Mourning is a Bunch of Used Tos

When you lose a loved one, you gain a bunch of used tos.

These are the shoes I used to wear when carrying my blind dog Yippee outside for toileting. They lie, strewn by the sliding door to our courtyard, ready for me to slip on while I juggle Yippee in one arm and tug at the door with the other. They’re not required for this purpose anymore. We lost Yippee to his next life on 30 March 2020. From that day I gained a bunch of ‘used tos’.

Yippee. Photographed 6 July 2019.

Yippee was a stray I adopted from a respected animal welfare shelter in October 2014. He needed a lot of medical attention. I won’t go into the details. To this moment I wonder how he came to be on the streets. Yippee had been trained to sit and knew to do his business outside. Someone must have loved him. He was a gentle soul that didn’t need much attention, though he definitely asked me to notice him the day we met. He dropped his chin on my left thigh as if to say, “Will you be my mum?” I heard him. With no microchipping and after two weeks of not having been claimed by his owner, he was blissfully mine.

Moments after committing to adopt, while Yippee was still in the shelter kennel, I became overwhelmed with a profound sense of responsibility for another being. I have never mothered a child, nor had I previously a pet of my own, so the prospect of total caregiving was completely new to me. I remember thinking, “this is big, what have I just done?” I was right. It was momentous. I couldn’t have known how much that decision would impact my life.

Yippee in his kennel 2 October 2014, asking me to be his mum.

In the short five and a half years we had together Yippee and I shared companionship, advice, and very slow walks. We had the same approach to exercise. Most days the will was there but endurance wasn’t a strong point. Come to think of it, we were alike in lots of ways. We excelled at keeping secrets and were satisfied spending our days quietly. Later in life, due to his blindness, Yippee was restricted to a life indoors. A few years ago I wished for a job that would allow me to work from home so I could be closer to Yippee during the day. Thanks to COVID-19 I got that wish, but only had a week with Yippee before he passed.

I share this background with you to paint the picture of love. I loved and still love Yippee. His departure was no surprise. I tried to prepare for it, but I never anticipated the used tos.

Without realising why, the day my little best friend went to heaven I removed every sign of his existence (bar photographs) from the house. Gone were his beds, toys, shampoos, food and drink bowls. His harness, dog-themed containers, winter jumpers and jackets, all washed inside and out and lovingly placed on our front lawn for passers-by to help themselves. I thought my motive was to repurpose, to give Yippee’s energy-infested belongings a new life. After all, they weren’t needed at our place anymore. And as for the urgency of having these things removed from the house within hours of Yippee’s death, I was kidding myself when I reasoned that I was just getting done something I would’ve had to do some time in the future.

In truth it was all a disguise from what was really going on. Unbeknownst to me at the time, what I was doing was trying to eliminate the used tos.

The bowls he used to eat and drink from. The beds he used to sleep on. The harness in which he used to walk at a snail’s pace. All removed from view in the quest to avoid painful reminders of belongings with no purpose.

What I didn’t see coming was the not-so-obvious used tos. The Havaianas I used to wear every 5 hours or so to toilet Yippee. The imprints of Yippee’s nose on the glass door into which he used to blindly bump. The last aisle of the grocery store I used to frequent for Yippee’s food. (After he died I went there anyway; staring at the dog rolls and shamelessly crying for all to see.) Not needing to sign greeting cards from “Sue, Dave and Yippee” as I used to. Coming home from work and seeing the empty spot on the bedroom carpet where he used to lay in the afternoon sun.

God I miss him.

I admit his death rocked me. The lead up was harrowing. Should I let him go? Is it too soon? Is he in pain or isn’t he?

“Give me a sign Yippee”, I’d say to him. “Help me out my little buddy. Let me know if you’re ready to go or if you want to stay a little longer.”

There were lots of signs, the greatest being the words “You’re doing the right thing”, which I heard four times as I slept restlessly the night before Yippee’s death. Then there was the repetitive numbers. It’s something you either do or don’t ascribe to, but when I see aligning numbers I take it as a message to pay attention. The week leading to Yippee’s death I woke three mornings at 4:44am. To me Yippee was trying to tell me something about “four”. I wasn’t sure what, but I knew it was significant and related to him leaving this life.

Still, the act was made no easier. At the clinic Yippee’s reaction was out of character. He lay peacefully across my lap with his chin on my right thigh for 15 minutes. That was, until I began telling the vet of Yippee’s condition and why I thought his time had come. It was like Yippee didn’t want me to divulge his problems. He barked and barked and barked some more - something he hadn’t done for months. What was he trying to tell me? It haunts me to this day. I walked into the clinic confident of my decision but left with a seed of doubt which grew so substantially in the days that ensued, my thoughts began spiralling. So I called to his spirit, ”Yippee, give me an indication I’ve done the right thing and you’re okay. I need to know you forgive me little buddy”. Some nights later I once again woke before the alarm. It was 4:44am. I was so relieved and grateful. Later that day my sister pointed out the significance of the numeral 4. The date of Yippee’s death was four years to the day of the death of his step-brother Levi.

Yippee laying with Levi the day of Levi’s death, 30 March 2016.

Today marks two weeks since Yippee left us. Most days I get a burning sensation on my right thigh where his chin lay when he died. I think of so many things. His chin lay on my left thigh when he asked me to be his mum, and on my right as we parted. In body symbolism the left side of the body is ‘in’, the right is ‘out’. And that’s how it was for us.

The most impactful of all the used tos is that I used to be Yippee’s caregiver. He gave the Havaianas—and me—a purpose. Looking after Yippee was my job. That’s what I did. I need to find a new reason to be; another reason to care. For now I’m hanging on to caring for Yippee. I light candles and move them, along with his picture, wherever I go around the house. It’s the only thing I can do to show my love for him. The candles last about 5 hours; the same amount of time Yippee would need between wees. I’ve replaced toileting with candle lighting. Whatever works I say.

Maybe one day I’ll say I used to miss him, but I don’t think so.

Together, pictured 30 July 2019, exactly eight months before his death.

Written with love and a void of heart by Sue McKay.

Inspired by my darling boy. My treasure. My angel. Yippee.

Now he’s gone I see he was an attachment which gave me a purpose, keeping my life together at a time when the reality of never becoming a mum hit home.