Losing Maggie: My Goodbye Letter
This morning, my husband and I wrapped up our 13-year-old labrador retriever in a cozy blanket, loaded her into the truck for one final truck ride to the vet’s office, and gently stroked her head as she took her final breaths. In the past 48 hours, it had become painfully obvious that our Maggie Mae was suffering. Thankfully, as we entered what we knew would be the final months of our lives with our old girl, our vet had been thorough in telling us what sorts of signs would make it obvious to us that it was time to make the hardest of all pet-related decisions. For that, we feel overwhelming peace that today’s decision was the right one, albeit excruciatingly hard.
I loved our dog, but even 24 hours ago, I didn’t expect to feel such intense sadness about her passing. I didn’t expect to look back on years of pictures and weep over the change in her demeanor that took place within the past six months. I didn’t expect to be filled with such heightened gratitude about the depth of love she had for our rough-and-tumble boy and such crushing despair thinking about what life will look like for him without his best friend. I didn’t expect that I would feel a profound fear that I would start to forget some of her quirks: how she never met a garbage can she didn’t feel needed exploring, how she loved ice chips and butter bread, how her world was infinitely better with a car ride, how she moped around the house when our son was gone, how she clearly loved my husband more than she loved me (and how ok I always was with that), how she would disappear for short durations after letting her out to use the bathroom only to discover she was sitting down by our lake.
As I work through my grief at losing this big, smelly, slobbering member of our family, I’m also grappling with what it means to frame my son’s grief. I had to break the news to him this afternoon that his beloved friend had died. There were tears, but there was such grace. It was beautifully heartbreaking watching him register the information and deal with his emotions. He kept repeating that he didn’t get to say goodbye.
I guess that’s what we all want on some level, to say goodbye on our own terms, leaving nothing unspoken.
Back in August, I took the time to write out Mags’ adoption story for an online competition. Life got busy, and I forgot to submit it for judging. But today, as our family navigates our new canine-less normal and what it looks like to say goodbye, it seems appropriate to share our girl’s story with my readers.
Cottage living is all about comfort, coziness, and warmth, and our Maggie brought this and so much more to our little cottage.
I found myself searching for dogs on our local animal shelter’s website on Columbus Day in 2014. Growing up surrounded by labrador retrievers with a duck-hunting father, I always knew I wanted to own a lab. And being that my heart felt especially called to rescue elderly dogs left in the shelter, I nearly lept out of my skin when I saw an elderly chocolate labrador retriever available for adoption. But reality hit: It was a holiday; the shelter was closed, and I was fairly convinced this dog was already adopted being that it was clear she was a purebred. I decided I would call the shelter first thing in the morning to see if she was still there, and if so, it was clearly meant to be.
The next day, my Maggie Mae was still there, just waiting for us to give her a forever home. I remember the drive home, this sweet love sitting in the passenger seat, wind whipping around those floppy ears, and feeling like I was giving this girl such a gift.
In reality, we were the ones being given a gift.
A year after adopting Maggie, we were shocked to find out we were pregnant with a child we were told we would never be able to have. We worried about whether Maggie, being an elderly dog, could handle life with a loud newborn, then a handsy toddler, then an energetic preschooler. We feared that maybe it would be too much for our old girl, and we wondered aloud more than a few times if we should try to find a new home for her.
I remember bringing my baby home from the hospital terrified that I would ultimately have to make a choice between the baby I thought I would never be able to have and the dog who had brought so much joy, laughter, and love into our house. Thankfully, I didn’t have to make a choice. Maggie was a natural with our baby, almost like a second mama to our little guy.
She slept by his crib for much of the first year of his life. She planted herself at the foot of his high chair at every meal, ready to “do her duty” and clean up whatever “mess” our new eater sent her way. She never moved away from him during his exploratory toddler phase, when the words “gentle” and “careful” don’t really resonate. In fact, she would often move toward him, soaking up his baby love and kisses. Now, as a preschooler, he asks if Maggie can go outside and play with him. And she will, until the reality that she’s nearly 13 sets in, and she has to rest.
We know our time with our girl is fleeting. In fact, she’s already outlived every labrador retriever I ever owned growing up. Part of me thinks that the only reason she’s still holding on is for the sake of my son. He’s kept her young, engaged, and always-present. And in return, she’s provided him with protection, companionship, and a lifetime’s worth of love in only a few years. Though there won’t be much that he will remember about our sweet girl after she’s gone, we have plenty of pictures and memories to share about our gentle giant who loved our family and our busy boy so, so well.
