Moments in Time

There's an empty place in the corner of my bedroom. There's an empty place on the living room floor. There's an empty place in my heart.

Last weekend I said goodbye to Tash for the last time. On top of the adrenal tumor and the lymphoma and the arthritis, she fell on the deck and injured her right rear leg. She could barely walk. She barely ate. It was time to say goodbye. We had Saturday morning spend time with her, trying to prepare ourselves and letting her know just how much all loved her. The girls said their goodbyes and drew pictures for her which now hang on the wall where her bowls used to be. The vet came to our house, so at least Tasha was in her own home, surrounded by the people who loved her. She deserved that much. Lymphoma was a lousy, cruel ending for a sweet, supremely loved dog.

Putting her down was so much the right thing to do but it was the most emtionally painful decision I have ever had to make. I lost track of how many times I held her face in my hands and told her that I wished she could tell me what she wanted me to do. There were days when it was easy to decide, like when she'd greet me at the door, tail wagging. Most days it was much less clear. I wanted to do what was right for her - it was just so hard to know sometimes what that was. I don't understand how politicians or organizations can decide what constitutes life/quality of life for people they don't even konw. I had Tash for almost 13 years. I loved her and knew her and yet it was so hard for me to say when the joy she derived from her life was outweighed by the discomfort of her age and illness.

A day or so will go by and I'll think I've adjusted to her absence. Then, I'll walk in the door from work and catch the words "Hey, Tash!" about to spill from my lips. Or I'll mistake her for a dark object I catch in the corner of my eye. I can finally make a pan of bacon witnout going to pour it onto her dog food (a favorite treat). It's always the little things that get you.

Even when I'm not mourning for her, there's a hole in my heart. An overreaching emptiness that can't be explained, only felt. Another dog wouldn't fill the void. A pack of dogs wouldn't fill it.

A week ago Saturday, Ali sat on my lap in tears and said "Mommy, without Tash, I'm lonely." Me, too, Ali. Me, too.