This was the day. We had to go to the vet. This choice had been put off for weeks. No one seemed to have the will to do what had to be done. She would not move. She would not eat or drink. She would not play. She sleeps, sighs, coughs and then sleeps more. We watch, we pray, we hope, we tend to her needs and pray and hope some more. Pills do not help.
No change.
Twelve years of love comes down to this. Time, that seemed to have no end, now speeds up.
Tears, a catch in your throat, pain and more tears.
And guilt. Such…guilt. Have we let her down? Did we not do all we could? For all the love and joy she gave us, did we give back the same?
It's time. The vet is kind and gives us space. A kiss, a hug, a stroke of the back. Low talk, soft talk.
“Such a good girl. All will be fine. Soon, no more pain. We love you. Good girl…”
Scratch her ear, pet her head, kiss her nose and choke the sob. You try not to look in her eyes, but you have to.
Hold her paw. Watch her sigh. Wait for her sleep. Her last breath.
She’s gone.
But pain free. You hold on to that. You grip that thought with all your might.
And turn to go. So hard to do. But you force your feet to move. And you live on.
And you miss her. And you still love her.