In Mourning

I haven't been able to bring myself to write about Brenda in weeks. I'm not sure I'm up or it now. She was put to sleep two-and-a-half weeks ago and my family is slowly starting to heal. Putting her to sleep was the hardest decision of my life, but I knew I couldn't continue living like I was. Nobody in my family could. Porter wouldn't walk in the apartment, he started chasing his tale and humping his bed in anxious fits, Brenda tried to attack him one night recently and deeply punctured my leg instead. She ran to the end of her tether and my body happened to be there. I was sleeping. Ben couldn't come home without calling first to make sure it was safe.

I feel a mixture of pain, relief, guilt, anger. There's a certain amount of redemption in the situation. She didn't die the way "they" wanted her to. The energy her body left this world in was positive. Had she died eighteen months earlier it would have been a big black cloud of suffering.

My friends and family have been incredibly supportive. "It's not my fault," they say. "You tried harder and longer than anyone else I know would have." These things are true but the words don't do much to ease the pain. I miss her terribly, yet I'm happy that my family can move freely again and I'm not constantly mopping up urine. I'm also comforted to know that Brenda doesn't have to live in constant fear, either.

I took Brenda's last day off from work and spent it hanging out with her. We went on a long walk, I bought her treats and gave her lots of pets. My constant crying didn't help make her feel at ease though. At one point I muzzled her so Ben could say goodbye. I left the room and tried to ignore his sobbing.

Since the vet is on a busy street and Brenda wasn't good in crowds, I carried her most of the way. Her belly flat against mine, her legs splayed out to the side and her head resting on my shoulder. It was her favorite position. She was heavy but I liked her like this because passersby thought she was cute. She was comfortable and secure and for those minutes she was a functioning member of society.

She stayed on my lap in the waiting room and I could barely see the doctor through my tears. Thankfully, Belisa was there with me. She wasn't holding up much better than I was. The vet laid down a pink blanket and started by shooting Brenda up on a high dose of valium. Her tongue flopped out of her mouth and would remain hanging there. We pet her and cried and held her as the vet gave her an overdose of drugs. Then it was over.

Now her ashes are ready for us to pick up, but I'm not sure what to do with them. I ordered prints of Brenda to frame and hang up near my desk, but they are sitting in an envelope. I'm finally able to think about her without breaking down.

I received a letter in the mail yesterday from a foundation for the veterinarian care of stray animals. Our vet made a charitable contribution in Brenda's name. I cried when I read it.

She was happy during her last days. She destroyed a cute pink and animal-print plushie purse my mom sent her as a present, ate great food and spent a lot of one-on-one time with me.

Of course every relationship gives you something. From Brenda I learned commitment, compassion, and patience. Through it all I developed an intense language with Porter who looked to me to protect him at all times. I'm calmer and more in tune with my clients now. I have the mental space to take on their problems in a way that I didn't have before.

Now I'm ready to put more energy into making Porter and Sadie the best dogs possible. Brenda is with me everyday.