life without sadie, day 0

February 22, 2011 at 9:21 pm 2 comments

dear sadie,

immediately i want you back. i’m sorry, i’m so sorry. i thought it was the right decision; i thought it was time, but i was wrong. i want you back. you left so quickly and now you’re just gone.

i cling to your little paw, i stroke your still-warm muzzle, expecting you to open your eyes and regard me with irritation, but you don’t. i want your small chest to rise and fall so much that i imagine it, my brain tricks me into seeing it, but it doesn’t come. you are really gone.

when i go to lift you, to put you in your bed, i can’t take that you’re so floppy. even though i have prepared myself for this reality, i am now sobbing uncontrollably, bent over your little body.

after hours of just staring at you and crying, we have to get out of the house. we are going to take molly for a walk and i just don’t think i can come back to the house with you in the living room, so we put you in the garage. omigod, it’s terrible. you look so small and alone and it’s awful, just awful. i finally pull myself together and we take your sister for a walk. the cold is clarifying, and i can focus on that instead of my grief, but then i don’t want to come home, because i know your body is waiting.

back in the garage, i struggle with wanting to bring your body back inside and knowing that you need to stay cold. jason suggests putting you in your spot in the kitchen, and i lose it again, mostly because i want you back so bad. i compromise by taking a blanket to you. somehow it makes you look so snuggly, like you’re sleeping; even though you never would have let me cover you with a blanket in life.

you have soiled yourself and i feel a strong desire to clean you up. i suddenly understand the desire to groom the dead, something i’ve always thought of as weird. upon cleaning you up, i realize that on top of everything else you were suffering from, you are also raw. oh baby, i’m so sorry.  i had no idea.

we sit with you; me clinging to your little paw, which is slowly growing cold.  jason brings out the grand marnier and we stay until we are so cold i can’t feel my legs. we debate reincarnation versus heaven for you. i hope you get a healthier body if you’re reincarnated. for your heaven, i hope it involves chicken pizzas strapped to the backs of three-legged rabbits.

somehow it helps me to watch the beginning of the decay process. you are growing cold, stiff, and stinky: going from my little girl to a dead thing. don’t ask why this is helpful, it just is.

somehow i sleep soundly. i hope you do, too.


read my next letter to sadie here

Entry filed under: life without sadie. Tags: , , , , .

a trio of soothers for the mucosally challenged life without sadie

2 Comments Add your own

  • 1. life without sadie « dogwood & poppy  |  February 22, 2011 at 9:22 pm

    […] the letters that follow are my way of dealing with what has surprised me as a heartbreaking loss. i really thought i was more psychologically prepared, as we had already started to grieve her loss before we made our end of life decision. but as it turns out, all the crying in the world couldn’t save me from even more crying. my eyes have never been so puffy and raw. […]

    • 2. Monique  |  February 23, 2011 at 7:25 pm

      Oh Amy, this must be so hard. Many hugs.


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