My Worst Day

Today, the 11th of October marks two months since the worst day. Two months since Lydia's passing. A few unexpected changes have occurred within those two months. Most of which were not easy, but they are nothing compared to the anguish I have felt over losing her. I am still in mourning, sometimes my emotions even get the better of me. I want nothing more in this world than to hold her again. I had her in my life for fourteen years. More than half my life. While I am forever grateful for so many years with her, I will never get over losing her. She was the sweetest, most gentle creature I have ever known. I am so blessed to have lived more than half my life as her person. On her last day, my mom told me she didn't wag her tail at all. Except for one moment. When I walked through my parents' front door to see her. For a few seconds she was happy. On her worst day when her body was failing her, and she was suffering, she was happy to see me. That is more precious to me than anything in the world. That moment makes me rejoice for the bond we shared. But it also made that night, and every night since then much more difficult. Having that bond and that moment with her is worth every tear and every second of pain. 

As I write this, I am wondering why. Usually, I don't express my feelings. I never express my feelings well, not in person. The only way I know how to express myself is through writing. I usually don't feel compelled to express myself, particularly not to many people, but I know I would never tell anyone how badly I hurt. So writing is my only sanctuary, my only tool to sort through my pain and remember.

I had thought frequently about how I would react if and when my mom told me my baby was in decline. I thought about what would happen if I was at work when I got the news and what I would do. Would I leave work early? Would I break down and cry? That Saturday night, August 10th, I was scheduled to close the bar. I didn't carry my phone on me at work. I usually left it in the office or on the shelves in the bar closet. It was about three hours after Mom messaged me that I saw it. It read, "Hey sweetheart, Lydia seems to be having a bad day. You may want to come by tomorrow, see what you think. Love you." I knew when I read it that I would be there immediately after work. Even if she was better when I arrived, I would sleep next to her all night. I would make sure she was okay. I called my mom immediately. She asked me to come over after work. I had already planned on it, but I knew when she asked me it was really serious. I had a feeling then that Lydia wouldn't make it through the night. I tried to go back to the bar and continue working, but I ended up alone sobbing in the bathroom. After a while, I told my best friend, who was the manager then, what was going on. My co-workers graciously helped me finish serving my last few tables, even though they didn't know what was going on. I didn't want to say it out loud. I didn't want to have to tell people that my baby was dying. I closed up the bar, dreading the next few hours, or rather the rest of my life.

I raced over to my parents house. As I walked through the door, Lydia wagged her tail. It was the first time that day. She wagged her tail almost nonstop her whole life. That was how Mom knew something was really wrong early in the day. That's how I know how much she loved me. She wagged her tail for me. She was laying near the door, so I got down next to her. After a few seconds of being with her, I knew we had to take her to the animal emergency clinic. My mom asked what I thought we should do. I said we couldn't let her continue to suffer. She was clearly in duress. So Mom went upstairs to get her shoes, and I laid next to Lydia, sobbing. I had just made the decision that would end her life. 

Oh, how that decision has haunted me. I hate saying it was the "right" thing to do. I believe in the sanctity of life, so I don't wholly agree that it was right. I do know it was necessary. She depended on me. I couldn't let her continue to suffer or to die in pain. However, I will be haunted by that decision forever. I set in motion the events that led to her death. And I will never forgive myself. That is the price I pay for having the best dog ever. She is worth every moment of hating myself. Every moment that I am angry with myself for that night, for telling the vet I was ready when I really wasn't, for sitting there while she injected my baby, and knowing that I'll never forgive myself is worth being Lydia's person. 

