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.

[Bobbie]

Dear Meadowlark,

First let me offer my deepest condolences on the loss of your magnificent Gina. Losing a companion that we love so very much is one of the hardest things to bear on this earth. I had to put my beloved Trevor to sleep just over 18 weeks ago and I still have the scars of that time. But this is not about me. It's about you and your husband and your wonderful Gina.

As Moon_Beam so eloquently told you, this grief journey is one long road of ups and downs, questions and confusion, strong emotions and misunderstanding. The ups are good, but the downs seem like they can kill you in the beginning. Oh, Meadowlark, you two are just at the beginning of this journey. Please, please give yourself plenty of time and space to travel the grief road on your own terms. Be assured that Gina is right there with you. Her Spirit lives on, in your heart, your soul, your thoughts and your actions. She will never, ever leave you, as she had to with her physcal body. Everything that you are describing is absolutely NORMAL part of grieving. You put your heart and soul into making Gina comfortable and happy. And you did a great job. In doing so, you opened a place in your heart that, unbeknownst to you, was going to have to be strong enough to give Gina the ultimate gift: that of releasing her from pain and suffering to go over he Rainbow Bridge to a much better Spirit-place that I call Heaven. You can call this wonderful place anything that gives you peace of mind. Even those of us who have lost more than one companion over the years, find that each time we pour out our love to our best friend(s), our hearts are shredded and our souls are crushed. This is the responsiblity we accept when we take an animal into our lives and love them with everything we have. And I can tell from your words that you absolutely adored Gina. And in return you received unconditional, total love from Gina. And that is just about impossible, right now, to physically live without.

I personally think some of the best things you can do for Gina and yourselves are to talk about your feelings or write them here. Let us carry some of the awful burden you are left with. Tell us what your pain is all about (like). Tell us or whomever over an over until there is a bit f relief. I, too, do not work due to medical issues, so I completely understand the emptiness that you are experiencing. You could fill that time by making some kind of memorial to Gina in your apartment/home. I have pictures and little love notes to Trevor in every room of my house, including the bathroom and in the basement. I sleep with a small, framed picture of Trevor wrapped in a piece of one of his favorite blankets, in my arms, next to my heart, every single night. In the morning his picture goes back on my nightstand and the blanket rests on my pillows. Trevor needed lots of potty pads (A LOT) during the last several months of his life and they coverd our downstairs and upstairs bedroom. I took two pads and wrote love notes on them and they are still hanging up: one in the kitchen and one in the upstiars hallway. I took weeks to slowly remove one pad at a time. That was all I could do because I felt like I was betraying his memory if I did things any quicker. Water stayed in his water bowls for weeks (I changed it regularly, too.), the conforters he layed on are still in the extra bedroom, although I was able to move them from our bedroom and living room. They are not washed and will never be. Every morning I light a small memorial candle to Trevor and keep it on the stove, only extinguishnig it when we go to bed at night. Little written notes are on them, too. I am planning on making a super collage of every one of his pictures. WE had him for just 2 years and 2 months. Again, these are the things that have helped me on my grief journey. There are many other ideas that you will either find out about or do on your own. And they are all OK. They can stay in place for a long as you and your husband want them to. Gina was your beloved companion, no one elses', so you choose what makes you feel better and connected to Gina.

There is no way to "escape" your pain. It will find you, so try embracing it as a tetimony to the love you and Gina shared. I assure you, that will ease with time. Time IS the greatest healer of all. It won't feel like that, for you, yet because your loss is so current and fresh. Things WILL get better, but only at a pace that is right for you and your husband. Don't rush things. There is no reason to. You are not going to be "stuck" in this level of pain and grief forever. Feeling more at peace may eve catch you by surprise, as it did me. I would realize, one day, that something didn't feel quite as awful as it had and I thought "I must be getting better." And I think I was. Crying, I call it "leaking eyes", is a very healthy way to grieve. It literally washes toxins from our body and uses a lot of that extra enegy we have. No, crying will not bring Gina back, but each and every tear you shed is filled with your love for Gina and she knows it better than anyone. Bedtime, is also my worst time. That is why I am on this site almost every night, still. I now write love notes to Trevor. One love note per day. Before that I wrote a lot about Trevor, his illnesses and his passing, my grief and my loneliness. One benefit of writing everything down, even on this site, is that you can print it out whenever you want to and keep it tucked away. I have a wiine The Pooh small chest that I have put the most important items (including my letters) from each boy (doggie) that I have lived with. They are safe and available to me at any time.

I have had the good fortune to have all, but my first boy, euthanized in our home. That ma sound gross to some, but I was blessed to have to time to do so. It comforts me to no end, knowing where each of my boys took their final breaths with me and their daddy stroking them and soothing them in those final moments. Even then, it is a crushing time when we came back from the cemetery and our boy wasn't there anymore. What do you do? I know I cried like a baby and often barely made it to the couch to sob and sob my heart out. I went to each boy's favoirte spot and lied there for hours. My husband took the day off from work an just sat. I also talked about him, in bits and pieces at first and then more and more. I constantly told everyone how much I missed each boy and how wonderful he was. I even sent out a general email to family and friends who knew the boy, telling them of his passing. I got a ton of wonderful, supportive replies and printed every single one. They are all in my Pooh chest.

Meadowlark, all I can tell you about functioning, is that you only have to DO whatever you can and not a stitch more. Housework can wait, meals can be gotten from the outside, etc. Right now you are in a state of severe shock. That is taking over your mind and body and there's not a whole lot you can do about it. Yes, if you were able to work outside the home, it would help for a few hours, but then you would come home again. My sister, Gretta's mom (Jeanne), had to go back to work right away after her Gretta passed and it was no easier than when my Trevor passed and I was alone. This time of year makes getting out to go to a park or whatever harder, too, because of the colder weather. I still bundle up and drive to the cemetery and sit there, in the cold. It's what I want to do and that makes things a tiny bit better. Don't look for leaps and bounds. Take those baby steps that lead to relief. It will happen. It will come. I promise you.

Meanwhile, you have every single one of us Lightning-Strikers here for you 24/7. We are from all over the world, so someone will be awake to read posts almost all the time. Your posts will be read and understood. While this is your first experience with the awful reality of a companion's death, all of us have "been there - done that" and truly know what you are talking about. So visit this site whenever you want to. Share your love of Gina with us. We'd love to see pictures and hear memories of a wonderful girl. And please try to get a little rest, even if sleep eludes you. And don't forget to eat! Nourishment is very important during this stressful time. I will be checking in with you to see how you and your husband are doing. I tell you all about the Promised Land or Heaven or whatever you want to call the awesome place Gina is now (besides in your hearts).

Blessings...............
Bobbie (Crocker, Birney, Kelly, Jasper, Rudy, Trevor, Spot & Squirt's mommy)