i started this morning with a giant crying jag, because i read about someone making the difficult decision to put their pet to sleep. suddenly, images flashed in front of my eyes, memories unfurling unbidden. i can still feel the supersoft spot of fur on her forehead, still smell the cornchip smell of her paws. the remembrance is a physical ache to hold her, and i still hurt from the emptiness of her last breath in my arms. it’s been more than two years and that sob is still caught in my throat. i know i made the right decision, but i still live with the guilt of it, fresh as it ever was, if i allow myself to think about it.

it was the hardest thing i’ve ever done, and it took far more strength than running a marathon or walking on hot coals or throwing myself out of a plane. facing her death was much harder than confronting the possibility of my own. because she was mine – but i was also hers, and her passing took something of me with it.

i suppose in some way, i am writing this here now, because i still haven’t forgiven myself. and i can’t ever forget – but i wouldn’t want to anyway.

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