Nothing can prepare you for this day.  Nothing on God’s green earth.

October 15th, Monday, around 5:30pm, I had to say goodbye forever to my sweet puppy, Gracie.  The shattered soul I am left with is nearly unbearable. The grieving, the ache, the chaos and utter brokenness I feel is consuming.

It started a little around 11am.  My sweet baby girl, after a full meal with extra added canned yummy dog food, began throwing up.  “Huh, that new food did not settle well with her.” I thought. I rubbed her sweet tummy, her back and cleaned up her vomit.  She came into the room where I was working from home, and began shaking. I picked her up in my arms and she rested in them, shaking, and I felt her ears, her nose, her tummy.  She was warm. I didn’t understand why she was shaking and not cold. She started moving around and seemed to want to get down, and so I gently placed her on the floor. She went into the other room and laid down in a dog bed.  I looked up online what might be going on with her, and they said, wait about a few hours to see if the symptoms subside. A little later on, I checked her gums and her neck for dehydration as the online article suggested – all appeared healthy – she was responding well to those checks. She stopped shaking a little after an hour.  All things pointed to an upset tummy – “She’s going to be just fine” I thought honestly. I would go in and check on her frequently over the next few hours…  At one point, I heard her go outside, and when she didn’t come back in the room, I went and checked on her where she was laying in the dog bed again.  She went outside, in the rain, to go potty. She is such a good girl. She hates the rain. And she feels awful – I was so proud of her. She was such a good girl right up till the very end. So, so good.

I grabbed a towel, and dried her off.  I rubbed her back, kissing her sweet little apple head, telling her it was ok.  She got up, went outside again, and threw up a few more times the next time I came in.  She was just standing there. Just looking at me with throw up under her feet. I grabbed some cleaning supplies, cleaned it up around her little legs, and told her it’s okay.  She’s ok. “I love you, baby. It’s good you’re getting it all out. Get that nasty stuff out of your system.”  And I gently pushed her back into the dog bed to lay down and covered her with the towel.  I didn’t have severe concern at this point.  Just keep watching her…

She then headed under the bed, as I had opened the bedroom door for her to do so if she needed some rest. A little later, I heard some dog rumbling and commotion from the bedroom about 4:45pm  I panicked. I ran to Gracie, because I knew she wasn’t feeling well. She was struggling to breathe. I slid her little body from under the bed, and saw she pooped herself a little – likely from the rumble from the other puppies.  

I gently picked her up, took her to the bathroom floor and cleaned her little behind and back.  She was still struggling to breathe and I immediately was concerned, “No. This isn’t good.” I ran and grabbed my clothes, changed at a lightning pace, wrapped her in a blanket and rushed for the vet with her in my arms.  She was so weak. So, so weak.

I called the nearest vet while heading out, but they were closing soon.  So I was referred to a 24 hour vet clinic about 30 minutes away – in traffic, in the rain.  On the way, I kept my hand on her little back, rubbing it, telling her I loved her and “it’s okay, stay awake, baby girl.”  She struggled to breathe more. I raced through traffic, rubbing her, but completely freaking out. At one stoplight, I lightly pinched her neck again to check her hydration levels.  Dehydrated. I tried to pour water down her little mouth. Her tongue was hanging out, her eyes non responsive, but open. She didn’t respond to the water. She kept slightly grasping for breath. I tried to shake her awake.  I freaked out. I knew. She’s not hanging on. I told her, it’s going to be okay – and immediately I knew that was a lie. So, I kissed her, and told her, “baby, girl, it’s okay.  It’s okay. I love you. You’re such a good girl.” I knew at that moment I was telling her it was okay to go if she needed. I knew it. 

I continued to race down the roads, with my hand on her heart and chest, trying to gently shake her awake, pleading with her to stay awake, to try to keep breathing.  She would respond, but it would take all her body’s energy. She would clench up, she would gasp a little more. And I purposely ran a red light. I was sitting at the light, and waited for my moment.  “I have no time to spare,” I thought. I have to go the moment it is clear. I gunned it. I was just a short distance to the vet.

I pull up, and run to the other side of the car to sweep up my baby in my arms.  I grab her, her head just bobbing around; she still has a heartbeat, but she can’t breath. I walk in… “I…I don’t know what’s wrong with her.” They grab her from my arms and rush her to the back, put her on a table and begin treating.  

They say she wouldn’t respond or stabilize.  They tell me her heart and liver are both enlarged, they explain her lungs were filled with blood, they come out and say they don’t know how long they can keep attempting to keep her alive.  They come in and out twice, with new information. The last time the vet comes in, she makes the comment “…not sure what caused her to die” in her sentence. I froze. “She’s gone?” I thought,  “She’s already gone?” They didn’t tell me she was already gone that I could remember. The Vet just kept talking and showing me x-rays. After about 5 minutes of the vet continuing to try and diagnose her from her X-rays, I just looked at her, and said, “So… she’s not coming home tonight, is she?” Tears immediately flowing from my face.  The vet got it – she didn’t know I didn’t know yet. “Oh, no, sweetheart. She’s not coming home tonight. I am so sorry.” She left the room, I collapse in a heap.

My mother I had called while waiting for her in the waiting room the first time. I text my boyfriend as well.  My mom arrives and, shortly after, my boyfriend does too.  By that time, they had brought my little baby girl, wrapped in the blanket she was originally brought in with, and I was left holding her, sobbing.  We all took turns and held her one last time. She was cold, her eyes fixed open and her little tongue hanging from her mouth. We cried. We kissed her head, rubbed her little feet and told her we loved her.  And we thanked her – oh how I thanked her for her little life which was so incredibly impactful to me.  My baby, lifeless in my arms… She’s gone. She’s gone. She’s just gone.

