Two weeks ago, we had to say goodbye to our greyhound, Kona. A month earlier she had been diagnosed with osteosarcoma in her leg. Osteosarcoma is a very aggressive, incurable cancer that affects something like 30% of greyhounds. Enough time has passed that I can almost write this without sobbing.
I am incredibly grateful that we were able to have about a month to come to terms with losing her and had the opportunity to appreciate her and spend time enjoying her.
In that month, she taught me some important lessons. Her final gift to me. They were lessons I wish I had learned a lot earlier, but better late than never.
She taught me patience. She could be a very stubborn, willful dog, and when she wanted something she would demand it. It was easy to get frustrated with her when what she wanted wasn’t necessarily what we wanted. But that last month, when we knew our time was short, it was so easy to give her what she wanted, to let her take her time and sniff what she wanted, to do her games and play with her as much as she wanted. It was a joy, a blessing to spend that time making her happy. We never know how much time there is left, until sometimes we are given a glimpse, and that glimpse can help to change our perspectives and our priorities.
She taught me to live in the moment. She only lived in the moment. The only time that mattered to her was the present. It didn’t matter what happened two minutes ago, and two minutes into the future was too long to wait. Far too often I get lost wandering around in the past or worrying about what-ifs in the future. But what’s happening right now, right this second, that’s magical. And once it’s gone, it’s gone. So enjoy it while it’s here.
She taught me to not only live in the moment, but to appreciate and fully embrace every opportunity, to be fully engaged and take nothing for granted. When she was doing something, she poured 100% of herself into it, and extracted every bit of experience out of it she could. Her walks down the street were her mission, and she was ready and waiting for every possibility out there. Who knew what friends we might see, what treats we might find? I want to give my attention and focus to the things happening right in front of me, to the people and creatures right in front of me.
She taught me that nature and the universe is uncaring, unkind, random and meaningless, but that we don’t have to be. Cancer and disease and tragedy and death can seem random and cruel when they come to those we love, and it makes us all ask Why. But there is no big mysterious, universal why. Except the why that we bring. There is no meaning but our meaning. And that’s beautiful. These random, chaotic things happened and they mattered to us. And as long as we hold on to our memories and cherish that they happened and they mattered, they had meaning, then some part never goes away. Some part persists.
Kona persists, in my memory, for as long as I live.
Goodnight, you weird, beautiful space alien.
