Yes, Isabelle is gone now.
It was a lot harder than we both thought it would be. Once again, the day before and the morning of, she seemed okay - once she was up. Partly this might be due to the fact that I'd upped her meds so much, which her liver wouldn't be able to sustain for much longer than a month or so anyway.
We went away earlier in the week, and Holly - Isabelle's best pal who stays with her while we're away - came for one more night with her. I gave Isabelle a bath and trimmed her nails to "get her ready for Holly." While bathing her, I noticed how thin her back end had become. Her backbone stuck up - her hip bones stuck up - her back legs barely having any more muscle on them. And I cleaned the green gunk out her eyes yet again.
Being away from her was okay this time. I knew she was with Holly. I knew there was still time. But, on the ride home, as we got closer, I felt the saddness come over me. I took her for a walk that night - a long walk - almost four blocks. Casey went too. I gave her treats and went to bed. The next morning, I was up early and took her for another walk - another long one, then sat out on the porch with her, then inside the house.
Repair workers were coming to get started for the day. Casey talked with them while I sat in the diningroom with Isabelle. It was sort of like waiting for the plane to make the final boarding call when one person is leaving the other.
When he finally came through the door to get her, he stood for a moment, his lip quivered and his eyes filled with tears. We both cried and laughed, knowing that he was supposed to be the strong one in this moment and suddenly, it was just as hard for him as it had been for me. We hugged and cried, I got Isabelle up and led her out to the car. I gave her a big hug, then helped her into the back. I hugged her head one more time, then shut the door. I watched as they drove off - Isabelle's head peering out above the seat. She loves car rides.
When Casey came home, more tears, more hugs. We lay on the bed together, holding one another. I asked him to tell me about it. "Were they nice?" I asked. "Yes," he said. That's all that mattered. He didn't stay in the room with her when they administered the shot. I wouldn't have expected him to. He said, "The vet looked at the chart, looked at me and said, 'We'll bill you.'" Her leash and collar are still in the car. I can't bring myself to take them out yet. I try not to do dumb stuff, but already, at the grocery store, I saw paper towels on sale and reached for a big pack of them, then stopped myself. I was getting them to clean up after Isabelle. To wipe off her eyes, to wipe down the slobber off the walls, to clean up her drool. I didn't need them anymore, and I broke down crying in the aisle at Meijer.
Silly, I tell myself. Silly, silly, silly. But I still can't make it stop from happening. So, I just let it happen.
1 comment:
Your posts about Isabelle made me cry. I feel the exact same way, did the very same things.
Scrappy also lost a bunch of weight, then began to pull out huge globs of hair. And I also use paper towel, in fact, the day after he died, I grabbed two sheets of it and went outside (to wipe his mouth) I started to cry, customers watched as I sat there with paper towel in my hands.
But I think the worst part of it was watching him leave, I couldn't be there for it, my friend had taken him in. Lucky for you, you have a loving husband who was there for you, I was alone and had to keep it inside in order to work the rest of the day, with my brothers who to be honest, didn't care, then let it all out that night.
I am moving on, my other cat and her 5 kittens need me too. Scrappy will not be forgoten, I will cherish the memories I have of him, just as you have with your dog, no doubt she was a beautiful dog.
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