Every day is another chance for me to practise my acting ablilities. I convince them all I have myself oh so together when inside everything is a shambles. I could cry at the drop of a pin every day.
Nothing I've ever known has hurt as much as this does. My dog was sick for a long time, dying really, but we only knew for about a month. He was supposed to live another two after they finally diagnosed his cancer but he only lived one and we had to put him to sleep on friday.
What a stupid term that is. Put him to sleep. We killed him. I know it was the right thing to do and blah blah blah. I know he just would have suffered until he died a horrible, painful natural death on his own. But he didn't die in his sleep. Someone pumped his blood full of a chemical that made him go comatose before it made him stop breathing and his heart stop beating. It might have been humane and painless and peaceful for him but in the end I still had to make a concious decision to end his life.
He was my best friend for ten years, since I was fifteen years old. He was only ten. He wasn't supposed to die so young or in such a horrible way.
He took a bad turn on Friday and we decided to put an end to his suffering Saturday morning. My mom and I were going to take him together. He was my dog, he always followed me around, wanted to be with me. I've been planning to move across the country for a while now but there was no question of me going until he'd lived all his time he could have. I wasn't going to know he was dying and wondering why I abandoned him at the same time. But on Friday night I had plans to meet some friends, one of whom is moving away and I didn't want to back out. I told myself I'd go and try to have a good time because after Saturday morning the rest of the weekend was going to be a wash anyway. He took a really bad turn in the middle of the night Friday and my mom had to take him alone. I didn't get to go say goodbye and in his last moments I can only think he might have been wondering why I wasn't there to hold him while he went to sleep for the last time.
I still come home and look for him at the top of the stairs every night. He's never going to be there again.
I'm the tough girl. Cliche? Perhaps, but it's true. A woman in a man's trade/field can not be an emotional, crying wreck. No matter how unfair it is, I need to be able to hold their respect and that means being able to fit in as one of the boys at work.
But I hold it all together somehow in public. By god's grace or my own sheer, stuborn will-which I possess in spades-I keep up the brave front. I'm fine, of course I am, I tell everyone. I smile, I allow people and things to make me laugh. I crack jokes, I tease people mercilessly like I aways do. But when I come home to that empty space at the top of the stairs I just want to run and hide for the rest of my life.
I know it'll get easier with time. That in time the ten years of good memories will stand out more than the few weeks of bad. But for now all that stands out is the fact that I wasn't there when MY best friend, when my dog was destroyed. And that I, as always, will have to be the brave girl, the strong girl. I wish someone could be strong for me this time. But more importantly, that I knew how to let someone. And most of all, I wish that instead of crying into my hands as I now do I was again crying into his soft black fur as it always was before.
I miss you baby boy.
In loving memory of Samuel Joseph Dogg, AKA Sam, Sammy, Joes, Jose, Dude, Doodle, Doodle Bug, Bug.
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