Saturday, June 4, 2016

On Saying Goodbye




My break from the lexicon devil was a sudden one, one I had not planned, and one that I had hoped that I would never, against all logic, have to take. 

In mid-April, my pug, Duchess, became gravely ill with a gastro-intestinal condition.  We had to take her to a specialist vet fifty miles away for aggressive treatment, to give her the best chance possible at survival.  She underwent surgery and, over the next couple of days, her condition began to decline.  When a transfusion didn’t help her turn the corner, we had to make the toughest decision of our lives: to let her go.  Duchess had already been through so much and we couldn’t stand the thought of putting our sweet girl through more pain and suffering when there was little optimism about her ability to recover.  Were another of my loved ones in a similar position—my parents, siblings, relatives, or friends—I would have come to the same decision. 

When you love someone more than you love yourself, sometimes you have to purposely break your own heart into a million pieces in order to do what is best for them.  Duchess, my little Poopie, my Chummybear, my KiKi, my Foosa, passed away in our arms.  She didn’t had to cross the “Rainbow Bridge” alone: she crossed over into God’s Kingdom cradled in our arms, rubbed and caressed, and with the knowledge that we love her with all of our hearts. 

At the end of our days, this is the best we can hope for: that we are surrounded by people who love us more than they love ourselves, people willing to give us our best chance when we are too weak to do it for ourselves, people who loves us enough to end our suffering and let us go home to our Heavily Father. 


In my grief, I have the solace of knowing that my little girl is running in Heavenly Fields, surrounded by the generations of fur people that we have loved and lost—Fee Fee, Harley—waiting for us to come home, so she can saunter over for a reunion cuddle. 

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