Our 10-year-old rescue, Ricky, in November 2019.
By Noah Goldberg
Isolation is terrifying. I hate it.
I don’t need to be out all the time with friends. I am actually quite introverted, but the thought of being trapped without my people is scary.
When my family moved to Sarasota from Boston in October, I could not have been more excited. 85 degree winters, boating and fishing whenever we want to, it doesn’t get much better than that. Plus, right back to Boston once it warms up, which means more boating, beach, fishing, but most importantly, that is my home. That’s where my people are. I get to experience the best of both worlds. What could go wrong?
Vulnerability forces us to turn to the people we trust the most, and in a time of crisis like right now, that’s never been more true. When I was sent home from college and faced the reality that life wouldn’t be normal, not for a long time, I grew angry.
Why me. Unfair. Bullshit.
Yes, I get to be with my family, and I do trust them more than anyone else. In that moment though, none of them could relate to anything I was going through. They’d been used to isolation, living with each other while leaving friends behind in Massachusetts. It is a lot easier to do that later in life with a steady job and a spouse. That is a lot harder when you are 20 years old and are forced into it, suddenly.
I needed my friends. They were going through the same struggles I was.
The same struggles I am.
After being in Florida for a week or two, I tried to talk my parents into letting me drive back to Boston. Shelter in place orders hadn’t materialized anywhere yet, which meant I could’ve been hung out with my friends at that time. And I needed to. Badly. After all, as long as I vigilantly practiced social distancing, six-feet and everything, why did it matter if I was in Florida or Boston?
The board of directors of the Goldberg family unfortunately didn’t vibe with my pitch and shot it down after a few exchanges of, let’s say, less than formal English.
Frustration kept building up inside of me. Couldn’t they see that none of them had been put in the same spot I had?
Weeks passed. Shelter in place orders came to fruition, meaning I wouldn’t have been able to see my friends had I gone back anyways. Hindsight is 20/20 though, and given the circumstances at that time, I still wouldn’t admit I had been wrong.
Three weeks pass. My sister wakes me up on Saturday morning, April 11th. Our 10-year-old rescue dog Ricky was having neurological issues, she said. He needed to go to the vet ASAP.
After taking him for a walk, Ricky seemed totally fine, my sister told us. An hour later, he got down off my parents’ bed and just fell over. He wasn’t hurt, he wasn’t particularly old. He just fell.
We knew this was serious, but we thought it most realistically was dehydration. He was panting heavily and it’s Florida of course, so it wasn’t exactly chilly outside, even in the late morning.
Hours later, Ricky had passed away. His heart had filled with fluid, possibly from cancer know one knew about, but even the vet wasn’t really sure why. To find out what the actual issue was causing the fluid to build up, he’d have to make it to Monday when a cardiologist would be available. The chances of that happening were slim, considering he’d need to have the fluid drained, which itself could’ve killed him, or just refilled immediately.
Isn’t it funny that a dog’s life can be decided if he gets sick on a Friday or a Saturday? Days of the week aren’t a concept to any animals, other than humans of course.
My heart has hurt for this country, for our planet, for everyone suffering from this pandemic. It didn’t even compare to that Saturday morning.
Despite stories of despair that suffocate the news, devastating new stats every day of the death tolls and economic impacts, that morning was the hardest I’ve endured during this pandemic. Actually, in years.
Why him? Unfair. Bullshit.
But you know what one of my first thoughts was after we returned from the animal hospital? If this coronavirus pandemic didn’t overtake the world, I’d still be at college. I wouldn’t have spent the last month of Ricky’s life with him, every single day.
It sucks I had to come home. It sucks people are getting coronavirus. It sucks Ricky died, so young and suddenly. It sucks I can’t see my friends.
I don’t have a conclusion. I don’t have a point or a prayer to preach. I just miss my dog. I miss my friends. I miss my life. But I’m damn glad I didn’t go back to Massachusetts.