Rev. J.K. Hirano
It is hard for us to abandon this old home of pain, where we have been transmigrating for innumerable kalpas down to the present, and we feel no longing for the Pure Land of peace, where we have yet to be born. Truly, how powerful our blind passions are! But though we feel reluctant to part from this world, at the moment our karmic bonds to this Saha world run out and helplessly we die, we shall go to that land.
Tannisho CWS pg. 666
The Spring weather seems to have finally arrived. As most of us had been hoping, this was a very snowy winter. The reservoirs in our mountains have recovered most of their water. Even the great Salt Lake has risen about 4-5 feet. Good news for the summer season. The watering restrictions in my neighborhood have been mostly lifted except for watering between 10:00 am to 6:00 pm prohibited. On April 10th, the sun was shining, it was one of the first nice days of the year. The temperature wasn’t too hot or too cold. I’m happy that this was a beautiful afternoon for Miso and I to spend together, for it would be our last memory of home.
About 20 years earlier, Kacie was either 5 or 6 years old, when we had decided to put Sammy, our dog to sleep. We didn’t know how old Sammy was because Kacie’s Mom Cheryl had rescued him from the animal shelter in L.A. When Cheryl adopted him, Sammy could barely walk. He had been abused by his former owner and had been beaten to the point that he only crawled. However, Cheryl had gently brought Sammy back to a happy life. We knew that Sammy must have been at least 12 or 13 years old, for that is about how long Cheryl had him. However, the past few weeks, Sammy was having seizures that seemed to be getting more and more frequent. Cheryl took Sammy along with Kacie and Taylor to the Vet to have him checked.
I heard the garage door open and then I thought I heard the girls screaming. I ran down to the garage and both girls were crying, and I asked Kacie, “What’s the matter!?” I must have looked scary and shouted at her, because she stopped crying and with tears still coming from her eyes said, “Sammy has to go to La La Land!” I said, “What are you talking about? What’s La La Land?” Cheryl then explained to me that the vet had told them that we should put Sammy to sleep. He was getting old, and the seizures would only worsen, and he could hurt himself when he falls. Cheryl didn’t know what to say to the girls, so she said Sammy had to go away to La La Land. I know that the Pure Land is difficult for some people to explain, so I just explained to Kacie that La La Land was the Pure Land, where Amida Buddha lives.
We both realized that it was our choice and responsibility for Sammy to not suffer needlessly. We decided that Cheryl would take Sammy to the vet the next day. We thought since Kacie was very attached to Sammy and we felt she was old enough to witness putting Sammy to sleep. Cheryl called and made an appointment for the following afternoon, when she got out of school. I stayed home with Taylor. I know Cheryl was much stronger than I was concerning these types of things and we both felt Kacie should go with her and Taylor was still too young to understand. While Kacie and Cheryl went to the vet, Taylor and I set up the Obutsudan with flowers from the garden and a picture of Sammy on the small table in front of the Obutsudan.
However, when Kacie and Cheryl returned, I went up to give Kacie to give her a hug and asked her if she was alright. She wasn’t crying but she looked me straight in the eyes and said, “Daddy, Sammy didn’t go to sleep, Sammy died!” she then started to cry in my arms. As I held her, I thought to myself, “What have I done? Did I hurt Kacie by deciding to let her witness Sammy’s euthanasia?” I looked at Cheryl and she said, “Kacie will be alright.” I then explained to Kacie that we would have a funeral for Sammy in front of the Obutsudan.
I put on my robes and explained that I wanted them to Oshoko (burn incense) as I chanted “Juseige”. The three of them went to the Obutsudan and burned incense, put their hands together and bowed, before the image of Amida Buddha in the Obutsudan and Sammy on the table. After the chanting, I asked them to close their eyes and think of Sammy and what he was doing. I don’t know what I would have said if Kacie said, “He’s lying dead at the vet.” But she said, “I can see Sammy running through green grass, with the sun shining.” I told her, “Yes, Kacie! That’s Sammy enjoying being in the Pure Land with Amida Buddha. It’s Sammy’s true and real home.” She seemed satisfied with my explanation, so I said, “Let’s say Namo Amida Butsu, Itadakimasu and have dinner.” I put out the candle, took off my robes and we went to the kitchen.
