When I last wrote about Eddie, it ended up being the day that I let him go. It had been a rough two weeks for him, and as much as I wanted to believe that he was going to get better any day, he wasn’t. I saw the x-ray images. I saw how much he was quietly suffering.
It’s been over a month, and I still miss him every day. But I know that he felt loved right until the end. I took him to the park that evening by carrying him in a duffel bag, and we lay on the grass as the sun went down. Then I carried him home, and lay with him on the couch. Before the vet came, I cleaned his face and his paws, and clipped a little of his hair to keep. I pet him, and stroked him, and held him, and told him how much he was loved as he went to sleep.
Even now, I keep expecting to see him wombling around, or hear his paws padding down the corridor.
I’m trying to focus on the fact that we were able to give him a year of fun and love that he wouldn’t have had otherwise. I’m trying to remember that he brought so much laughter into this house, and how much more he came to mean to me than I thought possible. I’m trying to think of the positives, but I miss my little rock star, and I always will.
I’m honoured to have been part of his life for a year. My only regret is that I wasn’t part of his life for the previous fourteen.