It really feels like nothing will ever be completely right again. Everywhere I turn, I’m looking for Timmy. Any door I open in the apartment, anything I do…because he was always there. The worst part is when I get home from work. In the past year he had lost his hearing, so most of the time he would just sleep in front of the door until I came home. He’s gone. And then there’s the bathroom door. He never really came in the bathroom with me, for any reason, whether I was taking a shower or getting ready for work or what have you. He would just lie down outside the door and jump up to give me loves when I was finished. And now…he’s not there.
I know I did the right thing. Because he was hurting. The cancer, when it finally showed, deteriorated him so fast I couldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes. His poor body just finally gave up on digesting food, no matter how much he tried to eat. I held him (as best you can a 70 pound dog) as the vet gave him the injection that would ease any discomfort, and then still for the final one that stopped his heart. I know he felt easier and comfortable at the end.
But it doesn’t make it any easier. I miss him. He was my happy little “alarm clock” for 10 years. Getting up in the morning is suddenly a lot, a lot harder. I can barely think of anything else. Nothing feels right. Nothing at all. He was my soulmate dog, the one who could read my mind, the one who kept me company through some of the most difficult times of my teenage and early married years. When no one else was or could be there, Timmy was. Now he’s gone, and it feels like nothing will ever, ever be right again.