Last week, I received a terrifying phone call. My son's dog, Kareem was hit by a car. The entire situation does not bear repeating, because it was an unfortunate accident. There was no way anyone without the ability to see the future could have prevented it.
All Wednesday, we sat around on pins and needles as the status reports came in. Kareem seemed to be okay; his front left leg wasn't working but didn't look broken. Probably nerve damage that may or may not heal on its own. His right eye was swollen - would he lose his eye?
Kareem lasted for over 10 hours. Then the call came in. Kareem went into cardiac arrest.
He died.
Wednesday night was one of those times that demark a before and after time - an event that makes a lasting impression, creating an internal division in your personal history. Before I had a grandpuppy named Kareem who loved it when I sang to him. After... well, after my family is in the midst of the grieving process.
We buried the body in our backyard on Saturday. It was... I lack the vocabulary to describe the mix of emotions on Saturday. But it's done and we all began to go forward again.
Even though Kareem was not my dog, per se, I find myself grieving for him. Bouts of sadness hit me out of nowhere. I usually like watching Girl with Dogs on YouTube, but now seeing the dogs feels bitter sweet. When I walk my dog, Titan, we'll see something interesting, and I will remember that we can't show Kareem anymore.
I also find myself using the wrong words this week. I'm not suffering from word aphasia, but rather word misplacement? For example, I will want to use the word "stapler" but instead say "sandpaper". I am also using the wrong names for everyone. I keep calling my dog my son's name, and vice versa.
I know myself well enough to know that this is a sign of internal anxiety and sadness.
I know that life goes on. I survived so many people dying, and I know that I will be okay soon enough. I also know that a piece of my heart belongs to Kareem.