Just when I was finding my feet
Today I had to say goodbye to my shih tzu, my firstborn. It is devastating. She was 10 years old, and the sweetest, cutest little dog anyone could ever want. She’s been fighting congestive heart failure for 2 years, but it became clear recently that she was losing the fight, and all the medicines weren’t going to be able to help her. I knew when the vet gave me the diagnosis originally that it was a death sentence, but when she responded so well to the meds, I guess I thought we’d manage it until she was a ripe old dog age.
But it got worse and worse, and by this weekend, she could barely breathe. She couldn’t get any rest, couldn’t lie down, unless she was exhausted, and then she collapsed just long enough to catch her breath. And then she’d sit up again and pant, because lying down was too uncomfortable for her, compressing her chest.
I didn’t want to. I hoped she’d just slip away in the night. But she kept on even though I knew she was miserable. And I didn’t want my baby girl miserable. She’d suffered so much already.
So the vet came to the house, and I held her in my arms as she slipped away. And even as I chose it, even as I knew what was happening, and that this was the right thing, I was still wishing for a different way. It was horrifying, and yet I knew that I needed to be there. I needed to do it, for her. For me. She’s my child. I know a lot of people with children don’t see it that way, but I don’t really care. I’m not going to determine whose love counts, and how much, and in what hierarchy, and I don’t have time for anyone who does. Love is love.
The right thing doesn’t always feel good. The right thing is not easy, most of the time.
I miss her sweet little face so much already. It nearly killed me to walk away and leave her at the crematorium, but if I didn’t leave, I’d have had to move in.
I’m experienced in this grief thing now, unfortunately. And while the shock wasn’t as great this time, I know exactly what’s coming, and that it will get worse. She is free of her pain; mine is just beginning.
Both she and her “brother,” my other dog, are on meds. And when I went to give him his, without giving her hers, I wailed and sobbed, clutching her pill bottles to my chest. I tried. She tried. We all tried. And it just wasn’t enough.
God, I hate this. Again. And once again, I find that I can’t stop crying. Not for long, anyway.