Up until a couple months ago, I was convinced that my dog of thirteen years was immortal.
We were both young when we first met, always excited to be in the presence of one another.
I’ve always heard, “A dog is the only thing on earth that loves you more than they love themselves.” With her, that was always true.
I believe my dog’s tail was connected to her heart, and that’s why it was always wagging. Even when she was at her worst, it was still thumping strong for us.
Every once in a while, I would think about death. I would think about life after she was gone- something that almost made no sense to me.
Finding out that my dog only had a little bit longer, I felt the anticipatory grief. It was the worst.
It was that weird in-between stage where you want to treasure every last moment spent with them, but it also hurts, knowing that the loss of their presence will eventually happen, and it will happen soon.
Eventually, the day came, and the moment went by fast.
As I watched my dog go to sleep and leave us for good, I felt this odd sense of relief.
Was that wrong? Was I supposed to feel relieved?
Yes. I was. She was suffering. She loved us, but she was suffering. All of the guilt I felt- it was for doing the right thing.
My mind started to race with things I didn’t have more time to do with her, the love I felt like I didn’t show, the time I spent away at college, not seeing her as often.
I started to feel true loss.
She was a part of the family. How could I ever be okay after losing part of the family?
Breathe. All I could do was breathe.
Something that I kept having to remind myself was that I wasn’t the only one hurting. The feeling I had wasn’t felt by just me. Other people have been through this same pain, and other people have gotten over the pain as well.
It takes time to heal- and I’m not fully there yet.
The first time coming home again after she passed was weird. I walked in the door, waiting for the barking and the noise of her little nails tapping the floor as she ran to greet me.
I waited, but it never came.
The house felt empty. After thirteen years, it was a little quieter than usual.
Going on with life after something like that- it was hard. How was I supposed to focus on other things that didn’t matter to me at the time?
Time was my best medicine, as it is with anyone who’s grieving.
The love I showed her was more than enough. All the time I spent with her for over a decade, it was more than enough.
After a little bit of time, the hole in my heart slowly started to heal.
Times are still tough, but I know that one day we’ll see each other again.