One Week

A few times this week I awoke and thought she was still here. Early and still dark, before I was fully awake. She slept next to me for seven years. Certain other things that I didnt want are staying with me. That night I stayed with her after she passed, but not for long. Shocked and grieving, I still knew I did not want to remember her that way. Covering her eyes, while I cried and petted her. One of the techs asked if I wanted a private room with her, to be more comfortable. Just wanted to be left alone with her, not to feel at home. She never would be again. As hard as I tried to avoid it, that blank stare was burned into my memory. That and the last look she gave me before they took her to the back when we first arrived. The first night it kept me awake. Lost and hurting, my close friend stayed with me. That meant a lot to me. When I just wanted to wallow in absolute despair on the way home, he turned me away from it and asked me to share with him some of my favorite memories of her. I needed that. Besides that feeling of 'gone' I feel like I left her somewhere. The dog that always had to be right next to me is alone and I cant shake it. Like I'm waiting for something to happen. Wasn't being there with her enough closure? How much more final can it be? Worked away from blame and 'what if'. What if I had realized it was liver failure earlier? It wouldnt have changed the outcome. The only difference is I would have taken her sooner, they would have kept her and I would get a phone call while she died in a strange place alone. She spent her last hours with us, alert and home.

Pictures of Clover