Great friends doing great work, part 1: a weird start to vacation.

If you read this regularly, you know that I love to brag about my many great friends who are doing amazing things in their professional and personal lives. A little over a week ago, I had a very unusual opportunity to see one of them in action:

As I mentioned a couple posts ago, my roommate Katie, a veterinaran, recently invited me to join her and her family for their annual beach vacation in New Jersey. We planned to leave on Sunday, July 25th, after I completed a hot, hilly half-marathon (see my July 26th post). The race started very early, very far from Annapolis, so I spent the night of the 24th with some friends who live closer to the race start. That evening, Katie called me and said she needed to discuss a potential snag in our plans: an elderly relative had just called and asked her to make a veterinary house call on her way to the beach. The relative had decided that it was time to euthanize her very sick 14 year-old dog and hoped that Katie would do it for her. So, Katie was put in the unenviable position of asking me if I would be okay with stopping to put a dog down on the way to the beach.

I'll admit that the idea made me nervous. I spent the past year interning at a grief counseling center, and I even did a weekly stint helping people through the identification process at the DC Medical Examiner's, so I'm used to being around grieving people and people in crisis. Still, I see people after a death has happened; I'm not there when it happens. Also, I'm a big animal-lover and former dog-owner who has been lucky enough not to have to euthanize any of my animals. Watching a dog be put to sleep is not an experience I was eager to have. Finally, I wondered about the family- would they really want a stranger present during such a difficult, intimate event? Despite these reservations, I told Katie it would be fine. I trusted her judgement regarding her family's feelings and figured it couldn't hurt to have someone with my experience along for this event.

You can read my July 26th post for the gory details of that Sunday's race. By the time I got home, I was beyond exhausted and still a little light-headed from the heat. I desperately wanted to go to sleep, but I didn't have time. So, I fought through a delierium-level mental fog to shower and pack (badly) for the beach. On the drive to Katie's relative's home, I was only half awake and barely lucid. Katie entertained me by telling me about her trip to the animal hospital that morning to pick up a euthanasia kit. She ran into a few colleagues, who saw the kit and asked why she needed it. Her reply: "Family vacation."

When we arrived, I nervously shook myself awake and prepared to meet her family. As soon as we stepped out of the car, most of my worries evaporated. Everything about Katie's relative's home reminded me of my own relatives: the remote, working class town; the small, cramped houses; the yards full of decorations and old pick-up trucks; even the NRA bumper stickers on the cars. We went into the house and were immediately greeted by Katie's elderly relative and her dog. She hugged both of us with tears in her eyes and ushered us into the living room, where three other relatives had gathered to help with the process. All of them greeted me as if we were old friends and immediately made room for me around the pile of blankets that had been arranged for the dog.

While Katie made preparations, they told us a bit about the dog and her special relationship with her owner. Katie's relative had adopted the dog just after her husband died, and the dog had given her comfort and companionship as she adjusted to living on her own. The dog had been treated for cancer a few years ago and recovered, only to get sick again later. Knowing that her beloved dog was in pain, Katie's relative had opted not to treat the cancer again, but to "bring her home and spoil her" instead. Throughout this conversation, Katie offered empathic/validating statements recognizing the depth of the relationship and acknowledging how hard it had been for her relative to make the decision to euthanize. She instinctually used all of the skills I was taught during my time at the Medical Examiner's: she made eye contact, expressed sympathy, acknowledged relationships, explained the process slowly and clearly, and made sure the family was ready before doing anything. I kept thinking how lucky her family was to have her help during this process, and also how much of a blessing she must be to all of the families she serves in her work.

The actual event was quick and peaceful, with everyone gathered around to offer comfort to both the dog and her owner. Just as I always did at the Medical Examiner's, I felt really privileged to be with the family during such a special moment. Afterward, the family wrapped the dog in blankets and took her outside, where another relative was waiting with a coffin he had built for the dog. He explained that he was a great dog-lover and had not wanted to be there when the dog was put to sleep, but he made the coffin as a way of paying his respects. It was beautiful- obviously made with a lot of love. After the dog was laid inside, he sealed it with what he (repeatedly) told us was "the best caulk you can buy." I couldn't help but smile, thinking of all of the men in my family (including my dad) who express their feelings by building and fixing things.

The family had decided to bury the dog at another relative's house in the same neighborhood. So, we all got into our cars and made a little funeral procession down the street. When we got there, we learned that another male relative had already dug a perfectly-sized hole in a peaceful spot in the backyard. We all gathered around the hole and the men lowered the coffin, taking care to position it so the dog would always face her family's home. As they filled in the hole, the dog's owner and other family members shared their memories and thoughts about whether they would meet the dog again in heaven. Despite the somberness of the occassion, there was a lot of laughter, particularly when someone mentioned that thunderstorms were predicted that night and the maker of the coffin held up the caulk gun and reassured the dog's owner that the seal on the coffin was water-tight.

When the burial was complete, Katie and I got ready to go. The family hugged us both and thanked us for being there. I gave my well-practiced "grieving older lady speech" to the dog's owner, gently reminding her to be easy on herself and let her family care for her for awhile. She promised that she would try, though I could tell she was far more accustomed to caring for others. We said a final round of goodbyes, then got in the car, feeling like we had just experienced a combination of a Faulkner novel and an episode of "This American Life." After a couple silent minutes, we had the following exchange:

Alicia: Wow.
Katie: Thanks for helping with that, buddy.
Alicia: No problem. Wierdest start of vacation ever.
Katie: Yep. Let's go to the beach!