To the Loss of a Pet - Distant Words Publishing

The pain that comes with loss is something that almost everyone understands. Inevitably in this life, you will lose someone. And I think for the most part, everyone gets that. If you lose a parent, sibling, friend, partner…everyone understands the potential jumble of emotions that come with that.

But what about losing a pet? Is it socially acceptable to spend years missing a furry companion? Or will people think poorly of you that you didn't “just get over it” right away?

Well, the answer to those questions is, I don't care.

Recently, I lost my dog that I had for 15 years. She was a Jack Russell Terrior and we got her when she was one year old. My youngest was only months old, and never knew a time when we didn't have her.

Evvy was a happy puppy: she loved everyone, jumped and licked on whoever was closest. She curled up with any of us when we were sick, she played catch really well, loved to jump and catch the ball and enjoyed a laser pointer more than any dog I'd ever met.

Four of us were with her when she passed, in the vet's office after battling several medical issues. I cannot properly express the gambit of emotions that went through me as she peacefully died. It was the most traumatic moment of my life, knowing that I had made a decision that brought her here, in this moment, to lose her life. That I knew she was in pain and we couldn't manage it anymore. That I had to say, it's better for YOU to do this than to keep you alive just for me and my family.

When you are forced into this kind of situation, this kind of decision, I feel certain that it changes you. You made a decision to end someone's life. And because it's a pet doesn't diminish the pain you feel from it.

I will never forget feeling her take her last breath. Watching her still, on the blanket in the vet's office knowing that I would never see her again. I'll never feel her cuddle with me again, or play catch with her, or struggle through bathing her.

And while this is pain at it's highest degree, I take comfort in the other things I'll never have. I'll never have to see her snap at me or wince in pain. I'll never have to steer her toward the back door because she was confused about where she was supposed to go. I'll never have to force her into taking pills she doesn't want, just to keep her feeling better.

Evvy was 16 years old and suffered from a collapsing trachea, kidney disease and had some form of dementia.

I take comfort, only a little, that she is no longer in pain. And I know I gave her the best years of my life while I loved her unconditionally. But it doesn't help the pain really go away. It doesn't solve the ache in my chest as I remember her.

Day in and day out, I miss her.

And whether society thinks it's ok or not to be this upset over a pet, I couldn't care less. My pain is MINE and I will do what I can, and what I need, to move on.