A Heartfelt Plea and a Journey of Devotion
"JUST BRING BACK MY MAYAAAAAAAA," I wept into the phone to my then-boyfriend, Tom, as he embarked on a two-hour trip to a specialty veterinary hospital in London. Our 13-year-old paralyzed chiweenie, Maya, awaited pickup, while I, housebound with Covid, anxiously awaited their return. Tom understood that Maya had always been my soulmate, a constant companion since my college days in Greenwich Village.
Inseparable from the Start
From sneaking her into film classes where professors offered treats to navigating city life together, Maya and I were inseparable. She nuzzled into my hair each morning, joined me for coffee shop visits, and accompanied me on subway rides, road trips, and flights back to Los Angeles. During Hurricane Sandy, we faced the aftermath together, walking along the Westside Highway with a candle as our torch in a post-apocalyptic scene.
When I moved to London at 30 for a fresh start after a breakup, Maya initially stayed with my mom, who FaceTimed me daily during the agonizing three-month wait. Her arrival made me feel whole, ready to embrace my new chapter. However, a few months later, at nearly 12 years old, Maya lost mobility in her back legs, leading to a rushed trip to the vet in November.
Facing Health Challenges Together
Dressed in yoga pants and a sweatshirt, I focused solely on Maya's recovery, reassuring her despite my own fears. A neurologist diagnosed intervertebral disc disease, recommending immediate spinal fusion with only a 50% chance of regaining leg movement. Maya adapted brilliantly to her neon pink wheels, zipping along Hackney Canals and drawing smiles with her vibrant spirit.
It was during this period that I met Tom through a dating app. On our third date, I introduced him to Maya, who had an accident on a floor pillow. Instead of frustration, Tom laughed, cleaned her up, and showed unwavering kindness. During lockdown, he drove across London to spend weekends with us, bathing Maya, building duvet forts for "The Twilight Zone" marathons, and taking long walks with her rolling beside us.
A Family Unit and Deepening Bonds
Our first family holiday in the Cotswolds in summer 2020 saw Maya rolling in green fields, with Tom scooping her up when tired. When we moved in together, we prioritized a ground-floor apartment for her ease, centering our lives around her care. As our love grew, Maya's age brought more health issues: hyperparathyroidism, myoclonic seizures, pancreatitis, and blindness.
We took turns caring for her through sleepless nights, using sound baths and singing to soothe her. In January 2024, we celebrated her 16th birthday, measuring time by her comfort. She transitioned from wheels to a stroller, and our routines revolved around medications and homemade meals. That spring, I flew with her to ensure round-the-clock care, sensing her time was limited.
Loss and New Beginnings
I dreamed of Maya at our wedding, but within 48 hours of returning to the U.K., she was rushed to the emergency vet, unable to breathe. As we planned a homemade oxygen chamber, a call came: it was time. We spent five hours reminiscing over photos of our adventures before her spirit outgrew her tired body. Devastated, I felt alone for the first time in 16-and-a-half years.
Six weeks later, Tom proposed as I prepared for a solo trip to New York, my first without Maya. Her vet gave me bluebell seeds to plant in her honor. In NYC, I scattered them near our old apartment, reflecting on her as my constant heartbeat. Across the ocean, Tom waited, his devotion to Maya a profound act of love. Our shared grief now becomes a journey we navigate together, honoring her legacy.
