My Biggest Regret, Dealing with the pain... FINALLY! Options

[kiarasmom]

I can't really believe I'm doing this, writing about something this is so deeply painful. But, the recent post from Missing Kamikazi brought back so much that I can no longer hold it in. I subscribe to this forum but have only posted once or twice. I sympathize so much with the grieving I have seen here, and yet, I have been too ashamed and guilty to share my own pain. I'm shaking as I type this so please bear with me...the story is kind of long, but I want to get this out. I realize many of you have suffered terrible losses in the recent past. My sorrow has plagued me since 2001---when I made a horrible mistake and the dog I loved more than my next breath paid a terrible price.

Chester was a Walker Treeing Coonhound I had adopted the year before from a local humane society. He only had three legs because he'd been hit by a car as a puppy. The humane society spent about $300 to have the mangled leg amputated, knowing he'd probably never be adopted. Nobody seems to want a less-than-perfect dog. But, I fell in love with him. He had such intelligence shining out of those big, beautiful brown eyes. I took him home and he became my baby, even though I had four other dogs I loved dearly. He was just so special. He was SO full of life and joy! He didn't let ANYTHING stop him from doing exactly what he wanted. Every day was an adventure, and he could make me laugh over the simplest things. In some ways, he was more trouble than all four of my other dogs put together, but I wouldn't have traded it for the world. I honestly think he saved my life. I have suffered from depression on and off all my life, but with Chester around, I simply COULD NOT be unhappy. I had even enlisted a dog trainer to help me get Canine Good Citizenship certification so we could do therapy work. I knew if other people could only see how much this dog loved life and got around, despite his disabilities, they too could find hope.

And then came March 17th. I had recently moved into a new house with a large backyard, but hadn't had the chance to install a fence yet. My dogs had lived in the country before and loved being outside, but this was in the city, beside a busy highway. And yet I didn't want to deny my babies their yard. So I measured around trees and bought tie-outs, thinking it would be for two weeks at most. I thought it would be safe. I thought I had taken extra precautions. And I placed the dogs outside while I did a few indoor chores. It would only be for an hour or so. My worst fears were realized when I went to bring the dogs back in. Somehow, Chester's tie-out had got tangled around one of my other dog's lines. He must have lost his footing and fell. The tie-out had pulled taut and he was literally hanging there. Have you ever had five minutes in your life that you would give anything to do over? I would give anything to go back to that split-second when I attached Chester to that tie-out. I've made many mistakes in my life, but as God is my witness, that is the one regret I will take to my grave.

I fell to my knees, screaming, and somehow managed to yank the tie-out loose. (My neighbors called the cops.) I tried CPR. I begged and pleaded with God. I called the vet. But, Chester -- my baby -- was gone. And it was all my fault. My stupidity led to his death. I felt like I had murdered him just as surely as if I'd put a gun to his head and pulled the trigger. Now, you see why I've never recounted my story here? I'm sure people are reading this saying, "You idiot! What kind of parent are you? How could you NOT know that would happen?" I've asked myself those same questions a million times since that day. The depression I sank into after Chester's death was unlike any I had ever faced. I kept that tie-out. I firmly believed I should end my life in just as much pain as Chester had faced. I owed him that.

So, you see, every time I read a post where somebody asks, "Why didn't I realize he was sick sooner?" or "How could I have let him escape the yard into the street?" I feel that old pain. For a long time after Chester died, I had horrible nightmares. I couldn't eat. I lost 20 lbs. If I let myself, I can easily feel that soul-searing pain and the emptiness I felt that day. But, the years since Chester's passing have also brought perspective and, I hope, a little wisdom. On the anniversary of his death each year, I light a blue candle at 6:30 p.m. and spend the next few hours reminiscing about all the beautiful moments we shared and the joy he brought into my life. And, yes, there are tears. His photos grace my kitchen door, alongside photos of my other animals. His ashes rest on my mantle in a simple, yet elegant, box engraved Chester, Love Always.

I made a mistake that day, and my baby paid the ultimate price. But, I wouldn't make that same mistake today. I learned a terrible - yet valuable - lesson. Unforeseen things happen. There are no guarantees so I have to show all the love I have today, this minute. Tomorrow may be too late. I can still conjure images of that horrible day, but instead I have learned to dwell on the powerful love we shared. The change Chester brought to my life, and the joy he taught me to live with. Now, out of the blue, I often find myself thinking of some crazy thing he did -- and I laugh. I can do that now. And I realize I'm living just as Chester taught me. I owe him that.And, I know in my heart, I'll see him again. And then I'll tell him "I'm sorry" in person.

[Ladypurr]

Dear Terry,

I'm at a loss for words. I can tell from your story that you will carry the burden of Chester's "accidental" death to your grave. I'm so very, very sorry.

I cannot fathom your pain.

We had a sweet, precious, bunny once called Hansi. He was always escaping his "owner's" yard and we were terrified he'd cross the street and get hit. We tried several times to make them aware of the situation but they were far too cavalier and made no effort to "rabbit proof" their yard. One day he escaped and came into our small horse pasture. My roommate suffered from serious asthma at the time and nearly killed herself capturing him. When his former owners never inquired about his wearabouts when he disappeared from them, we decided to keep him.

Hansi was incredibly precious. He loved the cats. Cherie would fix him a little dish of goodies every morning--carrots, bits of apple and celery. One day I came onto the back porch where we kept him and found him lifeless in a cat litter pan. I went hysterical. I cried and sobbed and demanded to know why? Why did you take this precious rabbit from us, God? We rescued him and we loved him. I never knew why, other than discovering that we were careless with a yard chemical. It had spilled accidently on the porch floor and neither one of us saw the tiny puddle. We theorized that Hansi had gotton some of the liquid on his paws, licked them and ingested just enough of the poison to cause his organs to shut down. Our precious soft bunny was gone.

I adore rabbits and one day I hope to have two again one day. I miss Hansi terribly but I hold fast to the wonderful memories I have of him enjoying his life with us and being adored. He was with us for barely a year but brought us such tremendous joy in his brief, but full life.

Terry, you must realize that you did not intend for that terrible accident to occur. Sometimes life deals us a terrible blow. Try as we may, we cannot protect against every danger or incident. Our world is a flawed place, just as we are flawed.

Try to think only of the love you shared with Chester. He would want you to remember just the good times and to try to be happy again one day. Do you think for a moment that he blames you? No, never. If he could, he'd reach down and lick the tears from your cheeks and say, "oh, mom, please don't cry and blame yourself. For whatever reason, I guess I just had to go."

We are hear for you. We grieve for your loss and we hope that God will extend to you comfort and solace.

Animals have souls and spirits, Terry--just like we do! You will see Chester again one day. Hold tight to that truth.

with love and deep sympathy,

(((Hugs)))

--Susan
~ a voice for the voiceless ~