Dearest Itty Bitty Pretty Fritty:
Last night was hard. By the time we got home from the vet's, I was second guessing our decision to put you to sleep. I disparately wanted to undo the deed, gather up our little boy, and hold you close. In fact, my misery started the moment I pulled out the credit card to pay for the final injection and the cremation. I asked the vet tech if you were still laid out in the examining room and could I go hold you one last time, but you had already been removed to their surgery. They told me I could go see you if I wanted but I left without holding you.
Most of last night I sat huddled in misery, constantly crying. Gus lay at my feet or tried to cuddle with me on the bed. I didn't reject him exactly -- but one dog certainly does not replace another. You couldn't comfort me when Wolf died. Now it was Gussie's turn to feel my pain.
At midnight I had finally exhausted myself into a sound sleep. I do not know if I dreamed of you. I don't remember doing so. I only know that at 3 a.m. I suddenly woke up and KNEW in my heart -- not just my head -- that we had done what you wanted us to do. You were no longer sick and tired and worn out. You had really wanted us to help you stop feeling so bad.
On Monday night I knew that you were telling me to let you go. On the Tuesday drive to the vet's, when you had vomited in the car from the heat and the misery in your little tummy, you had lifted up those huge brown eyes and told me how awful you felt. But once the vet started telling me about more hydration and starting new IV's and what they could do to try to bring you around (again) and long vet stays in strange cages, I began to second guess myself.
I had finally broken into the recital of options and said to the vet, "Don't you think he's telling us he's really tired and ready to stop all this?" And then finally they had offered up the deadly option. Afterwards, they all assured us we had done the right thing for you. "He had lost more than a third of his body weight since May. He wouldn't eat. He couldn't keep food down anymore. He was weak and tired and sad. He didn't want to visit the park and his buddies any more. He couldn't play. Even sleeping was becoming harder because he couldn't find a place of real comfort." Oh, yes, they assured me finally, this was the best choice.
Yet, if I had been willing to spend another $800 or so could I have kept you alive for at least another three weeks? So did I put you down simply to save the money? That was why I cried and cried and cried last night. Had I scarified my loving boy for money?
So, one more time, my little boy, you came through for me. You somehow let me know during the night that I had been right in my belief that you had clearly communicated to me that you didn't want to feel so sick any more. That you were tired and worn out and I needed to fix this problem even if that broke my heart. It wasn't money that made up my mind -- it was Fritzy, telling me you were done and to please help stop the misery.
Am I still crying? Of course. But my heart is easier in the tears now.
Thank you, Little Man, for all the love and joy and loyalty you gave to me and your papa and Wolfie and then Gus. Thank you for your life. I will always love you. I will always miss you. If there's a heaven, my little boy, you had better be right there, waiting to greet me and give me a nudge with that lovely bearded chin so I will rub your belly. I will have treats just for you. Keep the faith with Wolfie, okay? Because you and Wolf are the two I will be looking for first thing when I cross over . . .
With deepest love and thanks -- your mama