However, when we had finished dinner, I walked by the Obutsudan in the living room and Sammy’s picture was no longer on the little table. It was inside the Obutsudan. I assumed I must have mistakenly placed his picture in the Obutsudan as I was cleaning up. I put it back on the table and went to watch TV. When I was going to bed, I stopped in front of the Obutsudan to just Gassho and bow, which is my usually habit. To my surprise. Sammy was back in the Obutsudan! Although this was over twenty years ago, so I was in my forties, I still assumed I was old and forgetful and must have just imagined I had put Sammy’s picture on the table. I placed him back out and then went to bed.
The next morning when I got up, I went to the Obutsudan and there was Sammy, back in the Obutsudan. This time, I shouted, “What the hell is going on. I’m definitely losing it! How did Sammy get back in the Obutsudan!” I then saw Kacie, peeking out at me from the other room. She looked a little scared and in a small voice said, “I put Sammy in the Obutsudan Daddy.” I asked her, “Why did you do that?” I must have had a weird look on my face, but Kacie came up and explained to me, “You know Dad, yesterday you said that Sammy was in the Pure Land with Amida Buddha. Well, I thought Sammy might get a little confused and feel lost, being in a strange place like that. I thought that if I put Sammy by Amida Buddha, Buddha would look out for Sammy, and he wouldn’t be afraid.” When I heard that, I just said, “You know Kacie, I think that’s a great idea.” We left Sammy in the Obutsudan for a few days.
This happened over twenty years ago. Since then, I have had my dad, Auntie Maxine, Uncle Joe, Uncle Danny, Aunt Myra, my cousin Glen, several friends and pets die. I thought that I had become somewhat accustomed to death and how I respond when someone I love dies. I knew that if Carmela, Kacie or Taylor died, I would be an absolute wreck and probably wouldn’t want to survive. However, when I had to put my Miso to sleep. I was really shocked about how hard it was for me.
Miso had not been as perky as she usually is. She didn’t want to eat or drink, and she was having a hard time breathing. She didn’t even bark at Koge when he would walk into the room. I thought maybe she was having a bad allergic reaction to something she ate, so I took her to the vet. The vet took x-rays and did blood work on Miso. When she came to explain the prognosis, I had a feeling it wasn’t good. She began with, “We will do whatever you feel most comfortable with for Miso. You can leave her with us, and we can run more tests and possibly operate on her. She has water on her lungs, which is making it hard for her to breath. This suggests possible heart failure or other organs failing. There is also a large mass around her lungs and chest, which could possibly be cancer.” I knew that Miso was sick, but she had only been sick since about five days before after I took her for her haircut. I really didn’t think it would be so serious. The vet also said, “You may want to consider having her euthanized.” I knew that this was what she wanted to tell me, but wanted to soften the blow. She probably saw the shock on my face and once again said, “But we can admit her and see what we can do for her.” I asked if she thought I could take her home for a week or so, before bringing her back to be put to sleep. She gently said, “I would recommend sometime later today.”
I drove home in somewhat of a daze, holding Miso as I drove home. I told Carmela what the vet said and asked her to come with me later that afternoon to put Miso to sleep. I felt so confused, but it was such a nice, beautiful day, I took Miso into the backyard to enjoy the sunshine and to remember how she used to run and chase the bigger dogs across the lawn. Koge and Musubi, knew something were wrong and they just sat with us for a while. Miso couldn’t walk, but she just lay in my lap and on the grass. After about an hour, I brought her in and tried to get her to eat or drink. She just lay in her bed, looking at me as if to say, “Please do something Daddy.”
