😢 When Grief is Still So Real, Five Years On

Today’s marks five whole years since my first mini dachshund, Wilko, passed away unexpectedly. Grief is a strange thing in that it still feels like he left me yesterday, but also in that it’s hard to believe it’s been five years since it happened.

Wilko came to me back in 2006. I had been searching for a puppy for a number of months. I wasn’t able to adopt because I lived in an apartment, and most humane societies prefer folks have a home and a yard. The puppies I did find were far too expensive to even consider. But then I found a lady who was advertising mini dachshund puppies. I called her and went to see the puppies the following day.

By the time I got to her house, only one puppy remained, a long-haired male with beautiful dappled colors. As I pulled in to her drive way, the owner and the puppy came out her sliding door. The puppy was so excited that he rolled down the three steps off the deck. I knew right then that he’d be coming home with me.

I named him Wilko, after my favorite English rugby player, Jonny Wilkinson. I bought him a blue and black plaid color and got him a shiny blue bone-shaped dog tag. He followed me everywhere and I loved on him endlessly.

Over the years, he came with me through two apartments in Milwaukee. He lived with me at my parents; house for a while, then we moved to Cedar Rapids, Iowa. After that, we moved to Appleton, Wisconsin. He took it all in stride and was the most laid back, cuddly little guy I’d ever met. He loved me unconditionally and I did everything I could for him.

Wilko wasn’t without health troubles, as most dachshunds go through certain things. He developed degenerative dis disease in his spine, causing him to lose feeling in his hind legs. I couldn’t afford surgery, but refused to put him to sleep. Through medication and plenty of physical therapy, he regained feeling and the use of his legs. Less than a year later, I had to have one of his toes amputated, and he took that in stride, too. The toe came back positive for cancer, but he remained in good spirits and was as playful as ever as he got older.

Two months after his thirteenth birthday, Wilko got sick. He was lethargic, refused to play, and wasn’t eating or drinking. He’d throw up here and there. I took him to the vet right away, where he was given subcutaneous fluids and a directive for a bland diet. If he wasn’t improving by the following day, I was to take him back in. I cuddled him endlessly that night and prayed he’d be better in the morning.

That next day, I had to be to work at 3am —I was working security then, and one of the other guards had gone home sick in the middle of the night. I left instructions with my roommate (my best friend) to watch Wilko and let me know how he was throughout the day.

Around noon, I received a text saying that he’d be taking Wilko to the animal hospital. A half hour later, he called and said that Wilko had begun to excrete blood and that the vets were prepping him for an ultrasound. While they were prepping him, they lost his heartbeat. The vets performed CPR until I was able to get to the hospital a short time later.

Wilko didn’t make it. I learned after the fact that the cancer that had been present in his toe had spread, and I had no idea. He had never shown discomfort or pain, and as his normal self, right up until those last two days. A post-mortem ultrasound showed that there had been a mass on his liver that had ruptured, causing internal bleeding and other issues.

It’s been five whole years, and I still feel guilty. I still blame myself for not figuring out that he had cancer, for letting him die alone at the animal hospital. That was the one thing I never wanted for him — I never wanted him to have to die alone like that.

I believe that he knew he was loved up until the end, and I believe he’d still around now.

But the grief is still so real, so raw. I still cry if I think about him for too long. In fact, I’m crying as I write this post, but I suppose it helps to work through the ever-present feelings of loss and love, and missing his tiny fluffy butt.

Five years on, I now have Rolo and Finnegan. Their personalities differ greatly, but I see a lot of Wilko in Finn, even though they’re not related. It’s a small comfort on days when I really miss Wilko, that’ll for sure.

I’ve always been told that losing your first pet is the hardest. I believe that because I have firsthand experience. But I also believe that they stick with you always, and that’s the thought that makes me smile the most.

Grief doesn’t just go away. There’s no magic cure for it. But if you’re lucky, it’ll become softer in time and you’ll be able to move through life a little easier, a little lighter. Some days are still heavy, but I think I’m getting to the lighter side now. I hope so, anyway.