So. Lancelot.
I have been putting off writing this entry because I was honestly exhausted by the whole situation. Going back to work, everyone wanted to console me about it, which is thoughtful but means I had to have the same conversation as I'm about to type here about twenty times, plus people wanting updates while he was sick. I just wasn't up to writing it again, but I need to. So. Here I am.
We lost Lancelot over December break. We had to put him down on the 22nd, on Solstice. The vet had said he'd do well until he didn't. That's exactly what happened. Earlier in the month, we came home and he wouldn't get up. We took him for an emergency appointment the next day, and his vet was able to adjust his meds and start him on a round of antibiotics that brought him back from the brink. Nonetheless, where he was gaining in endurance by the day before that point, now he was starting to lose the same. He was moving less and sometimes fell down the steps. He was less willing to try to do things and lost some of his interest in activities, like going for walks, that he always loved.
On Friday, the last day of school before break, I came home from work and found him on his bed, unable to get up. Bobby called his vet the next morning, and she adjusted his meds again. However, it didn't work this time. We were having to carry him outside to use the bathroom; his legs started giving out, and he'd just tumble sideways into the snow. On Saturday, I was home while Bobby was practicing with the snowboard team, and I carried him into the study with me and laid him on a blanket beside my desk. He always stayed next to me in the study while I worked. He wouldn't ask for anything, and I honestly rarely even registered that he was there. But he was there. He was unable to even lift his head from the floor. He laid there, panting hard and staring, wide-eyed, for hours. It was awful. It was clear that he was, at best, uncomfortable. At worst, suffering. And I knew it was the last time I'd have him beside me while I worked.
That night, we put him on the ottoman and watched Elf. It was the most comfortable he'd been all day. He slept for a while. I kept my feet pressed against him. I allowed myself to laugh. Bobby was beside me with Guinevere between us. When it was time for bed, I thought, "This might be the last time our little family is together." It's rare, I found, to know those moments when they come. But time is what it is, and even knowing what I did, I had to leave that moment behind me, in memory.
It was our last time all together. The next morning, Bobby couldn't even get him to stand when he carried him outside. He tumbled over no matter what he did. He called the vet, and she met us again for an emergency appointment so that we could put him down. I couldn't stand the thought of him suffering for even another day. I felt awful that he'd suffered even as much as he did. We had no idea that the adjusted meds wouldn't work, but when it was clear they wouldn't ... well, he'd been too good of a friend to us.
Bobby had already dug the grave, before the ground froze, at my mom's urging. We wrapped Lancie in the old comforter that was on our bed for most of his life before Guinevere, scratching at it to make a nest, ripped it beyond repair. We tucked in toys and treats and a little Matchbox dumptruck because we had invented this story of him as a construction worker that the entire family knows and, at this point, contributes to in small ways. (My dad once brought a cake for Lancelot's birthday with a construction worker decoration on it.) I read what I have come to think of as the funeral texts from Whitman's Song of Myself. And then began the long slow grief. It wasn't the gutpunch of bewilderment that losing Alex was. I knew it was coming, and so it felt easier in a way, but nothing can prepare you for the moments when you expect someone to be there and they just ... aren't. I still encounter them from time to time. I had one yesterday, coming here and seeing my entry from mid-December and thinking, he was probably right behind me on the floor when I wrote that ...
He was my sweet little boy. And goddamn the time went fast. I can still remember seeing him for the first time, running out into the road as we walked Alex, and our neighbors asking if we wanted him, and needing only a few hours to decide, yeah, we did. And then his life was superimposed on ours and woven with it.
Until it was not.
This post was originally posted on Dreamwidth and, using my Felagundish Elf magic, crossposted to LiveJournal. You can comment here or there!
https://dawn-felagund.dreamwidth.org/444174.html
We lost Lancelot over December break. We had to put him down on the 22nd, on Solstice. The vet had said he'd do well until he didn't. That's exactly what happened. Earlier in the month, we came home and he wouldn't get up. We took him for an emergency appointment the next day, and his vet was able to adjust his meds and start him on a round of antibiotics that brought him back from the brink. Nonetheless, where he was gaining in endurance by the day before that point, now he was starting to lose the same. He was moving less and sometimes fell down the steps. He was less willing to try to do things and lost some of his interest in activities, like going for walks, that he always loved.
On Friday, the last day of school before break, I came home from work and found him on his bed, unable to get up. Bobby called his vet the next morning, and she adjusted his meds again. However, it didn't work this time. We were having to carry him outside to use the bathroom; his legs started giving out, and he'd just tumble sideways into the snow. On Saturday, I was home while Bobby was practicing with the snowboard team, and I carried him into the study with me and laid him on a blanket beside my desk. He always stayed next to me in the study while I worked. He wouldn't ask for anything, and I honestly rarely even registered that he was there. But he was there. He was unable to even lift his head from the floor. He laid there, panting hard and staring, wide-eyed, for hours. It was awful. It was clear that he was, at best, uncomfortable. At worst, suffering. And I knew it was the last time I'd have him beside me while I worked.
That night, we put him on the ottoman and watched Elf. It was the most comfortable he'd been all day. He slept for a while. I kept my feet pressed against him. I allowed myself to laugh. Bobby was beside me with Guinevere between us. When it was time for bed, I thought, "This might be the last time our little family is together." It's rare, I found, to know those moments when they come. But time is what it is, and even knowing what I did, I had to leave that moment behind me, in memory.
It was our last time all together. The next morning, Bobby couldn't even get him to stand when he carried him outside. He tumbled over no matter what he did. He called the vet, and she met us again for an emergency appointment so that we could put him down. I couldn't stand the thought of him suffering for even another day. I felt awful that he'd suffered even as much as he did. We had no idea that the adjusted meds wouldn't work, but when it was clear they wouldn't ... well, he'd been too good of a friend to us.
Bobby had already dug the grave, before the ground froze, at my mom's urging. We wrapped Lancie in the old comforter that was on our bed for most of his life before Guinevere, scratching at it to make a nest, ripped it beyond repair. We tucked in toys and treats and a little Matchbox dumptruck because we had invented this story of him as a construction worker that the entire family knows and, at this point, contributes to in small ways. (My dad once brought a cake for Lancelot's birthday with a construction worker decoration on it.) I read what I have come to think of as the funeral texts from Whitman's Song of Myself. And then began the long slow grief. It wasn't the gutpunch of bewilderment that losing Alex was. I knew it was coming, and so it felt easier in a way, but nothing can prepare you for the moments when you expect someone to be there and they just ... aren't. I still encounter them from time to time. I had one yesterday, coming here and seeing my entry from mid-December and thinking, he was probably right behind me on the floor when I wrote that ...
He was my sweet little boy. And goddamn the time went fast. I can still remember seeing him for the first time, running out into the road as we walked Alex, and our neighbors asking if we wanted him, and needing only a few hours to decide, yeah, we did. And then his life was superimposed on ours and woven with it.
Until it was not.
This post was originally posted on Dreamwidth and, using my Felagundish Elf magic, crossposted to LiveJournal. You can comment here or there!
https://dawn-felagund.dreamwidth.org/444174.html