The Long Goodbye

John Locke was a British philosopher who lived in the late 17th and early 18th centuries. The American Founding Fathers based many of their ideas on the work of Locke. According to Locke, we must differentiate between the human animal and the person. The creature we call human is the physical being. Whereas a person is one’s own identity.

Locke wrote that what makes a human a person is their memory. Only because of memory can a person be held accountable for their actions. For example, if someone commits a crime yet has no memory of the act, they cannot be held responsible. Although still biologically a human being, their personal identity was absent, for they had no memory of their actions.

Locke was not the only philosopher to advocate for the importance of memory for the sense of Self. The mid-18th century Scottish philosopher David Hume also believed memory was critical to identity. The 19th-century psychologist William James focused on the importance of stream of consciousness in the sense of Self. James adds to Locke and Hume by saying that simply having a memory isn’t sufficient. Ownership of one’s thoughts, feelings, and memory must exist to create an unbroken continuity between your present and your past. 

Recent events in my life have made the aforementioned ideas about memory and identity very personal to me. 

For several years, one of my elderly dogs has suffered from health issues with her liver and pancreas. She almost died a couple of years ago and was saved by extraordinary vets at a local animal hospital. As a result of her health issues, she’s on a special diet along with various prescriptions. Her primary veterinarian describes her as “fragile.”

 

We’ve been noticing some odd behaviors from our dog in the last few months. Sometimes, she will stand in the middle of our living room and stare into space for several minutes. There have been times when she would lose bladder control and wet the spot she was sleeping. She’s also developed an OCD where she will drag one of her beds around the house until she finally lays down. After a few minutes, she’ll drag it to another location.

One night recently, these bizarre behaviors took a disturbing turn.

A few evenings ago, rather than just pausing and staring off into space for a few minutes, we found her standing in the corner with her nose against the wall like a toddler in a time-out. She stood there for the longest time. She then turned and began to aimlessly walk around the house. It quickly became apparent that she was confused. She would wander to another corner and stand with her nose against the wall at the new location. Again, after a long period of time, she would start wandering around the house. She was obviously upset and confused. Nothing we could do would comfort her or stop this behavior.

All that night, my wife and I took turns watching over her. Our immediate goal was to keep her safe. The plan was to call her veterinarian in the morning when they opened.

We suspected what the diagnosis might be. Dementia. And, if so, then any prognosis would likely be grim. There is no cure for dementia in dogs. We braced ourselves for having to make the hard choice.

Thankfully, by morning, the event had ended. Our elderly dog was back to her old self. We’re currently working with her veterinarian to determine the cause and to develop a treatment plan.

We’re realists. We know the day will come when she will cross the rainbow bridge, as the euphemism goes. Worse yet, we know that the recent event may be a horrifying glimpse of her final hours, making the situation all the worse.

Dementia is one of the great scourges. It’s an insulting and degrading disease. It robs us from our loved ones and from ourselves by stealing our personal identities.

Not only the eventual passing of our beloved pet but the possibility that she may go through the Long Goodbye is something we dread. My wife and I try to be Stoic, talk about the circle of life, and the need to avoid attachment. Stiff upper lip, as the British say. 

The reality is that everything about this hurts like hell.