours. Asking questions like, “why does this hurt so much? When will I stop crying?” I’ve gone through family members and friends passing away, and I’ve grieved, and cried, but it never really had the same sting. I suppose I was never super close to any of my family members or friends who have died. That definitely has an effect on the way I’m feeling. I mean, in terms of value, I suppose that human lives have more of a value than animals. No animal is going to govern a city or cure cancer or start a business that benefits mankind or anything. But it’s also true that dogs are 100% pure. You can’t even argue with that one, because really, there are no bad dogs, only bad owners. Dog’s don’t betray you or dismiss your feelings or stab you in the back. They’re there for you, they listen, they comfort you when you’re crying, they get excited over the little things. Dogs are a representation of all that is good and pure, and humans simply are not.
That’s what Marley is to me. He’s good and pure and he is the physical embodiment of unconditional love.
I remember the day Marley came home with us. I was 8 years old. He was a stray, and for a few days, he was wandering around outside of my mom’s work. She claims that he wouldn’t let anyone near him except for her. For the next few days, she fed him and got to know him, and pretty soon, he was ours for good. I cried when he came home, because I knew immediately that our souls were tied. My brother and I were young and hyperactive, him being 7 at the time. I think that intimidated Marley, but I remember the first time he finally let me pet him. We were on the floor of the vet’s office, he was bundled up in the corner of the room on the opposite side of me.
He was always a little timid. He would flinch when we dropped a pen on the ground and shy away if we moved our hands too quickly. I wish, or maybe I don’t, I’m not sure, that I knew what his life was like before he was ours. With him being a stray, we really never knew for sure how old he was. I’m 21 now, so it’s been 13 years that we’ve had him, if that tells you anything. Over the years, his personality came out more and more, and he was energetic and goofy, and he loved his puppy sister, Savannah. They would play ball together for hours in the yard. Actually, Savannah would play ball, and she’d run back and forth playing fetch and bringing the ball back, and Marley would just run back and forth chasing Savannah. I think he was really just fascinated with her, because after she passed, he was never interested in playing ball or fetch.
With him coming into my life at such a developmental age, I truly don’t have a memory without Marley in it. It was different with Savannah. I loved her so much, and always will, but she passed when I was 16 (on my 16th birthday actually), and even though she was in my life for all of those 16 years, it’s not like I remembered all 16 of them. With Marley, I remember his whole entire life with us, beginning to end.
Whatever Marley’s life was like before he showed up at my mom’s work, good or bad, I am certain about the fact that the rest of his 13 years were amazing. He loved the simple things– walks, treats, tummy rubs, playing outside, being with his family, Hayden. Marley and Hayden instantly connected and part of me thinks that in some way, he was Hayden’s soulmate dog, too. He hated strawberries, golf carts (no seriously, he hated golf carts), going on walks without his puppy siblings.
I remember the first time I got broken up with. I was 16, and you know how it is; it felt like the end of the world. I came home, cried in my bed, and Marley was right beside me. He stayed in bed with me all night. The day I left to go to college in Florida was the hardest. I honestly couldn’t stand leaving him. At this point, I was 18, and he was my best friend. I held him on the kitchen floor the day I left and sobbed so hard. People say that dogs know when you need them. I never really understood how that could be, but after 13 years with my Marley-bug, I can confirm that saying. There were so many nights, countless times where I thought my heart was breaking, that Marley was there for me. He made me feel better. He would make me smile when I didn’t want to.
Looking back, of course those nights were sad. Getting dumped, not getting parts I wanted in a play, the diminishing of a friendship. They weren’t really heartbreaks. That’s what I realized yesterday; I’ve never truly had my heart broken until now.
A true heartbreak is wondering how life is supposed to get back to normal. Wanting desperately to stop crying and go to sleep, but physically not being able to stop crying. Everything else in your life pausing; work, school, friends, social media, all of it feels frozen. Not wanting to be at home, but not wanting to be at work, but not wanting to be at a friend’s house. True heartbreak is making excuses not to see people because you don’t have the energy to. You don’t have the energy or mentality to eat, even though you’re starving. Heartbreak is every tiny, little thing reminding you of the thing that broke your heart. It’s not having the energy to talk to anyone, to get up from your seat, to put on a happy face, to do literally anything. It’s not being able to focus on anything else besides how your life will ever feel normal again. It’s when a part of you is gone. True heartbreak is hopelessness. In all of those instances where I thought my heart was broken, there was always a glimmer of hope. I got dumped; well, we can still be friends and I’ll find somebody better in the future. I didn’t get the part I wanted in a play; it’ll still be fun and I’ll make great memories. A friendship failed; maybe we can rekindle in the future, or I’ll work on myself and make better friends. There is no hope in this situation. I will never see my Marley again. And that’s that.
When I say that Marley was the perfect dog, he truly, genuinely, was the most perfect dog. He never pulled on his leash. He was absolutely perfect on walks. He stopped when I asked him to, he didn’t tug me, didn’t run out in front of other cars, like his crazy brother does. He was amazing on car rides. He didn’t bite. He loved everyone. He was the most well-mannered, kind-hearted, genuine dog I have ever had the pleasure of knowing.
