Grief

Tattie Whippet - My dog

It overwhelms you and you cannot do anything. This huge physical wave of emotion, choking you up so you feel like you are drowning.
You have to gasp for breath, not realising you haven't been breathing.
A sob escapes you and you'd not realised you were holding it in; and then the tears fall and you brush them away angry that you should feel anything at all when you long for it to stop.
To go away.
So hollow.
And I am so angry because, I shouldn't be feeling this way,.
I shouldn't be allowing myself to be subsumed in it all.
It's a dog for God's sake! It's not my Nan or my Granny. Not my mum or dad, my husband or my children.
But I feel like I will explode with it all if I don't cry and then I don't want to cry, I don't want to give in to this monster called grief.
Because that is what it is; an overwhelming sadness that starts right where my heart should be and it paralyses my thoughts, my body, my everything.
And all I feel is an emptiness
A loss that really shouldn't be there.
I hugged her all last night, curled around her keeping her safe. I knew she was dying - that hit my like a brick suddenly, as I was undressing. My beautiful dog was dying right before my eyes. There was nothing I could do, not then at 11 o'clock at night.
She was so weak, she could barely stand but when I asked her to she just did when she'd have much preferred not to; but they do that, dogs, don't they? They'd do anything you ask, because you asked.
I slept last night expecting to wake to the fact that she'd be gone. That she'd be cold in my arms. But she's made of sterner stuff.
She's still alive - just.
And now I long for her to die because that is the way of things, the proper way nature deals with things like this. But I can't do that. In my grief I am selfish. I want her to live. I don't want her to go now. I need her. She's my dog. So she's at the vet's. They're trying to save her and I am crying because I have to face the inevitable and I don't want to.
I have spoken with the vet. I've said stabilise her, do the scans, find out why this is happening, why it is happening so fast, why I have had no warning.
Though I know what they'll find. They've already told me their suspicions.
A tumour.
I don't want to hear it.
I don't.
Decisions then.
Waiting.
Grief.

Breathe.

Breathe.

Breathe.

I can't do this but I have to.
She's my dog.
My responsibility.
I'll hear what they say and I'll make a decision.
Whatever happens I want her home.
And then, then I'll be able to breathe...