Grief in Another Language
memories, and gratitude for the kindness of strangers
The music you hear while waiting to be connected to someone at our vet in Caldas da Rainha is a Portuguese version of the Maroon 5 song Memories. It took me a while to place the song the first time I heard it, when I called to make an appointment for my dog, Kobe. At the height of the COVID pandemic, this song was covered by the One Voice Children’s Choir. Because of quarantine, each child recorded their part at home and the recordings were later put together in a moving video that went viral, receiving over 23 million views.
The next time I heard Memories, when I called the vet clinic to tell them Kobe had died, I became so choked up that by the time the receptionist came on the line I was unable to speak.
You’ve heard these tales before, of the beloved pet whose loss is devastating to his family, and our story isn’t much different. We got Kobe as a 5th grade graduation present for our younger daughter, who is now 24, but we really got him for me. With no more little kids to take care of at home and surly adolescence on the horizon, I needed a little creature to care for who would love me unconditionally instead of roll his eyes.
Going through thirteen years worth of photos of Kobe, as I’ve done every night since he left us, I see bittersweet evidence of the happy years of family life. Kobe was there for all of it.
Though he was ostensibly a Havanese lap dog, Kobe acted like a Pacific Northwest Labrador, living an adventurous life full of hiking, stand up paddle boarding, road trips, and more. He spent time on Lummi Island, witnessed the Adams River salmon run in Canada every four years, spent summers at the Columbia River Gorge, and hiked to see the larches in Eastern Washington in October. On the paddle board, he looked like Kate Winslet at the prow of the Titanic.
He kept adventuring during his final weeks, when his heart was too weak to withstand much walking, riding in a backpack on my back like the good sport he always was.
When I had to have surgery during the pandemic, knowing I wouldn’t be able to resist lifting Kobe up onto the bed or the couch where I was recuperating, J bought short-legged Kobe a set of stairs. This came in handy the next year, when I had to have surgery again, and two years later when I spent 13 months in cancer treatment. Kobe was a great recuperation buddy.
He was also a lover of cats, adoring the two cats we had when he came to live with us, and staying close to their sides when they died. He was big brother to our next pair of kittens, the three of them a happy trio, sleeping together, looking out the window together, and always up for sharing morsels of turkey at lunchtime.
I wanted to tell the Portuguese vet all of this, but all I could do was cry.
In an unfamiliar place, where I didn't know what the customs were for pet burial, and lacking our own home with our own yard, where we could lay Kobe to rest, I was homesick for the first time since we arrived in Portugal.
But the kind receptionist, who apologized for her limited English, made me feel instantly better, telling me about cremation options and how sorry she was for Kobe’s suffering and for our loss.
When we arrived at the vet with Kobe in my arms, having ridden on my lap in the car for the last time, she came out and gave all three of us — me, J, and Kobe, a hug. She was soon joined by the clinic’s medical director, who hugged and kissed us. These two women also kissed Kobe’s soft sweet ears and promised me they would take good care of him.
Portugal gets a bad rap for mistreatment of animals. When I tearfully thanked the two compassionate women, the vet told me that she had been in practice for 36 years and that, as an animal lover, it had been hard for her at the beginning. “Things have improved for animals over the last 10-15 years, thanks to all the foreigners who have come here,” she told us. “You have taught us about compassion.”
On the day I wrote my last post, I told you it was raining, I was grumpy, and I was home with my trio of pets, cooking and preparing for aperitivo with our Latvian neighbors that night. They came over and were joined by our landlord, Senhor M, who Jeff successfully managed to invite, using the words aperitivo and agora (now).
It was a jovial evening that made me so happy to be in this lovely gentle country, surrounded by such kind people. Our neighbor asked each person to name their two favorite fruits and vegetables. In a mixture of Portuguese, Latvian, and English, we all managed to convey what we liked.
Kobe lay at our feet, responding to pats and sweet words in all three languages. He loved the Latvians very much.
At one point we looked out the window and saw a rainbow — arco-iris, our quadrilingual seven-year-old Latvian neighbor told us.
Kobe died in the wee hours. When the little girl and her mother came over to comfort me, bringing blueberries —one of my two favorite fruits — I told her about the “rainbow bridge” and that the arco-iris must have been for him.
“We love our cats, but our dogs love us”, said my wise friend Steve. “Losing a dog will rip your heart out.”
I feel a despair I haven’t ever felt before, not even when I was diagnosed with cancer. My emotions sit at the surface, ready to erupt in sobs at the drop of a hat.
There is so much meanness in the world right now, much of it inflicted by the president of my country of origin and his enablers. It exacerbates my sorrow. And though I vowed to focus on one thing at a time, I can’t. So I’ve told people at pickleball, on a hike, at Portuguese class, that I am grieving. And all of them —Portuguese, Latvian, Israeli, French, Scottish, British, Belgian, Irish, and more — have nodded knowingly. Grief is universal. So is compassion.
People have remarked that Kobe, who was diagnosed with congestive heart failure almost two years ago, hung on so he could join us in Portugal and make sure we were happy and settled here.
For a dog who always looked back to make sure we were safely following him, I believe it.
The Most Comforting Thing I Cooked This Week
That grumpy rainy day (it turns out, Kobe’s last), when I stayed home with my pets to prepare for o aperitivo, I also baked banana bread —specifically
‘s A Better Banana Bread. Waking up with no dog in bed at my feet and no dog to feed and take out, I needed sweet comfort and bracing coffee. This did the trick.Want some more sweet comfort? If you have a few more minutes to spare, watch the One Voice Children’s choir.
A Better Banana Bread by Alison Roman
Ingredients: 1 1/2 cups flour; 1 teaspoon baking soda; 3/4 teaspoon kosher salt; 1 stick (4 oz) softened butter; 1/2 cup granulated sugar, plus 2-3 tablespoons; 1/2 cup light brown sugar; 2 large eggs; 3 very ripe bananas, peeled and mashed, plus 1 banana halved lengthwise. 1/2 cup mascarpone, whole milk yogurt, or sour cream. 1 cup toasted and chopped walnuts (my addition)
Preheat oven to 350 degrees F. Line a 9x4-inch loaf plan with parchment or grease with softened butter or cooking spray and sprinkle the interior with enough granulated sugar to coat, tapping out the excess.
In a medium bowl, whisk together flour, baking soda, and salt
In a stand mixer fitted with paddle attachment (or a bowl with electric mixer or a food processor with a dough attachment, which is what I use here in Portugal) cream the butter, 1/2 cup of granulated sugar, and light brown sugar until light and fluffy. Add the eggs, one at a time and beat another 3-5 minutes. Slowly add the flour until everything is incorporated, but be careful not to overmix.
Add the mashed bananas and mascarpone, yogurt, or sour cream (I have only made this with plain Greek yogurt and it works well) and mix until well-blended. Add optional toasted, chopped walnuts (my tweak to the recipe. Do it. You won’t regret it). Transfer batter to loaf pan, top with halved banana, cut-side up (I often skip the banana on top) and sprinkle with the remaining 2-3 tablespoons of sugar.
Bake until the bread is puffed up, golden, and starting to pull away from the sides of the pan - 1 hour 10 minutes to 1 hour 20 minutes). Let cool completely before slicing.
Feel better.
Losing a pet is so hard, especially a dog. I still haven't been able to bring myself to adopt another dog since losing Buddy almost 10 years ago.
Sorry for the very belated condolences. These little critters are family and add so much to our lives. Having gone through this seven times previously, each of them holds a special place in my heart and is never forgotten.