Stretching the Comfort Zone: April 2019

I had to put her bed on my desk so she would let me work.

We didn't tell very many people she was sick. We wanted her last days to be filled with love and as much happiness as we could give her. We knew there would be time to grieve, and we didn't want to spend our remaining moments thinking of what was to come.

January 31, 2019

The diagnosis of lymphoma and kidney failure was not something I was prepared for as she sat trembling in my arms in the noisy vet’s office with the strange smells and sounds she hated so much. I think I was in shock at first, asking questions mechanically, listening to the vet apologetically explain to me it was the beginning of the end. I choked back tears and held as tightly to them as I could because I knew if I loosened my grip even a little, I wouldn’t be capable of stopping them. It was my job to cope with it the best way I could, to be strong for her. And when the vet informed me it would be up to me to decide when it was time to let her go, I knew the burden was even heavier. How can I make that decision? How can I decide when she no longer wants to be here? How can I pick up the phone and make the call asking for the appointment where she wouldn’t come home with me again? How would I place her in the carrier knowing it would come home empty?

My favorite coworker

And so I brought Annie home with medications and decided to love her as much as possible for however long we had left together. I wasn't ready to say goodbye. We began the undetermined amount of time with an ache in our hearts. The vet said it could be a couple of weeks or a couple of months. Every day that went by, I tried to tell myself we'd turn those weeks into months...maybe the months into a year.

After her diagnosis, Wes said he didn't know how to describe the feeling.

I do. It felt like a piece of my heart splintering ever so slowly. The more it went on, the more it pulled away, leaving a jagged edge. The only way I knew to cope was to wrap it tightly so when it finished splintering, I could it hold carefully and keep it from poking holes in the rest of my heart. Because I lost a piece of myself, and I know I can't get it back, so I have to learn to live without it until the memories bring more smiles than tears.

Hope has a place until it's no longer viable...and so we made the most of our time until hope ran short and reality crept in.

I always loved this photo of Annie. She frequently laid like this.

April 8, 2019
How can I decide when she wants to say goodbye?

I didn't realize she'd show us, but she did. It wasn't as hard to figure it out as I thought it would be. I knew last night, watching her, petting her, feeling the piece of my heart pull away just a little more...I knew it was time.

So I spent the day with her like we did most days. She napped in the shifting patches of sun, then curled up in my lap, purring when I rubbed her ears. I cried intermittently. As much as I hate to cry, I didn't hold back this time. I couldn't.

April 9, 2019
How can I say goodbye to my constant companion of nearly 15 years...my best friend?

Such a pretty girl.

There is no easy answer to that question because I'm not still not sure how to say goodbye...even though she's gone.

I held her while she slipped into a sleep from which she'd never wake. It happened so quickly—too quickly.

The dangling piece of my heart finally broke away. I finished wrapping it tightly, and I left it with my sweet Annie Sue.

Annie warming her paws.

Right now I'd give anything for her to stand on my keyboard and send random texts or sit next to me and meow—demand—until I move the computer to make room for her. I'd give anything for her to wake me up at 3:00 in the morning, meowing at the back door for no discernible reason. I miss her perching on my chest and bathing me until I wake up and rub her ears. I miss her trotting down the hall to follow me to the bathroom. I miss the way she'd sit in front of the fireplace and warm her face, stretching her paws and gently kneading the metal curtain.

Her favorite spot while I worked.

I still look for her to follow me every time I leave the room. I keep wishing she would come around the corner, talking to me and demanding I sit so she can curl up in my lap.

As a diehard introvert, I’m so particular about the humans I spend time with, and that sweet little girl was my best friend, my constant companion, my coworker during long hours working from home...my partner in crime. She wasn't my pet, I was her human. She loved me even when I felt entirely unlovable.

Someday, the smiles will come before the tears, the memories will be sweet instead of leaving the emptiness in my heart and highlighting the cold spot in my lap and next to me while I sleep. Right now they are so very sharp and leave me aching and constantly swallowing the knot of pain that lives in my chest and tries to work its way into my throat.

How do I say goodbye? I haven't quite figured that out yet.

I miss you, Annie. I'm lost without you, I love you, and you took a piece of my heart with you. Thank you for loving me more than I deserved.