The Little Things Seem To Be The Hardest... Options

[mmholt]

Moving her crate out of the house. Washing her blankies and stuffed toys. Waiting for them to call so I can pick up her ashes. Knowing that when I vacuum next, that will be the last time I vacuum up her hair. These are the things that make me cry. I didn't cry when I saw Sissy lying lifeless in her kennel. I didn't cry when my husband zipped her into a body bag to keep her safe until we could get to the crematory. I feel like I am going crazy. I just want to stay in bed all day, forever.

I keep playing that whole night over and over again in my mind. I'd just gotten out of the shower, and I realized it was way past the dogs' bedtime. We sent our son out to bring the dogs in. I mentioned to my husband that Sissy was due for her shots next month, and then our son came in and said "Daddy, Sissy won't get up." Before all the words were out of his mouth, I knew - my son's almost 14, and hasn't said "Daddy" in years. And I could see in his eyes that he knew she was dead but didn't want to believe it. I think a part of him was sure that his Daddy could fix it, like Daddy always could fix everything. But not this time.

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