I don’t fear my own death but I fear others’ death. I realized it’s the sense of being “left behind” makes death rather disheartening instead of letting go and embracing freedom.
Ungas died, we all mourned.
I speak about our dog like a person because that’s what he is for me. He greets like no other. He makes things a little special – on his own. He even makes me sleep – especially when sleep doesn’t come to me – by offering his ears for me to caress.
I drove madly over my mother’s house – running at 60kph (a speed I wasn’t supposed to reach being female and sick) just to get there on time but I DIDN’T. I wasn’t able to get there with him still alive. I got there to find a seemingly sleeping dog – so peaceful and still warm.
My two brothers cried, my sisters cried, my nieces cried, WE ALL CRIED – mourned the loss of a very wonderful dog whose eyes speak more than what the mouth can’t.
And as I am writing this – my heart aches like no other and I’m pouring every single word with tears brimming on my eyes. It was supposed to be happy because there were two birthdays to celebrate – Jaci and Ina but it just wasn’t that happy at all.
We were like celebrating the 1st and 40th day of Ungas’ death.
As I listen to my siblings speak, they were all awake at around 2 AM to find Ungas in pain. I would trade anything to be there. I would trade anything to be there caressing his ears again just to ease the pain he is feeling if that’s the least I could do.
However, I realized I am thankful that I was able to have memories with him and that’s what counts – memories that I wouldn’t trade for anything. It was short-lived (he was approximately 5-6 years with us) but meaningful. And, if I would recount those memories, I wouldn’t be able to do so without flooding my laptop with tears.
So here’s to Ungas. My little tribute to you my dearest, dearest, dearest friend.
P.S. Please Moji (my other dog) – stay with me for as long as you can.