My Dear Lucy

Welcome, Lucy

When I was sixteen, my mom adopted a 9-month-old Jack Russell Terrier from the Humane Society.

My younger brother named her Lucy.

Lucy was sweet, but sometimes, drove us a little insane with her puppy energy (apparently young Jack Russell's are hyper AF). She was two when I went to college, and every time I came back home to visit, I appreciated her a bit more. There’s something about animal energy that I missed so much while on campus.

When we graduated, Michael and I moved to Milwaukee, WI, for law school. Upon our move, I saw my mom’s Facebook post that she was trying to find a home for Lucy — that she was a bit much for her to properly care for. Immediately, I called my mom and told her, “we’ll take Lucy.”

This was Michael’s first dog. Ever. I remember Michael’s mom asked me, “are you sure you can handle a dog while in law school?” Of course, we can.

We picked her up from a family friend in Madison, WI (the halfway point for us and my mom). I remember seeing her in her crate, her familiar and loving energy gave me a sense of home in a new environment. When we got in the car, she sat on Michael’s lap the whole way home… instantly, he fell in love. We fell in love.

Our World

From that moment, this six-year-old dog became our world.

Not just our world, but also, Michael’s family’s since the moment they first met her. Sometimes, my in-laws would make the 20-minute drive to our apartment just to see Lucy (we miss Lucy!, they’d say). When we visited their home on the weekends, we always brought Lucy, and my mother-in-law would have bounds of toys and beds for her, as if she were her grandchild. In fact, Lucy inspired my in-laws to adopt a dog of their own—a terrier mix—because they wanted a dog similar to Lucy.

Lucy was with me, with us, through all our happiest moments and deepest challenges. When I made the decision to leave law school, I leaned on Lucy. When we got married, Lucy was our ring bearer. Through my pregnancy losses and bedrest, Lucy laid by my side. Lucy has been with me through different homes, career changes, COVID, and the birth of our first child.

Lucy has been my rock for the last ten years. The last two, though, I noticed her health really started to decline.

the last two years

I remember, two years ago, I read Gisele Bundchen’s book, Lessons, and she described the loss of her 14-year-old terrier named Vida — Vida was her Lucy. I looked at Lucy, next to my side, and started to sob. I saw her 14-year-old body aging, her breathing more intense, a small cough due to her heart disease.

I cried and held her. I couldn’t bare the idea of losing her (ultimately, that’s when we got Sunny, our puppy).

Over the last two years, Lucy slowly stopped acting like herself. She stopped barking at mailmen. She stopped sitting with me during my morning coffee. She stopped playing her “weird game,” as we called it.

Her cough began to increase due to her heart murmur that has worsened. She also developed a tooth disease that effected her vision, and swollen joints that led to low mobility and inability to travel stairs (I physically pick her up to take her in-and-out).

Within this last year, though, she started to lose control of her bladder, urinating in the house multiple times a day. Her cough intensified further, not giving her a break to restfully sleep, day and night. Her anxiety increased, shaking alone in her crate, an inability to relax.

Within the last year, she has suffered. A lot.

But I kept holding onto her. She is my baby. She is my reminder of family, unconditional love, lightness during hardship. I couldn’t let her go.

Over the years, I have mourned Lucy’s death, even though it hadn’t happened yet.

this last week

Last week, I got up in the morning to let her out of her crate. I smelled a foul smell and found her covered in her own urine. I knew, in my heart, this existence wasn’t right for her. She is lifeless.

As much as I don’t want to let go, my heart knows she doesn’t deserve to suffer.

That morning, I made one of the most challenging phone calls in my life to Lap of Love, a service that comes to your home to provide a peaceful passing for your pet though euthanization. I sobbed on the phone as I made this arrangement.

This last week, I’ve cried more than I have in the longest I can remember, knowing that tomorrow, I will say goodbye to one of the most beautiful beings in my life —my sweet Lucy.

PAST + FUTURE: Where pain exists

Last night, Michael and I looked through the last ten years of photos and videos of Lucy on his phone — a trip down memory lane. Her running in fields (she was SO fast), smiling in the sun, her brown fur, silly quirks and playfulness.

These memories are joyous but also pull on my heart in a painful way, wishing she was in this state now.

But that isn’t Lucy right now; she is not that dog anymore.

A lot of my pain is due to desiring something that isn’t reality. A lot of my pain is attaching to something that doesn’t exist — the past, what was.

Also, a lot of my pain is in thoughts about the future. What her final breath will be like, what void will be in the home. The future, like the past, isn’t real — they are thoughts and memories made in the mind.

Pain is created in our mind, in our own resistance to the present moment.

The only reality is what is now. In this very moment. There is no pain in the present moment.

GROUNDED THROUGH GREIF

Through this grief, I have found some ground. When I have a painful feeling or thought, I try to remind myself to label it “past” or “future” in effort to bring myself back to the present — to reality.

This is a practice; it is not easy. Little by little, though, I have had grown more grounded, more grateful, more gentle. I have savored and appreciated my limited time with Lucy, along with our other dog, Sunny, and also my husband and precious baby daughter.

Through this grief, I have humbly been reminded that nothing lasts forever. Everything is temporary. I ought not take anything too seriously, even the good moments, because with that, there is a little bit of an attachment that weighs on the lightness of being.

Yesterday, I laid with Lucy in her crate, with her dying body, thanking her for reminding me of these powerful realizations, one of the many gifts she has given me.

I thanked her for taking care of me during challenging times, even in the moment when her death itself is my challenge.

I thank her for being my reminder that we are strong spirits, all connected through Source energy, even after our bodies are gone. That love is all that matters—not the romanticized idea of love, but the love that exists within the present state of being.

I love you, Lucy. You will always be part of me, my sweet girl. In my heart, you live on.