Confessions
My family and friends have all been very sympathetic about Lola, and I expressed gratitude at all the appropriate places, but what I really felt was anger. I just want my damn dog back, ya know?
The pre-hospitalization, hospitalization, and cremation charges add up to more than $4000. Keeping Lola in the hospital for another week would have pushed that over $10K, easily. I would have agreed to that in a heartbeat, if I thought it would have saved her. I was fully prepared to take a second job to alleviate the cost. There is NO amount I wouldn't have paid to save her.
I'm terrified that I'm going to forget what a special soul Lola was. I was pathetically grateful to have even video without sound of her so I can remember how she moved. I would give anything to hear her voice again.
It makes me terribly sad every morning to wake up and see Lola's bed with none of the pillows disturbed, but I can't bear to take it down. Barney has taken to sleeping there.
In many ways, Lola gave me an excuse for being a homebody, for not having any friends, for not having time to do things I know I should do. All I wanted was to stomp around our property playing with her. And that's all she wanted, too. What will I do now that I no longer have her illness as an excuse to stay put?
I've had a feeling for a long time, long before she had her first seizure, that Lola wasn't going to be around for very long. I never said anything, because I thought I was being ridiculous. But I did take every opportunity to be with her, and I told her all the time how much I loved her. I regret nothing about our relationship, except that it didn't last long enough.
I'm grateful that Lola never went through worse seizures -- ones that propelled her across the room with their force, ones that lasted for hours, ones that damaged her brain. I feel guilty for feeling grateful about that. I also feel grateful that she never had to grow old or infirm, and I feel guilty about that, too.
My parents and siblings asked me if I was going to get another dog. I don't get how someone can ask you that question just hours after you've held your dying dog in your arms. And the answer is no. I can't go through that again. Nothing will ever replace Lola.
The pre-hospitalization, hospitalization, and cremation charges add up to more than $4000. Keeping Lola in the hospital for another week would have pushed that over $10K, easily. I would have agreed to that in a heartbeat, if I thought it would have saved her. I was fully prepared to take a second job to alleviate the cost. There is NO amount I wouldn't have paid to save her.
I'm terrified that I'm going to forget what a special soul Lola was. I was pathetically grateful to have even video without sound of her so I can remember how she moved. I would give anything to hear her voice again.
It makes me terribly sad every morning to wake up and see Lola's bed with none of the pillows disturbed, but I can't bear to take it down. Barney has taken to sleeping there.
In many ways, Lola gave me an excuse for being a homebody, for not having any friends, for not having time to do things I know I should do. All I wanted was to stomp around our property playing with her. And that's all she wanted, too. What will I do now that I no longer have her illness as an excuse to stay put?
I've had a feeling for a long time, long before she had her first seizure, that Lola wasn't going to be around for very long. I never said anything, because I thought I was being ridiculous. But I did take every opportunity to be with her, and I told her all the time how much I loved her. I regret nothing about our relationship, except that it didn't last long enough.
I'm grateful that Lola never went through worse seizures -- ones that propelled her across the room with their force, ones that lasted for hours, ones that damaged her brain. I feel guilty for feeling grateful about that. I also feel grateful that she never had to grow old or infirm, and I feel guilty about that, too.
My parents and siblings asked me if I was going to get another dog. I don't get how someone can ask you that question just hours after you've held your dying dog in your arms. And the answer is no. I can't go through that again. Nothing will ever replace Lola.