On Saturday, August 12th at approximately 10:30 am, I had my dog Jack put down. It was his time.
I just don't know how to be right now. I don't want to talk about it. I don't want to answer the question, "How are you?" Do you really want to know how I am? Devastated. Broken. Miserable. Heartbroken. Hurt. Barely hanging on. Please don't ask me. It's difficult to say, "I'm fine," right now and I'd rather not lie.
I don't question whether the decision was right. I agonized for weeks about it. I gathered data. I analyzed the data. I considered every other possible alternative. It was his time. Unfortunately, all creatures eventually have their time. Unfortunately for me, that is. I wasn't/am not ready.
I don't want to live in a world without Jack. He was my baby. My child. My old man. My buddy. My heart.
When I got Jack, he could fit in the palm of my hand. His tiny little body could fit snuggly in the palm of my hand. His legs would dangle. He was adorable. And tiny. And I could walk faster than he could run. He hated that. I hated it when he could outrun me.
He fits inside a 6" box now.
Jack was named after the character Jack from Will & Grace. He was a drama king. We put a collar on him the first time and he laid on his side and flopped like a dying fish. He did the same thing the first time we attached a leash to said collar. Drama.
His collar and leash now sit on a shelf. His tags don't clang anymore.
This is so hard.
Jack has been living with my mom and her dog, Charlie, in Ohio since April 7th of this year. I drove over to see mom for a quick weekend and I left him there. The decision was terrifying and heartbreaking, but he wasn't happy in Virginia anymore. He was lethargic and grumpy. When he was at mom's, he was happy and social and he played. Since he was a puppy he loved being chased around her living room. I would often come out of my room to see him in play stance, ready to be chased.
I knew the end would come soon, he was 15 and a half years old...well past the average age for dogs of similar breeds. Yes, breeds. Jack was a mutt. A mongrel even. I wanted his last days to be ones filled with happiness. He loved my mom. Dearly. And he loved her dog. And he loved her house, he grew up there. She fed him ice cubes and let him follow her around the house. He was so loved.
I don't want to know he's not here anymore. It was his time.
I made the decision weeks before. I saw he was not doing well on one of my quick trips back to Ohio. He was struggling physically, the arthritis making getting up to follow people around the house infinitely more difficult. And there was something about the look in his eyes. He wasn't there anymore. My Jack, my heart was not there. It was his time.
Pete and I have lived without Jack in this house for the last four months. Pete is fine. He loves not sharing my attention. I am not fine. I'm glad I have Pete. He is helping me.
On the drive back after putting him down, I thought I would cry it all out and be OK when we got home. But Monday rolled around and there was a heaviness. A gray cloud. A dreariness. I called in sick. And I cried. When Tuesday rolled around, I thought for sure I was done. "All cried out," I said triumphantly. I made it through the work day. On the edge of tears all day. There are pictures of Jack just above my computer.
Then Wednesday rolled around. At lunch it occurred to me that mom would be picking him up that day. The 6" boxed up Jack. And I cried. At work. For a long time. I cried when I got home. I cried when it was time for bed. That's when I realized I would have to take this day by day.
Mom. The Saint. She and I handle grief differently. I shut down, she opens up. She let me stay closed. She kept people away. She made payments as I stood in rooms crying. She spoke to people and let me have my quiet moments. She is a saint. There is a good reason why Jack adored her. She lost her dog, Sophie, last year. This opened all those wounds. And she now has to grieve Jack too.
Thursday. It was a tenuous morning. I was standing on a razor's edge of tears. I made it through the morning. Almost. That's when I realized I would have to take this hour by hour.
I'll be spending my time now concentrating on not falling apart. That's the best I can manage.
Good-bye my heart.
