Personal Post: Farewell, Savannah
I had to put Savannah down today. She took a spill down the stairs after defecating on her bed, and I just knew it was time.
I had an idea that this was coming, but I'm still devastated. It's shook my entire family. I spoke with Dad, and my brothers. All of us were barely capable of speaking. Hearing DJ cry was shocking, as the only other time I can consciously remember that happening was right after our parents separated. And the only reason he cried was he referenced being a child, and Dad telling him that he was the man of the house and it was his job to look after Mom.
I am ashamed to admit I didn't think he had any emotional attachment to Savannah. But he did and he does and he went out of his way to thank me for all the years I cared for her, acknowledging that neither he nor Ryan could have done the job as well as I did. Ryan, as I expected, didn't answer my call. He doesn't like to get emotional, and although he can be a lot of things (among them: not always supportive) I've never doubted for a minute he cares about her
I'm not ready to say, "cared."
Initially, it didn't look like B and I were going to be able to afford the more expensive option that would allow us to keep her ashes. We honestly tried to come up with the money by changing around our budget, but there just wasn't $200 available, no matter how much I tried to shift around every little thing I could. Not there. We can barely afford the regular $38 fee just to put her down.
I happened to mention it to DJ during our conversation, but we were both so emotional, I just didn't feel right asking him to chip in. So I didn't, but I did convey my grief and regret that it just wasn't money we had. He asked me to please be with her and I reassured him that that was never even something I was considering not doing.
On our way to the vet, Dad called, wanting to know if it was too late. He'd talked to the boys and they had pooled their resources--$50 each to help off-set the cost.
"We want our baby to come home," he said, and he was trying not to cry, "so we can put her at the Lake House."
For as long as I've been facing Savannah's mortality, that's exactly what I wanted to do, too. She was so happy and so free, so I could barely keep it together to say, "Thank you" and he asked me not to cry because he, Ryan, and DJ had been crying all day and they wanted me to be strong with her. He praised me for doing the right thing even if it was the hardest thing and told me he loved me before hanging up.
I was able to have her head in my arms, and she went peacefully. The only sadness was coming from me when I felt her body go limp. I let out a wail that I think people down the hallway could hear. I spent about 15 minutes telling her good-bye, thanking her for the years of friendship and family connection, for me and my siblings and now my children.
I'm feeling okay, though I have so many regrets. Namely, that Savannah never got to see the Lake House again. But she's not in pain anymore, and for that I'm grateful. I'm equally as grateful that, inadvertently, Sue and I discussed this very situation in therapy during our session yesterday. I think it definitely helped give me the ability to recognize that the time had come, although I feel a very real part of my heart has broken.
I'm also grateful for my brothers and my father, for not being afraid to shown their own emotional reaction. DJ's reaction, in particular, was so humbling to me because I just didn't know. It made me realize just want an important member of our family she actually was. And for B, who has never seen animals as anything but a nuisance (and in the case of my dogs, a financial burden) yet still did everything he could to help extend out Savannah's life and its overall quality.
Many of you are my Facebook friends, so I just want to say "Thank you" for your condolences. We'll get her ashes back within two weeks, and then I'll try to figure out a way to ship her home. I'm not sure how we're going to make up the deficit (by my estimates, we're $75 behind where we need to be for our part of her cremation and shipping) but I don't want to think about that right now. Because as happy as I am that she isn't hurting any longer, a part of me is missing, and a larger part of me feels incredibly guilty, like I should have done more.
I had an idea that this was coming, but I'm still devastated. It's shook my entire family. I spoke with Dad, and my brothers. All of us were barely capable of speaking. Hearing DJ cry was shocking, as the only other time I can consciously remember that happening was right after our parents separated. And the only reason he cried was he referenced being a child, and Dad telling him that he was the man of the house and it was his job to look after Mom.
I am ashamed to admit I didn't think he had any emotional attachment to Savannah. But he did and he does and he went out of his way to thank me for all the years I cared for her, acknowledging that neither he nor Ryan could have done the job as well as I did. Ryan, as I expected, didn't answer my call. He doesn't like to get emotional, and although he can be a lot of things (among them: not always supportive) I've never doubted for a minute he cares about her
I'm not ready to say, "cared."
Initially, it didn't look like B and I were going to be able to afford the more expensive option that would allow us to keep her ashes. We honestly tried to come up with the money by changing around our budget, but there just wasn't $200 available, no matter how much I tried to shift around every little thing I could. Not there. We can barely afford the regular $38 fee just to put her down.
I happened to mention it to DJ during our conversation, but we were both so emotional, I just didn't feel right asking him to chip in. So I didn't, but I did convey my grief and regret that it just wasn't money we had. He asked me to please be with her and I reassured him that that was never even something I was considering not doing.
On our way to the vet, Dad called, wanting to know if it was too late. He'd talked to the boys and they had pooled their resources--$50 each to help off-set the cost.
"We want our baby to come home," he said, and he was trying not to cry, "so we can put her at the Lake House."
For as long as I've been facing Savannah's mortality, that's exactly what I wanted to do, too. She was so happy and so free, so I could barely keep it together to say, "Thank you" and he asked me not to cry because he, Ryan, and DJ had been crying all day and they wanted me to be strong with her. He praised me for doing the right thing even if it was the hardest thing and told me he loved me before hanging up.
I was able to have her head in my arms, and she went peacefully. The only sadness was coming from me when I felt her body go limp. I let out a wail that I think people down the hallway could hear. I spent about 15 minutes telling her good-bye, thanking her for the years of friendship and family connection, for me and my siblings and now my children.
I'm feeling okay, though I have so many regrets. Namely, that Savannah never got to see the Lake House again. But she's not in pain anymore, and for that I'm grateful. I'm equally as grateful that, inadvertently, Sue and I discussed this very situation in therapy during our session yesterday. I think it definitely helped give me the ability to recognize that the time had come, although I feel a very real part of my heart has broken.
I'm also grateful for my brothers and my father, for not being afraid to shown their own emotional reaction. DJ's reaction, in particular, was so humbling to me because I just didn't know. It made me realize just want an important member of our family she actually was. And for B, who has never seen animals as anything but a nuisance (and in the case of my dogs, a financial burden) yet still did everything he could to help extend out Savannah's life and its overall quality.
Many of you are my Facebook friends, so I just want to say "Thank you" for your condolences. We'll get her ashes back within two weeks, and then I'll try to figure out a way to ship her home. I'm not sure how we're going to make up the deficit (by my estimates, we're $75 behind where we need to be for our part of her cremation and shipping) but I don't want to think about that right now. Because as happy as I am that she isn't hurting any longer, a part of me is missing, and a larger part of me feels incredibly guilty, like I should have done more.