Queen B

My fist is full of fur; I hold on like you’re my lifeline. My legs are numb from sitting on the cold, hard floor. The little room smells of disinfectant — sterile like a hospital, but laced with death. The only agonizing sounds come from the mouths of my family; sobs wrack our bodies and our faces are stained due to the impending heartache. A dog barks in the waiting room, and your eyes perk up. Somehow we find the power to smile through the anguish. You always were distracted by other dogs. We sit there for an hour with you — petting, crying, and hoping it was a dream. When the vet came you panicked, and it broke our hearts. We comforted you as you spent your final moments with us. We were there until the end, until the last breath left your lungs. It seemed only fair sine you spent the last eleven years comforting us.

I remember the day you left us as clearly as the day you entered our lives. I cried when I first saw you; you were so cute with paws too big for your body. I remember how those paws used to make the loudest taps on the floor and caused you to trip constantly. I sobbed the day I lost you too. Now I remember those feet lying motionless, all life gone. I remember gripping those paws as if holding the hand of a relative. Losing my best friend was more difficult than I could have imagined. We waited, hoped, but you got sicker. We wanted to pretend everything was fine, but in reality, it was just too painful to address.

Each day that goes by, I am reminded of you. You were present through every pivotal moment, always non-judging, and willing to offer sloppy, wet kisses. You loved me through every move, every fight, every heartbreak, and every other loss I endured. You were my baby girl, my best friend, my source of such joy. You were extraordinary — sitting at the kitchen table with us, hogging all the blankets, and being a seventy pound lap dog.

It’s incredible how much you shaped me. I still open the front door expecting you to be there to greet me. I still close the lid to every toilet that I use. I still look over my shoulder every time I open the refrigerator. I still wake up in the middle of the night expecting to see you taking up more than half of my bed. Each time I look for you, my heart breaks a little more. I find solace in the fact that your suffering has ended, but my heart still yearns to hold you once again, to see that wiggly butt that has shattered glass. One day, baby girl. Until then, you be the queen of dog heave like you ruled both our household and our hearts. Mom named you well, Queen B.

Isis 2/23/01–6/20/12