There Is A Heaven & I’ll Be Going There One Day

I’m not religious and I don’t go to church, but I pray daily.  I know there is a heaven and there is a hell.

I know when the time comes, I’ll be going to heaven.  However, there are people out there that think they’re “right” and they know God and that I’m already condemned to hell.

This morning before work, I walked off 400 calories on the treadmill.   Those first 30-45 minutes of the day have, for the past 11.5 years, been dedicated to lying on the floor caressing Miss ABBA, feeding her, taking her on a long walk allowing her to sniff everything in sight, and letting her look for people to shower her with more attention.

Today marked the third day of not having Miss ABBA and the fourth day of not getting to walk her since she wasn’t able to walk Friday morning.

Wonderful friends have sent me incredible literary passages about the loss that I’m feeling now and many pet owners who have already gone through what we’re going through now keep mentioning “Rainbow Bridge”.  The website, http://www.petloss.com, is great.

As I was reading about the stages of grief, I took a moment to access where I stand.  The five stages are:  shock and denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance.

I quickly eliminated “shock and denial”.

I’ve accepted that Miss ABBA is gone.  It’s strange walking around the house and not seeing her.  I dread going home today after work, before Ray gets home, and not having Miss ABBA there and hearing her tail “thumping” on the floor to let me know where she is before I walk through the house to see where she was sleeping.  Since she passed on, I haven’t been alone in the house and I’m really not looking forward to my days off Thursday and Friday and being all alone.  Another one of those “firsts”.

I also realized that I’m not “bargaining”.  I’m not asking for a deal with God to bring her back.  I have asked him to take care of her and to give me the strength to face each passing day without her and to smile when I think of her.  I know these dark days will turn golden again.  I came up with that this weekend and it brings me solace.

While reviewing veterinarian Dr. Margaret Muns’ stages of grief, I realize that I’m definitely at stage 2, “anger”, and stage four, “depression”.

I’m not mad at Miss ABBA’s doctors or at God.  I’m so appreciative to God for bringing Miss ABBA and I together almost 12 years ago, for bringing Ray and Gretel into our lives almost three years ago, for giving us ten amazing months together after she was diagnosed with a terminal, aggressive cancer, and for her only suffering less than 24 hours.  With all of that, how could I be mad at God?

I’m angry at those who have condemned me to hell because of who or what I am.

As I was sitting on the floor at the vet’s office Friday morning with Miss ABBA and her blanket draped across my outstretched legs holding onto her for dear life to make the transition easier for her as she left this life and moved onto the afterlife, I thought of those haters.

I sat there crying, kissing her sweet little head, and holding her lifeless body.  I began to think, how could people believe that there isn’t another place we go to after we die?  How could someone think that I’m going to hell because of who I love and not be there with Miss ABBA again when my time comes.  For that, I’m angered.

Another part of the “anger” stage is feelings of guilt or fear.

I know Miss ABBA had a spectacular life and I loved sharing every moment of it with her.  I remember all the vacations we took together:  to Chicago to see Panda, to Betty’s in Ohio to go swimming, to Tennessee and Kentucky to see Tammy, to Spirit Lake, Iowa, to go to Ray’s parent’s house on the Lake for swimming and boating, or the International Tour in 2007, when drove from Moline to Chicago to Ohio to Orillia, Ontario, Canada, just to see the other red-head, Reba, with Christopher, Panda, and Betty.

While I have countless wonderful memories, I do have feelings of guilt.  While she was a perfect angel 95% of the time, Miss ABBA could be a hellion.  She would throw herself down on the ground and have a little tantrum like kids.  I always carried magazines or a book with me on walks for this reason.  However, if it was time for work or I was pressed for time, I’d have to make her get up or wrestle her off the ground and scold her.

Moments later, guilt would set in looking into those beautiful brown, loving eyes and I’d apologize.  Whenever I’d yell at her for doing bad thing, it was the same.  I’d end up apologizing profusely offering hugs, kisses, and treats.

It goes without saying that I’m depressed and feel empty without her.  I think of her constantly and while I know these feelings of despair will ease and I will move on one day, that day is not today and it won’t tomorrow or the next day or the next day.  The final stage, “acceptance” is not even a possibility anytime soon.

Miss ABBA, we will be together again one day and pick up where we left off.

Here’s a picture of Miss ABBA taking her chauffeured ride toward “Rainbow Bridge”.  She was always up to R-I-D-E.

Anthony