So...I know I did a post on Bettis before, but this is an essay of sorts that I have been working on for quite some time. I struggled with what I was going to write for my class as a "personal-experience" article. I went through several drafts of different kinds of experiences. I finally woke up this past Sunday at 5:30 am and wrote a lot of this and pulled from what I had previously written...glad I finally finished it. :)
The day death pulled back it’s curtain to reveal itself to me, I wasn’t ready. The grief was so deep it took my breath away. It was July 22, 2009, the day I lost my Chocolate Lab, Bettis. He was only eight and three week prior he had been the normal healthy dog we had always known. It all went downhill from there.
We noticed he wasn’t himself and took him to the vet. After that he lost the function of his back legs. I felt helpless. I spent the next three weeks just sitting by his side before and after work. The vet’s diagnosis went from hip dysplasia to finally it being something neurological. Words like, “there is not much we can do...I am really sorry...do you want me to give you a moment to yourselves?” came from the vet’s mouth, but I didn’t comprehend; I was thinking how could we give up now? Certainly there was something else we could do.
I had taken him for granted. Thought I had years left with him. I should have walked him more, I should have taken more time out from my day to spend with him. But I was running from here to there and a little pat on his head would have to do. The lesson I learned: Life can change quickly.
We sat on the floor, with Bettis, as the vet came in to administer the drugs that would end his life. In quiet hushed tones she explained what each of the three syringes would do. It was only a few seconds before he slipped away and I watched him breathe his last breath. He was gone and we were left with an empty void where his life had once been weaved with ours. That memory seared into my minds eye. It was hard to imagine how we would go on from this.
After saying our final good-bye’s we burst out the side door. I clung to my husband as our guttural cries came up from the deepest part of our souls. A stiff wall of muggy air and rain greeted us. Not a soft steady rain, but a hard soaking rain that pelted us as we escaped to our car. This was grief I thought. I had never experienced such intense pain before. It was unexpected.
In a way you feel guilty when you lose a pet because the loss is so significant to you and the grief so deep. You know it’s not your husband, parent, sibling or a close friend and there is a struggle within you wondering why you feel this strongly. But then you realize he has been a steady part of your life, a loyal companion, and a source of comfort and laughter. He became a part of your heart.
At home the quiet is deafening. Where you once heard their paws on the floors, you hear nothing. When you sit down on the couch you wait for him to jump on you because he was happy to see you. There are things you loved about him and things that frustrated you. You miss them both. Then you might even start to feel relief. In the back of your mind you think about how you can leave home and not have to worry if the dog has gone out, does he have food and water, is the trash securely locked, and in my case are the child proof locks on the cupboards so he can’t bounce them open with his snout. But then you feel guilty for feeling that too.
It was a pain so intense; I didn’t think it would ever release me. But just as unexpectedly, I began to heal. Day by day life went on around me and I started to breathe a little easier, the pressure on my chest felt a little lighter. I can still go back to that day and relive those moments in an instant. But life returned itself back to a new normal. I now live out my lesson to make the most of each day and not take anyone for granted because you never know when they will breathe their last breath.
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