I'm Just Numb, This Isn't Happening., Going the wrong way on the grief cycle. Options

[Jaedon]

I felt like, when I made the decision to let Stella go.. my beautiful daughter, best friend, sole mate of a beagle, I had made my peace. It was the right thing to do for her, I OWED her that. She was only seven, and after fighting leptospirosis and kidney failure for two years, she had just given up. I cried for two weeks before I made the decision. I went through denial, then I was angry, then I could do nothing but cry, but then this sort of calm came over me, because I kept repeating the mantra, "It's not about me anymore, it's about her." And doing that, I could set myself aside and see how horrible she felt, how she herself was ready, and I knew what I had to do for her. But the procedure was horrible. It was horrible and I can't get the images out of my head. Afterward I felt dead, just as gone as she was. As if with her departure she took my soul. And since then I feel like a zombie, except for the times when I feel sick. I feel like I can't accept that she's gone. No matter what, I feel like she's just at the hospital again for treatment, and I'll see her in a few days. I can't fight through this fog, and I'm not sure I want to. For a long time, she was all I had-- my only friend, sometimes the only family speaking to me... she was everything. And now my instinct is that I have nothing. I'm hollow. I don't even know what "I" is anymore. I can't imagine life without her. Anyway, this is my first post, pretty much ever, online. I don't usually think people should be bothered with my worries, having enough of their own. But... I just don't know what to do. Any feedback would help me feel like I'm not so alone. This has been very stream-of-consciousness, so I'm sorry if it doesn't make the most sense.

[Jaedon]

When I first saw Stella, I was 20 years old and had just gotten my first apartment living by myself. My ex-boyfriend had called me and suggested I go look at some puppies in what was basically the armpit of a suburb of Dallas. I had been toying with the idea of getting a beagle-- I had wanted one all my life even though my family was a "##er spaniel family", so my request was always denied-- but I didn't think I was ready. I was 20 years old, still going to college and holding down a full-time job. I thought my lifestyle wouldn't be fair for a puppy. But my ex said that this particular puppy was exactly what I was looking for -- a female 13" tri-colored beagle who was mostly black. I gave in. I thought, "Well, at least I'll get to play with a cute pup for a few minutes. That's worth the trip."

When we arrived, after the 35 minute drive to a very bad part of town, however, I was horrified. The house was filthy. There were about five puppies thrown into a narrow, three foot high cardboard box which was located next to an open sliding-glass door. This was the middle of February which, believe it or not, is quite frigid in Texas with very unforgiving winds. But what struck me the most about the scene was a poor, sad little girl beagle sitting on a ratty, orange and brown plaid couch. Her belly was distended and her eyes were covered with dried tears. The breeder proudly told me that she had just given the pup a bath and dried her with a hair dryer. A huge no-no for a five week old puppy. I took one look at that poor baby sitting there, pulled my checkbook out of my purse, and asked how much the lady wanted for her. No matter what I might think of my current lifestyle, it had to be better than this. And that was how I met Stella.

She rode home that night hidden in the sleeve of my jacket, crying softly. Luckily it was a Friday night, so I had the weekend off. The next day, we drove to the local pet store and bought her all the fixin's. A new crate, stainless food and water bowls, toys, bones, and top-knotch puppy food. And then we went to the vet. As it turned out, Stella's belly was so big because she had a rare variety of hookworm, which the vet had diagnosed by trudging back through his school books. Stella's mother had been moved from Oklahoma to Texas while pregnant, and I can only assume her living conditions were less than ideal. So for a week, Stella's diet consisted of a bland hospital food laced with a powdered white medicine. Eventually, she beat the worms and boy did she come back with a vengeance. I thought she was possessed. She would bound around the apartment, chasing me, barking (at this point, she still wasn't aware that she could howl), and chewing the mess out of any toy (or high heel) she could get her paws on. I called to see how soon I could get her into puppy kindergarten and was told I still had a couple of weeks to wait. Yikes! In class, she was the star-- always a charmer. However, she still liked to show me that we were equals. I was not her boss, thank you. After a few breakthroughs and one-on-one sessions with her teacher, though, she became happy with the idea that I might not be her boss, but I was definitely her mom, and that gave her a new respect for me.

One day, while practicing "sit", "down", "stay", "come", and her famous "bang!" trick, she grew flustered, and, to her shock and mine, threw her head up in the air, front feet off the floor, and let out a great "RRROOOOOOOO!!!!" Afterward, she looked around in amazement as if to say, "Holy cow, was that me?!?! That was cool!!!!" From that point on, her nickname, "Roo", stuck.


Thanks for reading this insight into mine and Stella's life together. It helps me to write things out here... and the happy memories are starting to fight their way through the fog. I wouldn't have her back now if she would only be sick again... I wouldn't do that to her. As long as she's happy where she is and not in pain, I'm glad for her. And I am grateful for what she gave me. A best friend, a daughter, and a soul mate.