Goodbye . . . and Hello

Filed in: Life

My heart has an ache in it that has no answer. There’s a love missing from my life forever, one I took away last night and never brought home.

Crimson was a three-year-old peekapoo who ran out to greet me every night when I got home. She was my shadow, a fuzzy black and gray presence at my feet every move I made. She slept on my bed at night and under my chair when I wrote. We went for walks, cuddled on the couch, and played chase in the backyard. I met more of my neighbors because of her, and she alerted me to strangers, squirrels, and school buses.

But what happened last night, I never saw coming. Crimson woke me, obviously in severe pain, around 2am. I called my sitter to watch Rachel and rushed Crimson to the pet emergency center. Not even the strongest dose possible of pain medication eased her misery. When the vet couldn’t tell what was wrong from the exam and x-rays, she did an exploratory surgery.

What the doc found stunned even her. A massive tumor had invaded Crimson, adhering to her abdominal wall and several organs. It had consumed her right kidney. All of that she might have survived. But it had also entwined her aorta. At 5:45, I authorized the euthanasia.

This day has been one of numbness interspersed with bursts of tears and mindless function. I went to work to try to pack some for a corporate move. Sitter Kim removed Crimson’s toys, scattering of rawhide chips, and bedding. Tomorrow I will take a deep breath and move forward. I’m starting a writing marathon. I’ll need to juggle the finances to cover the bill for the surgery (which was more than my house payment).

I must say hello to and embrace life as it was before Crimson. Quieter and calmer, without trips to the groomer and PetSmart, without stabbing my foot on a rawhide chip at 3am, without buying orange cleaner and Febreze by the gallons. Without midnight walks and stargazing, without winter strolls so earlier in the morning my wet hair frosts over. Without that loving, comforting presence on the foot of my bed or under my chair.

Goodbye, Crimson. You will be missed.

1 Comment