How To Go On... Options

[Meadowlark]

My beloved Gina left us two days ago on Sunday, November 27th, 2011.
There is no words to accurately describe what my husband & I are going through at this time. I feel like my life is empty.

She was 12 years old, and was plagued with medical problems since the day we adopted her from a shelter I worked at in July 2007.
We thought she had a seizure last weekend (she was epileptic), but a few days later she was having trouble getting a deep breath.
It turned out that what she had had was a heart attack, and had developed severe heart disease. We were absolutely shocked.
She had fluid in her lungs. The only treatment for that would have been the extreme opposite of the treatment that she was undergoing for her severe kidney disease.
We had been giving her sub-q fluids every day for a long time now, but in the end it was speeding up the process of her failing heart.
And we had no idea. Her vet had heard a small murmur months ago, but every time we went back (which was sadly very often), she never heard it again.

In the end, there was nothing we could do. Her kidneys were already considered to be in total failure for a long time. Her levels were over triple the normal levels.

She had developed a few behavioral changes in the last few months of her life. Chewing on our arms & crying, like she was trying to tell us something. No vet or animal
behaviorist could explain that other than dementia. It was still so painful to see her so sad & confused at times. She never hurt us though. She just seemed so desperate at times. It broke our hearts.

I feel guilty because I wanted her to pass away in the comfort of our home & I didn't give that to her. She died in an animal hospital. A cold animal hospital with smells of rubbing alcohol & fear, surrounded by sterile metal objects. No warmth. The only thing we could give her in her last moment was our presence & love, and a fleece blanket she loved.

I keep seeing her fade away after they injected the sedative & then the poison. I feel like I failed her somehow, having her put to sleep.
That day we had planned on taking her home & having her euthanized the next day, so that we could have one more night together.
But when they brought her into the room to see us, it seemed she was already partially checked out. She always gave us kisses, she would actually lick our cheeks like a dog might. And she managed on that day to give my husband and I each a kiss on the cheek. And a part of me thought if she could do that we should bring her home.
But deep in my heart, I feel that it was her way of saying that it was okay, that she was tired but still loved us enough to gather the strength to give us one last kiss. But sometimes I feel like we should have had one more night. I'm so confused...

I don't know who I am not having her in my life. Everything reminds me of her.

The windows still have nose smudges from her that I can't bear to wipe away.

She always preferred drinking from a human glass, so we always had one on our living room coffee table.

We always kept a chair in front of our bed so she would have an easier time getting up & down.

Her window perch, where she most loved to sleep, is still up. It's unbearable to think about taking it down, but it's also unbearable to look at.
It still has her fur on it.

I'm still finding fur on the floor & my clothing, and pieces of litter throughout our apartment.

I feel lost without caring for her, giving her meals, and medicines & fluids.

I'm still doing things out of habit like making sure the bedroom door is open enough for her to get in & out of.

When I open the blinds I always make sure the cord is tucked away so that she couldn't hurt herself with it.

Not seeing her food bowls in the entryway, or her litterbox. There is no too much space without all of her stuff.

Everything reminds me of her absence.

I can't stop picturing her last moment. I keep counting the hours, days she's been gone.

My husband and I keep thinking that we see her in the corner of our eyes, but then realize it's only something else. And our hearts break all the more.

She's never coming back & I don't know how handle this. She was my best friend & soul mate.

I wish that I believed in an afterlife so that I know that she would be there waiting for me when I died,
and that she would be free of her problems...no more kidney or heart disease, no more epilepsy, no more anemia, she would no longer be deaf. She would have all of the yummy food that she wanted, as opposed to her strict k/d diet. She wouldn't have to be poked with needles every day. She would just be joyful. And that's what she was here. She was pure joy & unconditional love.

[moon_beam]

Hi, Meadowlark, please permit me to offer you and your husband my sincerest sympathies in the physical loss of your beloved Gina. Losing a companion is never easy regardless of the circumstances or how long we are blessed with the privilege of their company. Euthanasia is the last gift of love we can give to our companions on this side of eternity - - at great sacrifice to ourselves - - so that they can be restored to their former youthfulness in the company of the angels.

Meadowlark, please let me try to reassure you and your husband that what you are going through is NORMAL GRIEF. When our companions come into our hearts and lives, our lives are changed for the better. They give to us their unconditional love and undivided attention, and we in turn surrender ourselves to them completely without reservation or fear of rejection. Our companions are totally dependent upon us for their every need - - physically, emotionally, medically. We live in a physically oriented world governed by the five senses of taste, touch, sight, sound, and smell. Every time our companions touch us - - and we touch them - - we form a physical bond with them. When they precede us to the angels, this physical bond is broken - - which intensifies the seering emotional pain of our grief journey. This is why it is important to find ways to help bridge this physical bond, particularly during the deep grief. For instance, when my companions have joined the angels, I literally slept with their collar under my pillow and had a blanket or toy that I could hold when the pain of not being able to hold them and touch them was so overwhleming to the point that it was excruciatingly unbearable. No, it isn't the same as touching and holding them, but that collar, toy, blanket, etc., is a PART OF THEM, and holding onto that blanket, collar, toy, etc., does help.

This is REAL PAIN you and your husband are dealing with, so it is important that you find healthy ways to help ease this pain during your grief journey.

The good news is that the love bond you and your beloved Gina share is eternal. It is NOT limited to or governed by the physical laws of time and space. Your beloved Gina is forever a part of you in your heart and your memories. She continues to share your earthly journey just as she always has and always will. There may be times when you hear a sound or feel a touch - - but nothing is VISIBLE. Please know you are NOT imagining things - - you are NOT going crazy. This IS your beloved Gina letting you know she is still with you.

You and your husband are going through a very real physical and emotional challenge of re-inventing who you are and establishing a "new normal" in your lives that does not include the PHYSICAL routines of your beloved Gina. And this is INCREDIBLY hard, and can only be accomplished one day at a time, - - sometimes one moment at a time. Some of the many questions we ask ourselves in this time of deep grief is "who am I now", "what do I do now", " how do I go on from here" - - and so on. We are now faced with the incredibly hard task of finding a way to live our lives in a way that will honor the eternal love we are blessed to cherish with our beloved companions.

Meadowlark, this grief journey is filled with so many ups and downs twists and turns and turnarounds - - it is frequently referred to as a horror roller coaster ride. Although we can only travel our grief journeys in our own way and in our time it is vitally important for you and your husband to know beyond all shadow of a doubt that you are NOT alone. You are among friends here who truly do understand what you are going through and we are here for you for as long and as often as you need us.

I know these are words, and I know there are no adequate words in any language that can begin to soothe the seering pain that you are feeling in your hearts and your lives. I can only hope that as you read the words I share with you that you will somehow feel the genuine comfort and encouragement behind them - - and the hope - - that someday, probably when you least expect it - - you will find yourself thinking of your beloved Gina and you will find yourself smiling - - genuinely smiling - - and your heart filled with the warmth of her forever love. This will be a GOOD THING for this is what your beloved Gina wants for you, and her heart will sing for joy.

Thank you so much for sharing your beloved Gina with us, Meadowlark. Please know you and your husband are in my thoughts and prayers, and look forward to knowing how you're doing whenever possible.

Peace and blessings,
moon_beam