My dad had a funny habit of barking at our elderly Shih Tzu, Daisy, whenever he came to our house. “Woof, woof,” he’d say, and Daisy would wag her tail and bark back. “Good dog!” he’d praise her. It always made me smile.
Dad had dementia and lived in a senior community not too far from us. I hadn’t been able to visit him for months because of Covid restrictions, so we would have regular FaceTime calls.
Each day when I talked with my father, we had the same ritual. He’d bark at Daisy. He’d shout, “Hi, buddy,” at my husband, Steve. Then he’d tell me what he’d eaten for lunch and dinner and who had called him. I didn’t know if Dad was making everything up or if he actually remembered the events of his day. He’d ask what I’d been up to, and I would give him a full report, though I was never confident how much Dad really retained. I could only pray that those calls meant as much to him as they did to me.
As the months rolled on, Dad’s memory worsened, as we knew it would. He would tell me that no one had called, even though I knew my brother had just spoken with him.
About the same time, Daisy, who was nearly 16 years old and diabetic, began to decline significantly; she wouldn’t eat regularly and bumped into walls.
That November, Dad’s health took a turn. He bounced back and forth from a nursing home to the hospital. The day before he passed away in December, I was allowed to visit him to say goodbye.
As I grieved, I prayed we wouldn’t lose Daisy too. Steve and I discussed whether we needed to have her put to sleep. Daisy’s vet said she wasn’t in pain and to give her extra love. That’s exactly what we did.
Then one February afternoon, Daisy collapsed. Steve and I took shifts holding her wrapped in a blanket. In silence, I rocked her. God, I don’t know if I can stand more heartache.
The next morning, while I was doing dishes, I felt an urge to ask my father, “Dad, help Daisy cross over.” I distinctly heard my father’s voice bark out, “Woof.” A few moments later, Steve came into the kitchen and told me that Daisy had passed.
“Thank you, Dad,” I whispered. Through my tears, I smiled.