I carried her to the car. She couldn't walk on her own. So I carried her, laid her in the back seat. My mom drove us to the emergency clinic while I called them to say we were coming. She hadn't gone outside to pee all day. I think she was scared in the car or maybe she just couldn't hold it any longer because that's where she peed for the last time. I didn't mind. I just sat next to her, trying to comfort her. I carried her inside, until a technician took her from me. We filled out some forms while they whisked her away to see what was wrong. Sitting there talking to the nurse about our options and waiting to see her again felt like the worst eternity. Finally we were led to a room where they brought her to us to say good-bye. Mom and I sobbed the entire time we were there. We laid down on the floor on each side of her. Mom sang to her. I petted her head and wept. The doctor told us she was in heart failure. Her lungs were filling up with fluid. I could even see the fluid dripping from her nose. She looked so miserable. My heart broke to see her like that, especially since I couldn't make it better. I could only end it. The doctor told us she would wait until we were ready. Mom looked at me and asked if I was. I said "I'm ready." I knew I wasn't, but it would have been selfish to wait any longer. And it certainly wouldn't make this any easier. Mom continued to sing to her. I barely remember what I was doing, besides crying. I'm sure i was petting her. I don't remember if I sang along or not. I know that I was staring at her face. Lydia was looking from Mom to me and back again. As the doctor injected her, it was like she went to sleep. After a few moments the doctor whispered that she was gone. Then she told us Lydia must have known how much we loved her. I hope she did. I hope somehow she knew that I would have given everything I own if it would have made her well. 

After we asked to take the body home with us, Mom went to pay, and I stayed in the room with her. A nurse came in and carried her away. That was the last time I saw her. They made paw prints for us, one of which hangs on my wall next to my Icons above my bed. I see it every time I say morning prayers. They wrapped her in a cloth and taped it closed. They wrote her name on it, and drew a cross next to her name. I'm glad for that. That meant so much to me. They brought her out to me while Mom was still paying. I pulled the car up, and helped put her in the back seat again. The staff must have felt badly for us, they charged us less than their standard examination fee when it should've been more. Mom drove us home while I sat next to Lydia in the back seat. I carried her body to our back porch where she stayed until we could bury her. 

Shortly after coming home, her sister Beauty woke up. She had been asleep when we left, so she didn't know her sister was gone. I petted Beauty for awhile, and then laid down on the couch. I've never been so tired in my life. It was about three in the morning now. Mom slept on a futon on the floor of the living room and I slept on the couch. When I awoke in the morning, my dad had already dug a hole in the backyard for her grave. Mom and I stayed home from church. I went out to the back porch and sat near her body while I called my best friend to tell her what happened. I called out of work as well. (The perks of your best friend being the manager.) My dad and brother came home, and my sister-in-law brought some lunch over as well as sunflowers. We all went in the back yard and buried her. We prayed over her, I think. We each poured some dirt on top of her as is the Orthodox tradition. And there it was. She was gone. She was really gone. It was the worst day. I am grateful to my family for comforting me, helping me, crying with me. It was my worst day. I am grateful to all my friends who comforted me, to my 3 best friends in particular, Courtney, Raven, and Sophie for being so loving and gracious.

One of the most difficult parts was seeing Beauty wander around the house that morning looking for her sister. They were literally sisters and lifelong companions. They were best friends. I think Monday night when i was at my parents house again was when Beauty realized her sister was truly gone. She was lying in the living room looking at the stairs as if she was waiting to see Lydia appear and come down. Then Beauty began to whimper and cry. That broke my heart again, if that's even possible. I sat with her and petted her while she mourned. And she comforted me, too. She licked my hand, and laid her head on my lap, and we cried together.  

I think of Lydia many times every day. Sometimes I still cry for her. I whisper to myself that I want my baby. She will always be my baby. I called her that and she would always respond. She knew she was mine and I was hers. I remember how she would lay at my feet when I sat on the couch. When you pet her, she nudges closer to you until she can't get any closer. Then she would slip to the floor and wait for a belly rub. She would wag her tail so hard against the wall or the ground when she was excited that it sounded like a hammer. She slept on any soft furniture she could get her paws on. She had her particular chair that she loved more than any other piece of furniture. It was Lydia's chair. It is Lydia's chair. Every time I look at that chair, I picture her laying in it. It's been harder to go to my parent's house since that day. Knowing she won't be there when I open the door is still a horrible feeling. Every time there's a part of me that hopes I'll open door and she'll be there to greet me. Every time it hurts that she isn't. 

I think as time passes my grief will become more manageable. Maybe one day I'll be able to get another dog. But for now, I am just heartbroken. It's a fact. I'm heartbroken without her.