Dead Like a Dog

Phil’s dog Chloe died at home.
She was old and had had a year of gradual decline.
She did not seem to be in pain.
Rather than the stress of a car ride,
A tearful time in an office,
And a sterile injection,
We opted for a home death,
On the floor of our house trailer,
Resting with us until the end.

It took three days. Three days with
No desire for food or water,
Simply breathing in and out,
Gradually more slowly.
When she actually died,
Her bowels released a final time.

That final loss of control,
Coupled with cessation of breath,
Hit me hard.

Some weeks later, Holy Week arrived again.
I had, of course, seen paintings of
The Crucifixion. In my head, I knew that Jesus died.

But I had thought of his death more like
A temporary suspension,
As if he were just holding his breath.

The idea of our Lord losing control of his bowels
In the final moment? The idea that the God of Creation
Would be so vulnerable, so human? So …

Dead?

That hit me hard.