(no subject)
pupcake died this morning.
last night when i got home from adventures with danni my mom told me she wasn't doing well and to come upstairs. she was non-responsive. shallow breathing. at one point my mom lifted her head and it just fell. no energy in her body and i could feel her spine and how her tail had straightened. after awhile she was able to move. she kept edging to the end of the bed and at one point she managed to get down. we didn't know what she wanted, but now i realize it was probably water as she'd spent hours earlier puking by my mom's account, and god i hope that's not it but either way, she is dead and that can't be changed. i knew she wouldn't make it through the night, could sense her dying before my very eyes. wanted her too, hoped, but said my goodbyes anyway, stroking her head and holding her paws until i fell asleep. tell her i love her and it's going to be alright. you lived a good life.
the morning scene was almost as hard as waking up with her still warm body curled into mine. my mother cradling her in her arms, pupcake already stiffening with rigor mortis. my mother's wild eyes telling me she'd been alive half an hour ago, the last time she checked. my mother's eyes crying she should've taken her to the vet, she should've done this or that when the truth is pupcake was an old dog, had been sick for months now and we had no way of knowing, could not speak her language. my mother in the kitchen doorway sitting rocking and weeping over what remained of our 6th family member who had been her companion for all the years kate and i went missing. she will feel that empty spot in the bed, hear the silence which once had breath. my sister shooting out of bed, already tears in her eyes elevating her voice. she couldn't look, didn't want to see, but she did, and i'm sure the image will stay with her and haunt her to see such life as a shell.
it still is not entirely real to me. she has brought more joy to me and my family in the past 15 years than any other one thing and will be missed and mourned. i feel wounded as though her death extended in-part to me. she is dearer to me than majority of the humyn beings i've encountered in my life and how do we deal with the silence? the house feels empty, abandoned, like wood on a frame. my hands are dry and closing upon themselves instead of spreading out into her fur.
fuck.
to know i can't remove this aching.
last night when i got home from adventures with danni my mom told me she wasn't doing well and to come upstairs. she was non-responsive. shallow breathing. at one point my mom lifted her head and it just fell. no energy in her body and i could feel her spine and how her tail had straightened. after awhile she was able to move. she kept edging to the end of the bed and at one point she managed to get down. we didn't know what she wanted, but now i realize it was probably water as she'd spent hours earlier puking by my mom's account, and god i hope that's not it but either way, she is dead and that can't be changed. i knew she wouldn't make it through the night, could sense her dying before my very eyes. wanted her too, hoped, but said my goodbyes anyway, stroking her head and holding her paws until i fell asleep. tell her i love her and it's going to be alright. you lived a good life.
the morning scene was almost as hard as waking up with her still warm body curled into mine. my mother cradling her in her arms, pupcake already stiffening with rigor mortis. my mother's wild eyes telling me she'd been alive half an hour ago, the last time she checked. my mother's eyes crying she should've taken her to the vet, she should've done this or that when the truth is pupcake was an old dog, had been sick for months now and we had no way of knowing, could not speak her language. my mother in the kitchen doorway sitting rocking and weeping over what remained of our 6th family member who had been her companion for all the years kate and i went missing. she will feel that empty spot in the bed, hear the silence which once had breath. my sister shooting out of bed, already tears in her eyes elevating her voice. she couldn't look, didn't want to see, but she did, and i'm sure the image will stay with her and haunt her to see such life as a shell.
it still is not entirely real to me. she has brought more joy to me and my family in the past 15 years than any other one thing and will be missed and mourned. i feel wounded as though her death extended in-part to me. she is dearer to me than majority of the humyn beings i've encountered in my life and how do we deal with the silence? the house feels empty, abandoned, like wood on a frame. my hands are dry and closing upon themselves instead of spreading out into her fur.
fuck.
to know i can't remove this aching.