The past few days have been so hard on us, as we lost our sweet little dog, Loo.
It started with a smaller than usual appetite, followed by some pretty nasty constipation. I researched everything I could to try to help his tummy, from switching to wet food to giving him pumpkin puree, but nothing helped. Soon he stopped dancing around in his crazy, uncoordinated way. Shortly after, he stopped barking when we came home. He lost his zest for life, and all the while, his appetite steadily decreased along with his weight. He just wasn't the same.
Sunday, Loo refused to eat anything- not even peanut butter or cheese, his two favorites. I had called a vet on Saturday, hoping to get him in on Monday, but it was clear that we were dealing with something far more serious.
We called this his "cinnamon roll"
We took him to the emergency room right after church, where we learned the horrifying news- our little man's kidneys were failing him. They were unsure whether he had a bacterial infection, disease, or cancer, but one thing was sure: if they didn't hospitalize him ASAP, the outcome was grim. Quite honestly, even if we decided to put him in the hospital, there was no guarantee that he would ever recover fully, if at all. Loo was done dancing, regardless of if we treated him or not.
Tanner and I made the difficult decision to say goodbye, and decided that I would stay home with Loo on Monday, for his last day on Earth. I invited everyone to come say goodbye- a dog this sweet deserved as much love as possible. He, too, still had so much love to give. So many people came to say goodbye. So many people came and held him while he snuggled quietly in their lap. It might seem weird to have wanted people to come over to say goodbye to a dog- especially one that many hadn't ever met before- but it felt right, and I was not emotionally in a place where I felt okay being alone for an extended period of time. There were so many tears, but even more cuddles.
Tanner was given the go-ahead from work to head home early, and we were able to sit together for about an hour, holding Loo, praying, and crying. I wanted so badly to be able to tell Loo I was ready to let go, and that he didn't need to hold on anymore, but I couldn't bring myself to do it.
These smiles were a bit forced.
I am very good at going into denial, and throughout the day I kept telling myself that this didn't have to happen. He didn't have to die. He would get better... Right?
I had to remind myself that his poor kidneys begged to differ, and there was nothing we could do to guarantee his recovery. Letting him go was the best option for him... Even if it was the worst option for me.
He steadily got worse throughout the day until he would go several seconds between breaths, and we knew that we absolutely had to put him out of his misery.
We went to the vet, and at 4:06 PM, Loo drifted off to heaven, after one final family prayer. Our kind, caring vet gently took him to the other room to take his little paw prints, and Tanner and I held onto each other and wept. I felt like my body was collapsing into itself, the pain hit so hard. I'm never going to see that little booger again. At least, not on this earth.
One of the reasons why letting him go was so hard, is I have so many doubts. Will I see him again after this life? Everyone I know says we will, but how do they know? The thought of never seeing him again hurts, it hurts so much. It's a kind of pain that only people who have lost a dear, loved pet can understand. We were not sealed to Loo. In the next life, he's not going to be ours. Will he even WANT to see me again? I tried, but I know I was not the perfect "mom". I made mistakes. I didn't love him as unconditionally as I should have- he was a stubborn little thing whose strength was NOT obedience, which was frustrating.
I feel like I should have been so much better. I wish I could have spent all day, every day with him. I wish we had known he was sick sooner, so I could have cherished the time we had together more. I wish I had cuddled him more. I wish I had let him sleep with me. I wish, I wish, I wish. I've been praying harder than ever that someway, somehow, Loo can forgive me of my shortcomings. I hope he knows that even though he had a tendency to sometimes be annoying, I loved him deeply and am so lucky he chose Tanner and I that day back in September.
Perhaps it seems silly to be so completely grief-stricken over such a tiny little dog, but he was the first animal who was truly mine and Tanner's. (I mean, yeah, we have our betta fish Toby, but dogs are a LITTLE different.) He was our baby. He went on so many adventures with us. I wanted to watch him snuggle up to our (human) babies. I wanted him to be in our family pictures.
It wasn't supposed to end like this. At least, if it were up to me, which it never was.
Grieving is so strange. I have never felt so many conflicting emotions before. At least with our family I have full confidence that our separation will be temporary- it'll feel long, yes, but we are sealed together and cannot be ever TRULY separated. But with pets... I just don't know. Within the past 48 hours I've gone from hopeful to being in complete denial, to utter despair, to anger, and back again. I don't want to be left alone, but I don't want to see anyone. I know it was the right thing to do, but I worry that we took him too soon.
The last picture I took of him. I think he knew it was time to go.
Eventually I will be okay, but right now, I am not- and that fact needs to be okay too. I don't WANT to be strong. I do not want to try to swallow my pain and put on a brave face. I want to feel this grief. I want to explore these complex emotions and familiarize myself with them. I want to curl up in my sadness and let it wash over me until I feel that I can move on.
I believe that that is an important thing. Grief should not be swallowed. It shouldn't be ignored, or made to seem as though it's not as big a deal as it really, truly is. Pain is unpleasant, but we can learn so much from it. So I intend to take my time to heal, to feel better, and to move forward at my own pace, in my own time, in my own way.
Some of that healing may come in the form of a new dog. I need to remember that we are NOT replacing Loo- because a dog like that cannot EVER be replaced. But I need a dog to fill the emptiness that has overtaken this house. It feels like a cave without Loo's jingling collar and clicking nails. So while we may adopt a new friend sooner rather than later, it's not because they are a "rebound". There is a place in our family that can only be filled with furry paws and a wet nose, and we need that.
Friends, losing a pet hurts. I know that now. I am so sorry for anything I may have ever done to minimize your suffering. I stand with you. I feel your hurt, and understand it. Even if your sweet, furry (or feathered!) friend didn't pass, but was given up, it stings. Come over and we will talk it out. I can't promise I won't cry, but I can promise that it will feel good to talk about it with someone who understands. Call me. ♥