Pat Stansik

I started playing sports at a very young age and one of the first lessons you learn as an athlete is to “be tough." Whenever something wasn't going my way during a game I was always told that if I just "dug deep" and "pushed through" I would come out on top. When I was growing up I always felt like asking for help or talking about my emotions to someone was a sign of weakness and that I should be able to solve all of my problems on my own. It wasn't until my sophomore year of college when I was really struggling with school and lacrosse that I decided to talk to someone at Bucknell's counseling center. I told him about how I hated being a business major and I felt like I wanted to focus on something more creative. I let him know about how I had lost 30 pounds since my freshman year and was in the best shape of my life and I still wasn't close to getting playing time. I talked about how some of my bad habits were starting to get in the way of my goals and that for the first time in my life I was feeling like a failure. I even confessed that I was starting to think about transferring to a different school, an idea that at the time I didn't actually believe was a realistic option. For the first time in my life I was able to fully open up to someone about the anxious thoughts and negative feelings I was having and how I felt like I was struggling with something that didn't seem to be affecting most of my friends and teammates.

I remember walking out of that meeting feeling relieved and like everything was going to be OK. And do you know what the craziest part about it was? I didn't talk to another professional about my problems until seven years later. Even though the experience had allowed me to get through one of the hardest periods of my life, I still felt like there was a stigma surrounding seeking help, so much so that I didn't even tell anyone that I went to the counseling center. There were so many instances during those seven years where I would have loved to talk to an unbiased professional about my problems, successes, failures, relationships, goals, fears, and anything else that was on my mind. Unfortunately, every time the opportunity was presented to me I couldn't get over the fact that I believed that by talking to someone about these things I would be labeled as something other than normal. I tried my best to "dig deep" and "push through" but eventually I was forced to accept the fact that I couldn't do it on my own and I started talking to someone regularly to help me deal with anxiety and depression. I love talking to her and she has helped me more than she will ever know.

My yellow lab Romeo was put to sleep today. He was in a lot of pain and was having trouble walking, and while I wanted to see him again, it was time for him to go. When my Mom first told me the news over the phone I tried to keep it together, but I completely lost it when she texted me a few minutes later to tell me that he died on National Kindness Day. We always talked about how he was the nicest dog, and everyone he met always enjoyed his company. It’s funny how a small detail like that can cause a grown man to cry for hours on end. We knew he didn’t have much time left, so as a joke we agreed that when he died we were all going to jump off a bridge together while holding hands because we loved him so much. While I don’t feel like dying that way anytime soon, I do feel like a part of me is gone.

I can still remember the day we bought him, mostly because we got a discount due to a minor problem with his tail. His first nickname was “Blue Light Special” and up until a few hours ago we were constantly coming up with new ones for him. The main reason I have a passcode on my phone is because I never want anyone to read my text messages to my siblings that are 99% about Romeo because I don’t want anyone to think I’m crazy (just to clarify, I am).

My family has always had labs. We still have a chocolate lab named Tucker, and my parents have told me there’s a good chance they will be buying a new lab puppy in the spring. I think the reason Romeo’s death has affected me so much is that we had him for the past 13 years and other than my family members, he's been the one constant thing in my life during that time. When we bought him I was a 14-year-old who was sure he was going to play in the NFL and the NHL at the same time. I haven’t completely given up on that yet, but I’m getting closer. Today I’m a 27-year-old aspiring comedy writer who is best known for making YouTube videos who hasn’t posted a new one in over two years. That 27-year-old wants you to know that he’s been working really hard and hopes you haven’t forgotten about him because he hasn’t completely given up yet (he’s getting closer, though). While I value every relationship I’ve had with anyone who is reading this (friends, followers, teammates, co-workers, ex-girlfriends, girls I wish I was dating who didn’t want to date me, girls I matched with on Tinder and later friended on Facebook in an attempt to view pictures other than the ones they included in their profile, girls who’ve told me “Pat, I don’t think that’s how you’re going to meet your future wife," etc.) one of the most difficult parts about growing up is accepting the fact that people are going to come in and out of your life no matter what you do. Even though he was just a dog, it’s hard knowing that when I come home for Thanksgiving Romeo won’t be there to greet me at the door like he always used to.

The reason I love dogs so much is they don’t care about unimportant things. The only thing Romeo ever expected from us was food, water, and the occasional .02 mile walk; everything else was extra to him. As long as he got these things (and his standard 18 hours of sleep) he was happy. I spend a lot of time worrying about things that don’t matter, but spending time with him always made me forget about my problems and put things in perspective. Up until a few months ago I had a job that was making me very unhappy. I enjoyed the people I worked with, but every night I would come home feeling exhausted and uninspired to write. I wasn’t making any progress, and I felt like I had no purpose. It sounds weird, but I started FaceTiming with my Mom a few nights a week after work, mostly so I could “talk” to Romeo and forget about how bad I was feeling. Want to hear something even weirder? I started calling it RomeTime (I told you, I’m crazy). Even if I felt horrible, seeing him on the screen for just a few minutes always made me feel better. My Mom always thought he should have been a therapy dog, and in a strange way he was mine during one of the most difficult periods of my life.

I had a chance to say goodbye to Romeo in person a few week ago when I was leaving for the airport after a trip home. Every time I tried to get in the car I kept coming back to give him another hug and spend a few more minutes with him. I think we both knew it was going to be our last time seeing each other. I told him how much I loved him, and he smiled. I thought about all the good times we had together, and he licked my face. He was happy because I was next to him. In any relationship I've had, that was all I ever really wanted.