After Carmela got off work at about six. We had wrapped Miso in a warm blanket she liked and drove to the vet. They were prepared and brought us to a room. The vet said she would give us a few moments with her and would come back with a tech to assist. Carmela and I sat there, I didn’t really say anything, because I knew I would start crying. Carmela is much stronger than I am in these situations and just talked with Miso, telling her everything would be ok and the pain would go away soon. The vet came back in and asked if we were ready? I nodded my head and held Miso and told Carmela to make sure she was looking into Miso’s eyes, so the last thing Miso would see was someone who loved her very much. I knew that was how I would want to go. Miso had been breathing hard and had coughed up a little blood. As I held her, I whispered to her that I loved her and soon she could sleep. The vet asked if it was ok to continue, we nodded and she put the first injection into Miso, she didn’t even flinch. After about 30 seconds the vet gave her the second injection that would stop Miso’s heart. As I held her, after about 10 or 15 seconds, her breathing stopped. Carmela said that she was gone and closed her eyes.
Much of what followed was a bit of a blur. The tech held Miso as we left. It really looked as though Miso was just sleeping in his arms, wrapped in the blanket. I removed her collar, and we went home. I didn’t sleep that first night and it felt that whenever I thought of Miso or looked at her pictures I couldn’t breathe. It felt as though there was a Miso sized hole in my chest. I would get up and talk to Koge and Musubi. Koge seemed clueless as to what was happening, but Musubi knew that Miso was no longer with us and would try to console me.
The first few days, not seeing Miso was painful, but it felt as though she were just at the vets or hadn’t been returned from our friend Tonya who often watches her. Then after a few days, I just felt angry about the whole situation. Carmela and I were going to a musical, at first, I thought of not going and just giving the seats away, but then I thought, maybe the musical would at least get my mind off Miso for a few hours. While we were driving there, someone honked at me at a stop light. I flipped then off and pulled to the side and tried to follow them. Carmela said, “What are you doing!” I said, “I want to have a reason to get in a fight and beat someone up!” I didn’t use the word “beat”. Carmela just shook her head, and I realized how foolish I was being. The next few days, I just kept thinking, “Did I do something wrong, and could I be the reason Miso got sick?” I would talk with Carmela, and she would say, “No we didn’t do anything wrong, and it was for Miso to not suffer that we put her to sleep.” After this, I just felt numb. I knew that I was going through the five stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and I was just hoping acceptance would kick in soon, because I forgot how painful grief could feel.
The following week, I received a beautiful bouquet of flowers from a friend in California and a card from the vet that all the staff signed. I was also very touched by phone calls from friends and so many Facebook friends sending their condolences. As these various condolences and calls came, I started to remember that Miso had a good life. She had been to so many places, that none of my other dogs had. Miso had been with me to various places in Utah, Idaho, Nevada, Wyoming, Colorado, and California. After about a week, I received the call that Miso’s ashes were ready to be picked up. I went to the vet to pick up her ashes and paw print. It was all in a small bag and so extremely light. Miso was a small dog, but held such a large space in my heart, that I knew would not soon be filled. When I got home, I wondered where I would put her ashes. I then thought about the story with Kacie and Sammy. Miso would have known enough to realize just as I embraced her in life and especially at the end of her life, Amida Buddha would embrace her now. However, just in case, I decided to place her urn in the Obutsudan.
This is where she will stay for at least a few days. Within our sect of Buddhism, there is the idea of Genso Bodhisattvhas. These are beings who are already enlightened and come from the Pure Land to help guide us in our spiritual journey. In our foolish sense of human superiority, we tend to think of animals as beings on a lower stage of spiritual development then us humans. We wonder if our pets go to the Pure Land or Enlightenment. I remember the former Bishop Rev. Koshin Ogui, telling me how he consoled a member who had lost their dog by saying, “Hopefully they will be reborn in the next life as a human.” I realize that my Miso was the Bodhisattvha who helped me to remember how impermanent all life is and how we should treat each moment as precious. Miso didn’t have to become human; she was my spiritual superior. No matter what I did or said, she would truly accept me as I was. She was always so happy to see me. I can’t think of anyone being happier to see me when I returned home. My Genso Miso has taught me so much more about being kind and gentle and human. “Thank you Miso and I will see you again and when my time ends here. I expect you to guide me again. Namo Amida Butsu”