Saying goodbye

It's just so hard. After a gut-wrenching couple of days we had to say a sad goodbye to our sweet Molly. Our last three days with her were hard but also wonderful. We all got to spend tons of time petting her, and telling her how much we loved her. But we also had to watch her pain get gradually worse, until the last day she couldn't take more than a few steps without stopping to rest. Dogs are so loving and she wanted to be right in the middle of wherever we all were, so even though I was trying to keep her in one place resting, she would always get up to be wherever we were (I guess where I was is more accurate). We grilled burgers that Saturday night, and she hobbled out to the porch in 103 degree weather to be with Jav and wait for her samples that he always gave her. When she was not on her feet, she seemed perfectly fine. We would wonder if we were making the right decision, until she tried to get up again and we knew we were.

The vet was at church when I called him, but being the wonderful person that he is he agreed to meet us at the clinic. Molly LOVED going up there, and I had been distraught thinking that we might have to take her to a strange place with people she didn't know. But she was wagging her tail just like always and happy up the end. Jav and I, though, were despondent at the thought of losing her. It seemed like she went from being fine to not being fine so fast. I kept getting almost angry thinking that she probably would have had a good two years left if this had not happened. But it did happen. I guess most people who end up with cancer and their loved ones feel that way.

I've been through this before, and know that the first week is the hardest. I keep expecting to be in her favorite spots: under the dining room table, waiting just outside the kitchen while we eat, in the hallway while the boys played with their cars. She would come in every morning with me to get Joel up, and would be in Gabriel's room every night while we were putting him to bed. I can't stand to come home and realize that our big sloppy greeter isn't here anymore. I don't like to look in the backyard and remember seeing her lying in the sun, or grazing like a big cow. I want to reach down when I'm just waking up and pet that head. I want to feel that big tail all of a sudden gently whipping my leg while I'm watering outside. All of it just hurts.

I'm trying to take comfort in the fact that for the last five years I've been home, and not working. We got to spend SO much more time with her because of that. And this past weekend I spotted a quote that has helped me more than anything:

"Don't cry because it's over. Smile because it happened. "

I just love that. But my goodness I miss her.