Day 3 – Guilt Fades

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Honey. Early 2016. On one of our many road trips together. She had a memory foam mattress stretched fully out for her comfort! 

 

Five hours into the third day. Of course I spent the first half of the day crying. I have never wailed like this in my life. Not my adult life anyway. I do remember crying like that as a child. I guess as we lose our innocence and our connection to our original spirit self that we are born with and carry for the first few years of childhood, we become acutely aware of the sounds that our pain and the utterances of our crying make, and we learn that such noises are not desirable and should be stifled.

But I’m a different person now – spiritually. Something moves in me and nudges me to let my mourning be raw and loud. Since Lauren lives with me, I try to keep it down when she’s home at night, but during the day while she’s at work, I have not denied myself even one pang of vocal lamentation. I’ve just let my moans fall freely throughout the house. Regardless of what it sounds like. There’s no judgment. I think there’s something very cathartic about doing so. Very healing.

As I walked tonight, a routine Honey and I shared nightly and which I have chosen not to give up, I thought about Honey the entire time. And of course the feelings of guilt started to flood me. I kept seeing the euthanasia over and over in my head. It wasn’t dramatic in  itself, but because of the emotions that erupt from it.

But I had spent just a couple hours prior to that looking through all my photos of Honey. What I discovered, by having seen photos of her in her healthier days just 4 years ago, was that in her last days she had severe imitations for a dog and she was in constant pain every single day. She couldn’t lift her backside to flip positions while lying down, so she would lift with her front and just throw herself down. Her back legs would often (almost always) be trapped awkwardly underneath her big torso. It had to be terriblbly painful for her. I fed her constant pain pills, so that helped. But I could tell at the end that they were not enough.

My point is that I think I am finally convinced that I made the right decision to send her to her final resting place. Where she is indeed resting now. Without pain. In the end, I think she was existing day to day just to please me. Everything she did was to please me. It was my turn to do the ultimate grand gesture and please her.

 

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27 Hours Later – The Pillow

27 hours.

I sat down in my chair with laptop in hand. I instinctively looked down to my right where Honey always lay when I worked in this spot. I saw the plush pillow I had laid down beside her dog bed to give her a head rest, as her long length often meant part of her body was on the floor.

The sight of that pillow struck joy within me. I was the last place she had laid her head to rest before we went to the vet.
I snapped up the pillow, brought it to my chest as though it had her life force still in it, and hugged it and cried in it. It was the most wonderful refuge for my grief. I just held it and I knew I was sharing it with her. She was there with me.