Saying Goodbye to Our Best Friend
Celebrating the life of our girl, Eddie, truly one of a kind.
The pain and heartache of saying goodbye to a fur baby is monumental. We enter into that relationship knowing our time with them is finite. We know we likely will outlive them, and cherish them as much as possible while we can.
This wasn’t my first time entering into this arrangement — and I have no regrets going through this again.
After losing our first girl, Emma, in the fall of 2013, we both wanted space. Space to properly mourn her. Space to live a less scheduled life. Space to more easily travel. And, eventually, space to welcome a new pup into our lives. So when Drew embarked on his search almost two years later, I supported him. However, no matter how many dogs he found in online rescue groups, none felt right.
That was until one day in late July. He saw a photo of a cute, scruffy blond pup on Facebook that our friend Julie had just started to foster. “I found our dog,” he said. Having thus far been unmoved by others he had shown me, I reluctantly looked. Immediately something felt different. As soon as I saw that face, I knew she was the one for us. She ignited a two-year dormant spark inside of me.
We met Eddie — full name Edwina Monsoon Harris Bendersky — at the Puptown dog park at the height of summer. Playing fetch with a tennis ball, we felt a quick connection with this gentle rescue dog. We brought her home a few days later, unaware of the fear and anxiety pent up inside of her. We discovered it quite quickly. Crowds, kids, bikes, balloons, flags flapping in the wind. So many things triggered and terrified this sweet angel. So we were patient. We worked with her. We hired a trainer. We even had a virtual session with a pet communicator. Yes, it’s woo woo, but she told us things there was no way she would know without “talking” to our dog. That began her healing.
Eddie bonded to us in the most beautiful way. She quickly became my shadow. As she gained confidence, she only wanted to play. And love. And smile. And spread her joy. She would get so excited about things — us coming home, seeing her friends in the neighborhood, knowing she was going for a ride — she would have full body wiggles. She had so much love bottled up in her she just had to get it out. Kind of like the zoomies, but all in one place. Witnessing that, each and every time —and it happened all the time — was the best. It was as if she was showing us her gratitude for her new life.
Eddie loved being with us, whether on a walk, in the park, at the beach, in the car, or snuggled up on the couch. She always had to touch one of us. With a paw. Her head resting on our leg or arm. Her body nestled up so closely to one of us in bed. And we cherished those subtle moments.
She was the fastest runner. The highest jumper. A great swimmer. An intense dreamer. And damn if she didn’t love food. We paid her a cheese tax almost every day. People often said she looked like she could be on TV or in the movies. We called her our Disney dog.
A few years ago, we found a lump under her skin. It was cancer, but it was operable. They weren’t able to remove it all, but they said she should be fine, and we had bi-annual checkups with our amazing vet, Dr. Cassidy Alvarez at Family Pet, who absolutely loved Eddie. She healed and went right back to being her same happy, goofy self, with her curious head tilts and her round pink nose.
So when I saw her back leg slip inward one day in late December last year, I got spooked. Then I saw it happen again. We had her checked out and everything came back normal. “Is it possibly neurological?” I asked Dr. Alvarez.
We saw a specialist. They did MRIs on her head and back end. When Dr. Full at Premier Veterinary Group called with the results, we weren’t prepared for the news. “She has a brain tumor. I’m so sorry.” But we had options. Steroids. Pain killers. Consults with oncologists. But Eddie was mostly never the same after that. She stopped dreaming deeply and we hardly, if ever, saw her wiggles.
Despite going through therapy, she let us know a few days after its completion that she was ready. We weren’t.
It all happened so quickly. We made the decision to have her final moments be at home with us. Dr. Heather from A Gentle Goodbye could not have been more, well, gentle. And kind. And loving. While Drew and I sobbed painfully, deeply, gutturally, Eddie quietly slipped away. We kissed our baby one last time and said goodbye.
The last 10 days have been some of the saddest we have ever experienced. But we have been surrounded by love and support from our incredible community. That first night, friends dropped off dinner from Thai Pastry and a pint of very-welcomed Cherry Garcia. Then came the gorgeous cookies from Cafe Selmarie (and how grateful to have one last taste of Selmarie before it closes sometime soon). A box of sweet and savory snacks arrived from Zingerman’s. We have received countless messages, calls, handwritten cards, flowers from our neighbors, and hugs. It all has meant so much.
People gather when loved ones die. Rituals and ceremonies are held. We don’t do this for our pets, who are so much more a part of our everyday lives. Why do we not mourn them in the same way? The love Drew and I have received over the last 10 days has helped comfort us. This was our shiva, our celebration of Eddie’s life.
The pain is still there. We still feel and expect to see Eddie everywhere. Waiting for us at the door. Lying on her bed next to my desk. Tap-tap-tapping her nails on the hardwood floor as she walks down the hallway. We’ve both continued to go on our daily walks, mostly to stay active, but also to continue our routine with her. This morning, I went to reach down for her leash, because that’s what I have done almost every morning for the last eight-and-a-half years. I know it will get easier. We both do. It will just take time.
Drew found a wonderful 10-session course on the Insight Timer app called Grieving the Loss of a Pet, by Dr. Traci Moreno, which we both just finished. We started it a couple of days after we said goodbye to our special girl on March 11. The pain, sadness, and heartache we both feel will ease, and this course has helped tremendously. Our home feels less full, but it will fill up again. We’re making sure we’re both OK.
Yet we miss Eddie. We know she’s with us in some form and always will be. Saying goodbye to your best friend is one of the hardest things you’ll ever experience. We knew this going in. We signed up for this. And we wouldn’t change it for anything in the world.
Thank you, Eddie — a.k.a. Mama, Bubba, Nana, Cookie, our little mushy Muppet. You truly were our baby, our world.
Things I’m high fiving — really just giving love to — this week
Grieving the Loss of a Pet
This deeply healing 10-session course on Insight Timer can help you go through the process of letting go your beloved pet.
A Gentle Goodbye
Giving your pet the grace to pass in the comfort of their own home and not in a cold, scary vet’s office is truly a beautiful gift. For them and for you.
Almost Home Foundation
Had it not been for this loving organization that rescued Eddie (and countless others) from a high-kill shelter in Alabama, we never would have met her.
Just Breathe by Pearl Jam
Thank you Eddie Vedder for helping me say goodbye to my Eddie.
So sorry for your loss. She's always be with you.
Beautiful piece on the incomparable love of and for our furry friends. Love you always, Eddie girl 💛