tacran
Posted : 3/21/2006 1:44:05 AM
I read your post earlier at work but couldn't reply until now. I have little privacy in my office, and once the tears started, I had to log off until I was home.
I'm so sorry for the loss of your precious Kayla. My heart goes out to you and your husband. We had to help our boy to the Bridge on January 17th, so I'm very familiar with the feelings you describe in your posts. The first few days were almost unbearable. I thought I would die of sadness. I didn't get out of bed for hours on end, I didn't eat, didn't go to work, didn't bathe or dress. I'm surprised the neighbors didn't hear me sobbing from their house. Actually, if it wasn't for those neighbors inviting us over for dinner about 4 days later (after my husband told them about Tonka), I might never have pulled myself together. That, and having a major deadline at work I couldn't get out of. But when I finally did get a good look at myself in the mirror, I looked like I'd aged 10 years. That expression of pain being "etched in your face" really applies.
The second guessing is awful -- we, too, had to wonder if the vets didn't catch something earlier, if we didn't do absolutely everything we could have, etc. etc. Our situation wasn't as sudden as yours -- his health had been failing for a while -- but I still think maybe there was something we could've done, no matter what the cost.
One thing that might be a comfort is that Kayla was in the most comfortable, safe, warm, and loving place she could possibly be when she left the earth. We had really wanted our dog to die at home, where he was in his favorite comfy spots, and the vet had said he would try to come to the house if possible. But the end came upon us in a somewhat emergency manner, and it was late in the evening, so we had to go to the emergency clinic. They were kind to us, and it was as calm and peaceful as it could be under the circumstances. However, of the many, many things that haunt me now, one of the worst is having the image of my big, noble boy, who was gracious and cooperative his entire life, spend his final minutes in a flourescent-lit room on a hard floor in a strange clinic, without the vet he was used to. Believe me, we smothered him with kisses and caresses and spoke to him right until he died, but it's still awful for me to think of it. I'm sure I'd still be crazy with grief no matter how it ended, but your girl couldn't have been more relaxed at that moment -- no panicky car ride, no harsh lights, no weird sounds. Just you and your husband sleeping beside her, all of you breathing together. Her passage to the Rainbow Bridge was a gentle one.
My husband wants to get another dog in the near future, but the hole in my heart now is so big -- it couldn't muster enough energy to love anyone else when it's barely hanging on now. As others have said, I know time helps us heal and work through this type of grief. I'm afraid mine is still too raw to offer you any helpful words, other than I understand how you are feeling. Again, my heart goes out to you and your husband.
Run free Kayla, and if you see a big bullmastiff sitting calmly watching some of his old and new friends play at the Bridge, tell him his mom loves him and misses him so very much. He would've been 10 tomorrow (March 21)