Obviously, I understand that the average lifespan of a dog Marley’s size isn’t that long. Savannah lived to be 17. Again, I’m not sure how old Marley was when we got him, but he was over 13 years old. And it’s not like he was a newborn when he came into our lives. I knew he was an old man. He was showing signs of aging and sickness that comes along with aging, but I wasn’t prepared for this. At all. That only contributes to my heartbreak. I thought I had time left. Yesterday, March 1st, I showed up to work at 6 am, I left at 12 pm; I had a few errands to run. Ironically, I was petsitting for another family yesterday. I’d swing by there and check on them, stay for a while, I needed some groceries, to go to the bank, I wanted to shop around for my best friend’s birthday coming up. It’s actually really rare that I work a morning shift at work, I had switched with a coworker in order to be off today. I usually work 12 pm to around 7 pm. My mom texted me while I was at work asking to go home and check on Mar, and I told her I would after I checked on the pets I was watching.
When I got home, and saw the state he was in, all of my plans for the day went out the window. I don’t want to go into detail– it’s too painful. All I know is that Monday night, he was perfect. Tuesday morning, I left for work and told him bye, and he was completely normal. I knew he was old. And sick. I had no idea that yesterday would be his last day.
Oh, the things I would have done differently. I would have taken the whole day off of work to be with him. I wouldn’t have left his side. I would have slept on the floor with him all night on Monday if I knew it was his last night. I had no. Idea. If I didn’t switch shifts with my coworker, I might not have been able to say goodbye at all. Kaden, if you’re reading this, thank you from the bottom of my heart for switching shifts with me. You unknowingly gave me one more afternoon with my baby boy.
I’m at the age now where I’m comfortable. I’m finishing up school, I work 40+ hours a week, I’m getting into my career path, I’m in a healthy relationship. Because of these factors, I honestly don’t have many friends. When I need to tell someone something, or rant, or need someone to go run an errand with me, I have Hayden. In my free time, I’m working on school, or doing basic adult things. I noticed that recently. I don’t really have that many friends. I never really felt like I was missing much, though. It sounds extra cheesy, but my dogs are my best friends. Specifically, Marley.
Is it kind of mean of me that I’ve always told Marley that he’s my favorite? Seriously, I tell my dogs to their faces that I love them but Marley is my favorite. They’ve never seemed to mind it though. My other two would watch every day as I held Marley and sang “you are my sunshine” to him. Every day I would sing that to nobody else but Marley. He is, and he always will be. He’s the best friend that never left my side, never abandoned me, never drifted away from me, never disappointed me. He’s my best friend.
I was there for him. I didn’t leave his side yesterday. Even when they put the needle in his leg and all I wanted to do was slap it out of the vet’s hand. Even when he closed his eyes to drift off to sleep, when all I wanted to do was carry him in my arms back to my car and go home. Even when he was finally at peace, and not hurting anymore, when all I wanted to do was rewind. Take it back. Wait it out some more. Instantly, my mind was saying this was a mistake, we did the wrong thing, he was fine, maybe he just ate something bad.
It was traumatic. Honestly, it was. I’ve never really had true trauma. I’ve always been fortunate to have a pretty good life. But seeing the lifeless body of my best friend on the floor of the vet’s office was traumatic. Leaving him there was traumatic. The tears literally haven’t stopped. On my way downtown this morning, I didn’t even pass the vet’s office, I was literally just on the same street that it was on, and I had a panic attack so bad that I had to pull my car over. Just being on the same street as the vet. As him. As his body. I can’t stop replaying those last three minutes.
I suppose it’s peaceful, in a way. He’s not hurting. He’s not in pain. It didn’t hurt him, to pass. As far as he knows, he got tired and went to sleep. Now he’s in paradise. I know he’s with Savannah. He’s young again. She’s up there chasing a ball and he’s up there chasing her. There are no golf carts. There’s endless treats. He’s energetic. He’s not coughing. He’s happy. He’s watching over me.
When we got home, I was still crying, hugging my mom, who was also crying. I asked her, “are you sure we did the right thing?” She told me it’s never 100% the right time. We don’t know. They can’t tell us when they’re miserable. She told me it was the most selfless act we could do for him. And it was selfless. Because he’s happy now, and he’s not in pain, but I can’t stop crying and I’m struggling to function like I normally do. And I miss him. I don’t regret it, because he was miserable. But I miss him. And all I want is to hold him. I woke up this morning thinking it was just a terrible nightmare.
This is my grieving process. At times when I feel the most sad, I feel the most creative. I don’t even know what to do now. I’m still petsitting until later today, and I thought it would make me feel better, but I just feel worse. The husky I’m watching is old like Marley, pees like Marley, eats like Marley, walks like Marley, sounds like Marley when he walks down the hall. I don’t want to go home, because I don’t want him to not be there. I tried to sleep last night, but I physically could not stop sobbing. I talked to the sky. To him. Thank you mama and daddy, for bringing Marley into my life. Thank you Hayden, for loving him like he was your own. For all the nights that you laid on the living room floor petting him for hours until he fell asleep. Thank you Marley. For everything. No dog will ever, ever compare to you. I’m sure I will love other dogs, but not in the same way. None will be as perfect as you were. I still can’t believe this is real.
My Marley. My Marmy. I always called him Marmy. I’m not sure where that came from, but it always stuck. My Booger, my Mar Mar. My sweet baby boy. My angel on Earth, and now my angel in Heaven. I love you more than anything. I hope you had the best life. I hope we made you as happy as you made everyone who met you. I’ll never say goodbye to you, but I will say I’ll see you later. I’ll talk to you up there as much as I can, and you’ll be my good boy forever.
— mal
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