In the beginning, I didn’t want Lucy.
It was either the tail end of 2005 or early in 2006. I was right in the middle of a decade in which I was completely lost, angry, and broken in ways I hadn’t come to realize yet. It’s not a time in my life that I often revisit. Yet here we are. I cannot fully acknowledge the significant impact that Lucy had on my life without first revisiting the point where she came into it. We are here, remembering the things I try to forget, because on November 19, 2022 Lucy passed away.
That day, I was visiting with my boyfriend’s Aunt and Uncle. There was this little black fluff-ball of a toy poodle situated on the couch. She looked more throw pillow than dog. She had not been there before. His Aunt, Connie, was a Mary Kay director and this dog had a fresh pink Mary Kay manicure on her tiny little paws. Of course I took interest in what I assumed was Aunt Connie’s new dog.
As we talked, I learned that this was not, in fact, her dog. This tiny 7lb dog was recently found on the side of the highway by her son and they could not locate any original owners. They already had a spunky Pomeranian who ran the show around their house so this new found pup was disrupting the establishment. She was unfortunately going to the pound.
“That is unless….. you guys want to take her.”
This is where I almost made the single worst decision of my life. I initially said no.
I really can’t remember the exact details of what was said to change my mind. It was fate, I think, if that’s really a thing. But somehow by the time we were leaving, I had a small crate and a bag of dog food in my trunk, and Connie was handing me the dog through the window of my hunter green BMW. I was actually a little mad at first. I felt like I had been pressured into a responsibility I didn’t want. But In reality all it took was a 45 minute car ride back from Fayetteville for Lucy to become the center of my universe.
By the end of 2007 I thought I had it all. I had a wedding, a house, two kids (fostering) and of course, Lucy. But you never really know what life will throw your way. 2008 came barreling in and by February everything came crashing down. I lost it all. Literally everything. I’ll spare the details because this post isn’t about that at all. It’s only relevant because after the dust settled I was alone. Everything I had was gone. Except Lucy.
I’ve always been really proud of the fact that I’ve survived and conquered so much on my own. But when I really think about the terrible times I went through, I wasn’t actually alone at all. Of course I had wonderful friends and family who deserve endless credit for pulling me along. But at the end of the day when I went home to my empty apartment Lucy was there, waiting at the door. Every time. When I would break down overwhelmed with sadness, Lucy was there. When I was spending thanksgiving and Christmas by myself, Lucy was there. Sometimes she would go to work with me and watch movies. She liked Tom Cruise. We shared a turkey TV dinner at home. We watched ‘Friends’ in bed until 3am. And every night when I went to sleep, Lucy was right beside me.
We did this for roughly 17 years. We were growing old, together.
Sometimes I wonder if Lucy noticed how much I changed through the years. Dogs are perceptive. Probably more so than humans. I could hide my sorrow from almost anyone, but it always seemed like Lucy could read everything that was going on in my heart without me having to say a word. I like to think that she was happy for me over the years as I started to rebuild my life. Those changes brought her a new family in Sam, who she loved from day one. They snuggled and played and watched football together on Saturdays. Now all three of us were growing old together, and she was the center of OUR universe.
The universe is full of things that don’t make sense. Some things more incongruent than others. In the vast existence of so many complex systems which we will never fully understand, I can’t stop asking myself this one question. Why do dogs get so many less years than the people who love them?
It’s cosmically unfair really. That this little life force that you invite into your family has so little time to spend with you. I am fully aware of how incredibly lucky I am to have had a so much time with Lucy. More than most. But it went by so fast. And in the end I knew how much she had changed but I never let myself really see it. I didn’t want to. I didn’t really see how much of her her hair started to turn grey. I didn’t see how much slower her walk had become, and I didn’t fully see just how bad her cognitive health had fallen. Because it was all easily rationalized with her old age. Sure she was a little confused, a little unbalanced, but she was 17.
Did you know that 1 in 4 dogs will get some form of cancer? I didn’t. But it’s true. It’s right there on google. I don’t think knowing this would have made a difference, but in all her end of the road health issues, we never thought of this. But this is how it ended. With a brain tumor that no one ever noticed.
Looking back it was glaringly obvious. She had trouble with food. She was wobbly. Her hearing and vision was spotty. She would get stressed at night in the dark. She was horribly unbalanced at times, yet not always. So we did what you do for someone who is the center of your universe. We helped her eat. Helped her get down. Helped her to not be scared. We helped. Just like she helped me, us, for all of those 17 years.
Grief is a funny thing. It changes with time but I don’t think it ever leaves you. It’s like it’s a cosmic reaction to a piece of you being released back into the universe. That piece is gone just like whatever your heart was attached to. That’s where the emptiness comes from. And we as humans get uncomfortable and we try to fill that void with anything and everything we can to get away from that feeling. But I think that is not truly honoring what we lost. So I will treasure my sadness because that means that I was blessed with the opportunity to love so deeply. Maybe one day I will be able to hold back the tears. Maybe not. Either way, I will honor her the way she honored me. With so much love. I will do this for Lucy.
I loved you for your whole life. I will miss you for the rest of mine.
Lucille Johnson, McCullough
Sometime in 2005 – November 19, 2022
