(Note: I want to start off by saying that I in no way equate losing a pet to losing a *human* family member.)
I'm struggling not to burst into tears at work right now. This weekend, I said goodbye to my best furry friend of fifteen years, Thumper. He wasn't a bunny. He was a small poodle-mix, but when he was first rescued, he preferred hopping over running. It was the silliest, sweetest sight.
I'm thirty. I spent half my life with him. He was there for every teenage heartbreak, for every move I made as an adult, every new journey. We made a pact while I was in law school, that he'd be there to see me graduate. And he did. He was there for every major milestone, including my first pregnancy, when he signaled to me something was wrong 48 hours before doctors would. He was sweet, finicky, and fiercely loyal.
But by the end, the memories had started to become blurred and replaced with a dog that had become unrecognizable and largely unresponsive. I still struggled to make the decision to let him go. Even if he's never had a fighter's body, he had a fighter's spirit. I gave myself arbitrary deadlines and "if this, then that" reasonings. I wanted a sign.
And then this weekend happened. There was no significance to the date. There was no sign. It was not planned. I told myself I was just there to discuss his options with the veterinarian. That's how I convinced myself to get out of the car and go inside. ... He passed in my arms.
I now struggle with the guilt--guilt that I took his life away, guilt that I let him be in pain for so long, guilt that I had started becoming resentful. Near the end, he was blind, deaf, and becoming immobile. He was incontinent, and diapers wouldn't stay. So invariably, despite taping down multiple down pads on the floor of a gated room where he slept, i'd wake up to feces everywhere--under the pads, on the walls, on the curtain, on his bed, on him. It was the same scenario every morning and evening when I got home. So I cleaned and spoke softly, still startling him. Although he let me hold him on occasion, he no longer appeared to recognize me. Then he'd cry. And I could never figure out why...
When not plagued with guilt, I just feel sad and empty. I'm struggling to remain composed when I feel broken. I don't want how I feel to derail my life, responsibilities to my husband, son, other pets and loved ones--to myself. But I also just want to sit here and cry.
I hope my update will be one of closure and empowerment. But until then, I'm letting myself grieve.
