Myles,
I woke up this morning and remembered you were gone. I pulled the covers over my head as the sadness swallowed me like a wave on the ocean's edge.
I miss you, buddy. Your hair is everywhere. I'm still carrying it with me. There are scratches on the floor from that last awful week with you. Your collar is hanging in the closet next to the leash. Your poop is still in the yard. There are small reminders of you everywhere.
As I moved through this day full of emotion, memories of your face bounced in my brain. Memories of how you lifted your head every morning while I bounced down the stairs or how you snored so loudly at night. I miss that sound. I miss watching you with Jack. I miss you laying on the porch in the sun or next to me by the desk. I even miss that bark when you wanted back inside.
I miss you, but I don't miss the dog you were that last week. I miss the one the 13 years before it. That's the dog I'll always remember not the one at the end.
Rest Easy My Gentle Boy.
Until we meet again...
Friday, December 18, 2015
Thursday, December 17, 2015
It's Ok.
It's been seven long days and seven sleepless nights since this disease took over your body like a vampire in the night.
We have a consultation with the vet today to decide what's next. What's next...incredible how much power that phrase holds in this situation.
You've been a very loyal faithful companion, old boy. You were part of my blood family and now you're a part of my chosen family. We all love you. We love your quirky personality and your consistency. We love how you expect very little, but give so much. We love how calm and committed you have been to Johnny and how you let him think he rules the show. We love how patient you have been with Jack even though I'm sure it's torture for your old body to have such new life running around you all the time. And we both know I mean ALL the time.
They say your average life expectancy is 13-15 years. Interesting how you're just a few months shy of your 14th birthday.
Myles, it won't be the same without you, but we'll be ok. I won't be the same without you, but I'll be ok.
Sometimes we have to dig deep to make the most difficult decisions. I'm digging deep here, sweet boy. And that place we have to go when we know what's right, that's where I am. I hope you know I'm not doing this for me. I'm doing it for you. Thank you for your companionship, loyalty, trust and most importantly love. I will carry it with me forever.
It's time to let you find that dogsled team in the sky. They're waiting for you to lead the pack.
We have a consultation with the vet today to decide what's next. What's next...incredible how much power that phrase holds in this situation.
You've been a very loyal faithful companion, old boy. You were part of my blood family and now you're a part of my chosen family. We all love you. We love your quirky personality and your consistency. We love how you expect very little, but give so much. We love how calm and committed you have been to Johnny and how you let him think he rules the show. We love how patient you have been with Jack even though I'm sure it's torture for your old body to have such new life running around you all the time. And we both know I mean ALL the time.
They say your average life expectancy is 13-15 years. Interesting how you're just a few months shy of your 14th birthday.
Myles, it won't be the same without you, but we'll be ok. I won't be the same without you, but I'll be ok.
Sometimes we have to dig deep to make the most difficult decisions. I'm digging deep here, sweet boy. And that place we have to go when we know what's right, that's where I am. I hope you know I'm not doing this for me. I'm doing it for you. Thank you for your companionship, loyalty, trust and most importantly love. I will carry it with me forever.
It's time to let you find that dogsled team in the sky. They're waiting for you to lead the pack.
Saturday, December 12, 2015
A Christmas Miracle For Myles
Dear Myles,
Right now you're resting peacefully in the sun room. You've rested there 1,000 times before, but this time it's different.
For the past two days I have mourned the possibility of losing you. I cried while building PowerPoint presentations. I sobbed on my commute to work. I swallowed down more lumps in my throat than I can count. I suffered through conversations about the weather and other things that don't matter all while preparing to lose you.
This morning Jack drew you three pictures. On the last picture, in his best 3-year-old penmanship, he wrote: "Get Well Soon, Myles."
And suddenly, this indestructible hope of a 3-year-old hit me.
Through our 13 years together, you never waivered. Your love for me flowed steadily and consistently like a river through the middle of the woods. You were present when we got engaged, married. When we brought our sweet baby boy home, you greeted us with your signature happy dance. You never gave up on me when I traveled after college sometimes for months at a time. You were always there ready to accept me just as I was.
And that's why I'm not giving up on you.
Sweet boy, if you want to fight, I'll fight with you. If you want to go, I will support that too. I'm here to wrap my 33-year-old arms around your 13-year-old body and hold you when you're anxious. I'm here clean up your accidents, feed you by hand and take this one day at a time with you.
And if you decide you're ready, I'll be ready too.
But if you want to fight, I'll fight with you.
Right now you're resting peacefully in the sun room. You've rested there 1,000 times before, but this time it's different.
For the past two days I have mourned the possibility of losing you. I cried while building PowerPoint presentations. I sobbed on my commute to work. I swallowed down more lumps in my throat than I can count. I suffered through conversations about the weather and other things that don't matter all while preparing to lose you.
This morning Jack drew you three pictures. On the last picture, in his best 3-year-old penmanship, he wrote: "Get Well Soon, Myles."
And suddenly, this indestructible hope of a 3-year-old hit me.
Through our 13 years together, you never waivered. Your love for me flowed steadily and consistently like a river through the middle of the woods. You were present when we got engaged, married. When we brought our sweet baby boy home, you greeted us with your signature happy dance. You never gave up on me when I traveled after college sometimes for months at a time. You were always there ready to accept me just as I was.
And that's why I'm not giving up on you.
Sweet boy, if you want to fight, I'll fight with you. If you want to go, I will support that too. I'm here to wrap my 33-year-old arms around your 13-year-old body and hold you when you're anxious. I'm here clean up your accidents, feed you by hand and take this one day at a time with you.
And if you decide you're ready, I'll be ready too.
But if you want to fight, I'll fight with you.
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