The Grey Ghost

Coming to Grips With An Aging Friend and How It Has Influenced My Behavior

Sophie, 2019 (9 years)

She was different from the others. With her 90-pound long-legged grey ghost stature, she would lean into us hard as we stood beside her, looking up lovingly and offering comfort for whatever reason. This was her language, especially after losing her hearing and ability to speak (bark, moan, whimper).

She was the “people whisperer.” Always there to provide a sense of calm and gratitude. Dog lovers know exactly what I mean.

Sophie was not one to voice her opinion, especially as she aged. And if she did, it was mainly through her eyes—those wide-open, bright, curious eyes. Cataracts clouded them toward the end. I often wondered how much she could see.

For the past few months, while we sat on the couch in the evening, Sophie would be on her bed in front of the ottoman, where we perched our legs. Periodically, she would stretch her long neck and big head, perk up her ears, and look back at us. She was checking to see if we were still there, sensing we were but wanting to make sure.

Her sense of smell and taste heightened as her other senses began to fail. Thus, mealtime was even more elevated as her favorite part of the day. Sophie’s appetite never waned and became her focus until the end. Otherwise, most of her time was spent sleeping when her nose wasn’t nudging the counter during mealtime prep or resting her head on the table while we ate.

Unfortunately, her sleep was not restful. She would shift endlessly, most likely because of physical discomfort. Walks became difficult as her back legs refused to cooperate, slamming against one another and breaking the skin. She wore stylish cutoff socks to minimize the bruising.

She never complained of her discomfort, but it was evident in her eyes. It was painful to watch as this big, beautiful grey ghost Weimaraner, who used to run like the wind, could barely climb the stairs without incident.

I started my grieving process when she was unable to go on our long morning walks. At first, I was thankful to walk freely without stopping endlessly for various smelling episodes or having to collect the result of her breakfast. Focusing my attention on cardio and the surrounding beauty of the river was a welcome relief.

But if I am being honest, there was a sense of guilt and emptiness when she was no longer able to accompany me. The people Sophie and I regularly met on the path would genuinely ask, “How is Sophie doing?” She was well-known and loved in the neighborhood because of her unique breed and gentle mannerisms—a magnet for meeting humans and other dogs.

Watching Sophie decline during her last year was a disquieting reminder of the arduous maturing process, mainly because it occurs more rapidly in dogs. And letting go means admitting death exists - too uncomfortable for most of us. We finally made that heartbreaking decision, and Sophie is now running free with all her dog friends.

Talking about death does not mean that depression, anxiety, or fear of what lies ahead is haunting me. It simply means discussing death’s effect on all of us is essential. We all die, and denial doesn’t keep that fact at bay.

At my age, I am experiencing the expiration of many things: family, friends, dogs, relationships, careers, abilities, ideas, desires, etc. Each day, something dies, and frankly, we need to stop, listen, and allow ourselves to reflect on this fact. Furthermore, death does not mean the end of something or even someone—just the opposite.

Humans are in an unrealistic race to get somewhere, anywhere. We forget to stop and breathe in what matters most, which for each of us is something different. Sometimes, we don’t know what that is, but if we don’t “slow our roll,” we never will.

Reflecting on death is evidence of my awareness that it’s all around me. I choose not to deny its existence. This does not mean I am comfortable with this awareness; it simply means I recognize and respect the life cycle.

When I was younger, my work in the studio was my sole means of reflecting on death. It emerged subconsciously through colors, movements, textures, shapes, and depth. It was also a more personal account and less understood by the mainstream.

Now that death is a more prominent theme than when I was 40 or 50, I prefer to share my thoughts and experiences directly. Writing about it gives me the impetus to live more fully and joyfully. Rationally discussing death, in all its layers, helps to enhance my own journey.

I miss Sophie, our “people whisperer,” and will be forever grateful that she shared her 14 years with us. She opened my eyes to the importance of living in the now and that letting go is okay.