On Closing an Open Door

My Dearest Smokey,

The veterinarian said I made the right decision, but I can't help but feel ruefully conscience-stricken.  Taking the remainder of your life from you was difficult and jarring...but please, please, please believe me...these past few months, your suffering trumped your ability to stay content.  I tried my best to make these last moments enjoyable for you.  I suppose only you will know the answer to that one.

It was excruciating tricking you into the hospital today.  When I first saw you at the Humane Society in 1998, you were a shaky, insecure pup.  Somebody must've treated you horribly wrong, because your heart expelled all kinds of distrust, so much so that you wouldn't even let me take you home.  Nevertheless, with time and commitment we built an intimate bond together...and for fifteen years, you trusted me to keep you far away from harm.  Leading you into that veterinary hospital will go down as my crowning deceit.  I'm so sorry.  You probably thought you were going on a walk, didn't you?  Please don't hold this against me.

There are hard choices in life...and they must be made effortlessly at times, despite the pain they casually string along in their wake.  Smokey, you will forever be absent from the rest of my life...and this choice that I've made...well, its burden is mine and mine alone.  I know I made the correct decision, but for today, I shall relish my guilt and sadness;  I'll hold them up like trophies, mainly because these are the equitable rights that come along with being a fragile, tender human being.

I'm so sorry that I had to let you go.  I love you more than you'll ever know.  Thanks for being my friend.

Into The Great Wide Open

My Dearest Smokey,

So it's here. The veterinarian has brought down the pulsing news that I was absolutely unwilling to acknowledge.  It's time for us to let each other go.

I don't really want to talk about how I'm feeling, so I suppose I won't.  Just understand that I'm just going to love you as much as I can until Monday comes. 

An Uneasy Struggle

My Dearest Smokey,

Your death, it hovers close; an unfortunate reality that pushes hard against your quivering, little heart.

Yesterday, Melanie and I entered into a rather heated argument over your well-being.  Her contention rests mainly with watching you struggle to find comfort.  She blames me for being headstrong and mentally unable to come to terms with your mortality.  There's a part of me that would prefer to idly dismiss her concerns, but they're as valid as my love is for you.  It's true.  I see your unhappiness and I am unwilling to let you go.

Shall it be easier for you to die?  I took you for a brief walk today and you seemed ecstatic, albeit it only for ten minutes.  I would've walked you all day long, but your stamina, it's a sliver of what it once was.  This temporary happiness...is it worth it to you?  Is it enough?  Or are you simply done with it all?

Oh, how you used to be filled with life!  Old age holds a unique type of brutality, the sort that marks this world with utter and blatant iniquity.

I suppose I could keep you inside.  You seem to manage the first floor of our house relatively well.
 But what life is that for a dog?  Is it even worth living? 

I'm beginning to realize that I already know the answers to all these questions...