It’s 2 days later and the grief is just barely starting to lessen, but still all consuming.  Stages of Grief have hit me so hard these past 2 days and I am determined to feel them all.  She deserves to have them all felt. Denial, Guilt, blame, Depression, Acceptance. They hit in different orders and in different intensities every few moments.  I haven’t eaten in two ½ days. My heart is in a thousand little pieces. We have 2 other dogs, Gracie’s brother and sister, and I am watching my best friends two other puppies this week.  Feeding the dogs, one less bowl to fill, is torture. Going to the bathroom, where she used to run up and come get scratches while I squatted and did my business, is gut wrenching. Not hearing her little snores, toots and whines while she sleeps, not seeing her lay next to me while I sit at my work area on her little pad is all devastating.  The first time I walked in the door from the vet’s office, and didn’t have her little pitter-patter against the hardwoods and her sheer excitement to greet me, is misery. Asking the other dogs, “Are you hungry?” before a feeding is heart shattering (Gracie used to perk her little ears up and dance and twirl around, pushing and jumping at the other pups in excitement – the other puppies would immediately get incredibly excited).  I have been trying to keep the routine up with the other two puppies, but I break in tears halfway through saying that god-damned phrase. Gracie made that phrase so wonderful to say.

I am writing a list of all my memories of her.  The way she played, the way she smelled when I kissed her head.  The way she ran, walked, pranced and danced. The way she whined in certain situations, the way she bossed the other pups around.  And when I used to leave, she knew the phrase, “I gotta go!” and she would spring from under the bed or from between the covers in sheer excitement knowing she was about to get a treat… God, what a joy she was.

I wrote a facebook post to commemorate her.  I am having my little baby cremated privately and will commemorate her life further with her tiny little ashes.  I’ll make jewelry with her ashes close to my heart, or paint her ashes in a picture of her.  I’ll keep a little beautiful box of her ashes on my mantle and think of her every day.

I am in the trenches of loss today.  My little baby girl, of almost 11 years, has left this earth.  I replay her last day – she suffered, she suffocated, she passed.  What a horrible last little day. I try to take comfort in that she had so many good days over the few bad days she had.  I blame myself – if I could have only taken her in sooner – would it have helped? Would she still be here? I cry. I scream and wail her name.  I go and lay in all the places she would lay. I have her collar, I hold it, I kiss it, and desperately ache for her. I hold my arms to me as if I am holding her, in them, miming rubbing her little belly and kissing her little soft head…My baby.  She’s gone. She’s gone.

It’s been raining non stop for about 5 days – before and after her death.  I choose to see this as the universe is mourning her sweet little soul. If I have learned anything, it’s that death is unkind and cruel.  It snaps what it wants, when it wants, with no explanation, no closure. But, the life she lived – that is kind. That is love. When she left, I said to my mother and boyfriend, “Death really does just leave love.”  Yes, the sting of death holds no mercy. But her little life and subsequent horrible death left an outpouring of love and gratitude and, yes, a mind and body numbing ache.

Today I wrote her a second letter.  Today it was time I had to come to terms with the fact that I didn’t take her in sooner. She just standing there, over her own vomit.  That’s when I think if I had just scooped her up and taken her in. I remember I thought about how it wouldn’t be good to leave work,  and how I thought she was just purging and it was a good thing… I begged her for her forgiveness in that letter.  I imagined how she wouldn’t be able to hold a grudge. I imagined how she would just be sitting there, licking my face, loving on me with no recollection of the events of the day, if she were still here. I asked her to visit me somehow, someway in some means if she wanted and was able. I am desperate for one last connection with her.  I vowed to never let the symptoms go on passed an hour in her brother and sister. I told her how much I love her, listed many of the things I loved about her, and how much I miss her. I keep telling her that, over and over – verbally, in my letters to her, and in my head I’m praying to her.  

I am so scared of when the memories start to fade. So scared of losing her slowly, day by day. I told her that too. I am coming to believe today that there has to be a heaven. There has to be a place where her heart is full and happy and alive and she’s in wonderful bliss, running around, healthy, happy, loved.  There has to be. I have to believe I will see that sweet face again, see her little legs running excitedly towards me, and we will be reunited.

There’s no right way to grieve – we each do it differently.  I know that for me, I am obliged to face all the discomfort, all the pain, as a means of fully expressing my deepest love for her.  To not grieve her, and to not grieve her well, in my personal opinion, would be not giving her the entirety of the process and the full scope of love.  Part of love is that there is also loss, pain, and ache. I know this. And she was that important, that she gets all of my sadness. She was such a fucking big huge deal in my life. She was amazing.

She’s teaching me something about the great impacts to the human soul one creature can have.  She’s showing me that no matter how insignificant you may feel, your life, even if it only touches a few, can touch people in massive ways.  She grew my heart. She calmed storms in my soul. She had a way to manifest peace when I was in chaos. She was a little miracle. I am so overwhelmingly grateful she was my gift and my baby for 10 years.  I am so grateful I got to love her, that she was mine, and it is my greatest hope I loved her so well in return. She was spoiled for sure. And I loved to spoil her every chance I got.

She was here.  Gracie Lee was here.  She has since left, but she has left so much love and joy in her wake.  She was here.

Thank you, baby girl.  Thank you for such a beautiful little life.  Your furry brother and sister will miss you so much, too.  

There once was three, and then there were two.

Cheers to such a beautiful, grand, wonderful life, baby girl.  I love you so much. I hope you’re running around heaven, being the little strong-willed sweet badass you always were.