I have spent a good deal of time
this week talking with a friend I’ve known for over 40 years. I received a call
from her early in the week asking for support to go through the end of her
eighteen-year-old dog’s life.
We have a long history. Our lives
crossed as roommates in college. She was from the area and my home was fifteen
hundred miles away. Her family took me in. We spent many weekends and holidays
with them.
They were quiet and shy folks and
only became relaxed and animated after they had known me for several years.
Then, it felt like I was one of the family. I felt trusted. Accepted for who I
was. Liked. Loved.
The family was extremely enmeshed.
The father was clearly in charge. The mother was quiet and submissive. It
didn’t feel as though they ruled their children with an iron hand. It was more
a passive guilt-controlled environment. I am describing this not in a
derogatory way but more to paint a picture of the world and life they had
created.
My friend and her older brother
were, it almost seemed, kept by some unknown source from having their own
lives. I felt that neither had a sense of themselves outside of the family.
Neither dated or had significant relationships until they were in their 30’s. (
I think the brother was in his 40’s)
One of the most striking things
about them was their incredibly strong need for “control”. Everything was
precisely and perfectly in order. Material things were highly valued and well
taken care of. There was a backdrop of Catholic schools and religious background
with little evidence of a current practice of those beliefs. There was no sense
of any spirituality or beliefs that would sustain you. This lack of belief made
the controlled environment make sense to me.
I was young and didn’t question
the basic fabric of their lives. I was more focused on experiencing being
accepted into a family that was welcoming. I wasn’t able or aware enough to
project into the future what this set of life variables would produce.
First the father died
unexpectantly of a heart attack. Then the brother ran off and married an older
woman who had a number of children. Then he died after a short battle with
cancer. That left my friend and her mother. Their relationship was one of enmeshed
closeness. Almost too close. Too dependent on each other.
I came in and out of their lives
and as I moved away for many years missed out on a lot of the drama of these
traumatic episodes. I was summoned back when her mother was dying. Her mother
was in her 90’s and failing health was alarming to my friend. My friend’s
control was not working to stop her mother’s health from deteriorating. She was
terrified of losing her mother because that meant that she would be “alone”. I
could see from statements like that that she was not aligned with her husband
and didn’t consider him part of the family or of her life. She was, nonetheless,
dependent on him to be there.
When her mother died, my friend
fell apart—keeping it together just enough to thrive in her career. She had
always used work as her safe haven as it had been the one thing in her life
that had been “successful” in her eyes. A recent car accident has left her with
headaches and difficulty standing and sitting for long periods of time. She
cannot work now—probably until fall. Without the safety and identity of her
work she is lost. Discombobulated. Frantic.
This was what was happening when I
got the call about the dying dog. The dog had been her mother’s and its dying
brought up all the unresolved feelings around her mother’s, father’s and brother’s
deaths. It meant she felt she was finally “truly alone”. It was a gigantic
ordeal!
I spent several days reassuring
her that the dog was indeed suffering. The little dog had been hanging on,
literally for dear life, for three years beyond what I thought she would because
of her mother’s and then my friend’s need not to be
alone. The poor thing’s body was
giving out but she was still trying to hang in there.
The emphasis in her conversations
with me was around trying to control everything possible so that there would be
no second-guessing after the dog had passed. We spoke about physical things, such as what was happening
with the dog in any given moment. My friend could not let go of the dog and was
berating herself for not doing the right thing every step of the way.
Her anxiety level was growing
exponentially as the days passed and the dog deteriorated. She became more and
more specific in her thinking as time went on. Details became the hallmark of
her anxiety.
I played the role of opening up
the micro thinking to more general ways of thinking. I would come up with statements
like: “Some things are working here”, “You’ve been through this before, and I
know you can do it now”. She would relax momentarily with these and then would jump
in with an anxiety-ridden comment or thought. It was very challenging.
I realized a some things through
this. Having no beliefs in a spiritual world doesn’t allow for living in the physical
world very well. Even if there are some beliefs, anxiety and control can throw
them easily out the window. This way of living is excruciatingly painful.
The dog was put to sleep this week
with a fight. That, too, was traumatic. There was no other way to script the
experience—my friend’s reality was being created in such a rigid way with no
room for peaceful outcomes or spiritual or emotional support. I hope my friend
can have the motivation now to search for a life with greater meaning. I wish for her peace of heart
and mind. I will hold that belief in my heart until she can do it for herself.
