This week has been tough, yet again. We had to put down our eleven year old golden retriever, Hawk. For anyone that has had to say goodbye to an animal, you know how excruciatingly tough it is. Adding young kids to the mix complicates the situation even more. Then adding nonverbal Autism to the mix, how do we even navigate this? We had no idea where to begin.
Like I said Hawk was eleven years old and he had the typical life span of a purebred. It was just a couple years ago we noticed tumors on the outside of his body, especially on his belly. The vet told us the if he wasn't in any pain and it was not causing issues for him he didn't see a reason to have surgery and remove it. So we listened and decided to just let it be. Eventually that one tumor (he had more then one) but that one in particualr grew to be bigger then a football, and I am not exaggerating. We knew it was time this spring. The morning of I said my goodbyes, loved on him and contiually told him what a good boy he was over the years. I know there will never be another one like him. We then told the boys (Vinny and Joey) that Hawk was going to the vet to have a check up on his tumors. My husband explained that if the Vet feels like he cannot help him or something happens, Hawk might not be coming back. I think they understood something was wrong but not to the extent it was.
To make a long story short, we weren't sure how Alan was going to handle and process this information once we told him what had happened. Alan and Hawk were what I like to call "Silent Buddies". When Alan would get upset, Hawk would feel it. He would panic and curl up into a ball in the corner with just one noise from Alan that sounded like it was heading in that direction. I felt so bad for the dog because I felt like Alan was adding so much stress to his already overly stressed body trying to hang on with these tumors. But looking back on Alan's time with him, Hawk physically could feel Alan's enegery shift before it was evening happening and realizing that now is simply amazing. There would be other times where I would catch Alan petting Hawk with hes feet and Hawk would just take it. Quite a few times Alan would get down on Hawk's level and watch ever so closely as his whiskers moved with his breath, and get a kick out of how Hawk's nose would twich in the process. They had a bond, and unspoken one that nobody understood. No they weren't best friends and it was not a connection that a naked eye would pick up on. But when you lived it and would watch them day in and day out, it built over time and on Alan's terms. Just like everything we do.
Hawk passed away in the morning while Alan was at school. So in the evening we decided we would just tell Alan like we told the rest of the boys. It was an unseasonably warm March evening and Alan was out back rollerblading on our patio. Up until this point he knew the same thing the other boys did that Hawk was at the doctor. It was just Alan and I outside, and he knows I was crying throughout the day. He is very intuned to me and my emotions. So he bladed over to me as I was sitting in the patio chair and plopped himself right on my lap, roller blades and all. It felt right, to do it right then and there. I demanded that he looked at me, and held my eye contact so I knew he was focused in on our conversation. I explained to him that Hawk passed away. I continued on telling him that he is safe, he is healthy and happy up in the sky with Uncle Rick, Mimi and Gaga. He looked away at this point down to his device and I could tell his wheels were turning with the information I had just delivered. So I repeated for him to look back at me and I told him, Alan, Hawk is in the sky. Show me where the sky is. At this point he looked at me, pointed up to the sky and carried on with his roller blading adventure. I felt that pit right away, that he didn't understand what I said. Or he did not fully grasp the gravity of the situation. It hurt, but in a way I was prepared for it.
We carried on that evening as usual, dinner, roller blading and shower time. My husband called Alan upstairs to the bathroom. I stayed on the main level feeding the baby her dinner. As this was happening I heard my husband say from upstairs "Alan, what is wrong? Oh my God, Alan are you okay?" I of course ran up the stairs thinking something happened to him physically in the bathroom. I rushed in only to find him, standing up in the bathtub, covering both of his ears (he does this when he is overstimulated or processing emotions), the biggest frown and tears just streamming down his face. My heart broke into a million pieces because in this moment I had that mama gut telling me this was about Hawk and he had finally processed what I had told him outside. I scooped him out of the bathtub, dried him off and brought him downstairs while my husband finished stuff for the other boys.
Alan and I sat on the couch, with his device and he just cried and cried. He couldn't stop. He would try and then he would start back up. On his AAC device he could only tell me he was "sad" but couldn't expand farther then that. Which was fine, I had all I needed to know. He was sad, we all were and he felt it right there with us. This continued I would say for at least thirty minutes and I felt so helpless, all I could do was wipe his tears away, squeeze him tight and tell him it will all be okay. He eventually came out of it. We didn't talk about it again because honestly I didn't think my heart could take any more sadness that day, it was physically hurting. I know Hawk was not techincally a "therapy dog" or trained to be one in any way. But the bond that these two silent buddies had when nobdoy was watching, is more than anything I could have ever hoped for. Thank you Hawk for all the unconditional love, acceptance and tolerance you should my boy. This world could learn a thing or two from you and I sure hope you're enjoying the peace and quiet up there.
With Grace,
This Autism Mama
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