Everybody Hurts

There are a few songs with this title, but this blog is about the 1990’s hit by R.E.M.

This wasn’t one of the band’s biggest hits in the U.S., though it did crack the top ten in Italy, France, Ireland, Canada, Australia and the U.K.

It started from an idea from the band’s drummer, Bill Berry, though he doesn’t actually play drums on the song.  And Led Zeppelin’s John Paul Jones helped, writing the string

arrangement.

The song was intended to be directed at teens, but quickly became more universal, as we all, at least occasionally, need the reminder.  It may not ease the pain of any particular moment, but it does help to know that you aren’t alone, being singled out for pain.

This hit home for me personally this week, when we lost our beloved Yodette.

Yodette was our dog, a Boston Terrier with such a sweet-though-sometimes-feisty disposition.  She was almost fifteen years old.  And she was much more than just a pet.  She was family.  And meant more to all of us than I could ever hope to write in this blog.

Even though she was almost fifteen, and had a handful of ailments not uncommon to older dogs, she left us suddenly, in a whirlwind of what turned into a pretty miserable weekend, including multiple sad trips to a Pet ER (where she was kept in an oxygen unit next to a Boxer named Knuckles (who we never knew but hope is feeling better by now).

It hurt so much to lose Yodette.  At times, the pain feels almost unbearable.  I say “feels” because it hasn’t gone away, yet.  And probably never will, entirely.

I talk to people every week on Psychic Tapestry who have a variety of gifts and skills, but the consensus among those guests and, I would imagine, almost everyone who listens to the show, is that we all go on.  Pets, too. Of this, I have no doubt.

So I know that this was not an ending.  Yodette is not really gone.  She’s healed of all her ailments, and is happy and playing and having her fill of wonderful treats.  Her eyesight is completely restored, keener than it ever was.  So is her hearing.  And her agility.

Even though I am absolutely positive about those things, I am still so very sad.  She was a big part of my life, and maybe I didn’t realize just how big, but now the house is atypically quiet without her snorts and snores.

Compounding this is the pain that my wife feels.

She had Yodette for nearly fifteen years.  She’s only had me nine-and-a-half.  Yodette was her friend, her companion and her confidant.  It’s a position I can’t fill, and a pain I can’t heal.

As bad as I feel personally, I feel even worse, knowing how miserable and heartbroken my wife is, and knowing that there is nothing I can do to ease her pain.

I can tell her that Yodette feels better now.  And that she’s playing with other dogs, and being cared for by my wife’s great-grandmother.  That won’t help her when she sees Yodette’s bowl, or one of her beds (strategically placed in the living room and in our bedroom).

But as painful as this experience has been, and continues to be, for me, my wife and our family, I am comforted to know that we are not alone.

There has been a wonderful outpouring from our friends and family, through emails and social media.  So many sending thoughts, prayers and Reiki.  And many sharing their own stories, commiserating because they, too, have been there, and know what it’s like to lose a beloved friend like Yodette.

We all have moments when we suffer a loss, and feel that unbearable sorrow and grief.  You can’t truly love someone without it.

At times like this, many ask why there has to be suffering.  And while I don’t pretend to know everything, or anything really, I think it’s so we can appreciate the joy.

If everything was always good, I think we’d quickly take it for granted.  We wouldn’t be grateful for the good days, the smiles, the joy.  We wouldn’t even notice, because we’d have it every single day.  It wouldn’t matter.

Remember records?  When a single came out, one side was the hit song that we loved.  The other song was one that we usually didn’t know.  We rarely listened to that other song.  But it had to be there.  You couldn’t have a one-sided record, after all.

I think that’s why we have bad days, that’s why we have pain.  So we can really appreciate the good days, and the love.

We miss you so very much, Yodette.  But we’re so very grateful for the years we had, and the many smiles we shared.  Like these (including a watercolor painted by my very talented mother-in-law):

This is as good a reason as any to think about those in your life that you really treasure, to be grateful that you have them, and to make sure you let them know.  Even if you think they already know.  Actually, ESPECIALLY if you think they already know.