My Take Away

If you are still stopping by to read my blog - bless your heart. I know it hasn't been the most uplifting place to visit lately.  So if you are wondering if I'm writing about dogs again today, yes. But if you've stuck with me this long, keep reading, I promise it will be worth it.

Yesterday was a really tough day for me.  It included a trip to the vet's office to have Belle's "cremains" (I just called them "Belle") moved from a temporary urn to her permanent urn.  Fortunately, Beth at the vet's office helped with this process. She is wonderful and has known us for what seems like forever.  She "gets" us.  

The temporary urn had been sealed so I hadn't seen Belle yet, but I had an idea of what to expect and I wanted to see her.  Once the temporary urn was opened  I held what remained of Belle in my hands, amazed at how we come from so little and return to so little.  I thought of all the things we loved about Belle that made her so special and unique and how those things could not be held in my hands.  I realized that no pretty wooden box, no matter its size,  could ever be big enough to hold all the pure awesome that Belle's 40-pound body contained. 

Then I gently placed her in her new home and the pretty wooden box was sealed.

That's when I started to cry.

It felt like a big "THE END" was being stamped on Belle's existence. 

It made it final. 

I left the vet's office with Belle and headed home.  I sobbed uncontrollably the whole way. You know that big hard sob where you have crocodile tears running down your face, you make those awful wailing sounds, and your face looks really, really ugly??  Well that was me.  I can't imagine what other drivers around me thought and I truly didn't care.  I had Belle with me and we were going home.

Once home I mentally added up the vet bills we have had since September 6 when Belle was diagnosed with kidney problems.  I usually don't focus on the financial aspect of things, so this was unusual for me.  I said to Michael, "Do you realize we have spent ______on vet bills in the last 2 weeks?"

His response:  "You are probably right." 

Then he paused...  "But I would do it all over again.  And I would do it for Willow too."

My heart melted.

Michael had gotten the mail.  We received so many cards yesterday.  The timing could not have been more perfect.  So many said what a fantastic, beautiful dog Belle was and that they felt fortunate to have known her.  (We knew this, but it was nice to hear her awesomeness was recognized by others!)

Some commented on what wonderful care we gave Belle (and Willow) and that it was obvious how much we loved our dogs, even calling our "family" amazing.  Those words meant so much, because no matter how much you have done for your pet,  your mind still seeks out and finds that one thing you think you could have done better.  

For me that one thing was getting to the hospital earlier that Sunday so we could have let Belle go sooner.  I have replayed those last minutes with her over and over in my mind and wished I would have taken my phone into church that morning so I would have known instantly when the vet called to say she had taken a turn for the worse.  

If only I had known about that call earlier... if only.

You can "if only" yourself crazy.

And I did.   

I went to bed and was having this "if only" scenario run through my head. It wasn't guilt because I felt we could have saved Belle if we had gotten there sooner - we know there was nothing that could have been done for her -  it was guilt at making her linger.  It was as if there was a video from the moment I entered the hospital and saw her...and it was on an unending reel of film playing that time at the hospital with her over and over and over. 

Then I heard a voice in my head.  I have talked to, with, and for Belle for 4 years, so I knew the voice well when I heard it.  

Belle:  "Seriously Mom?  Four years with me and that is your take away? Those last few moments we shared together are all you can think of?"  

Basset hounds are very wise.  It's not easy being chastised by a basset hound, but sometimes it is necessary.

So my take away is this:

We were incredibly blessed to be owned by Belle, she loved us like crazy and was such a faithful friend.  In turn, she was blessed to be part of our family.  No one could have loved her more than we did.  We wished we could have had more time with Belle, but not knowing her at all would have been the real tragedy.

Willow is one lucky dog to have had such an awesome sister to show her the ropes - like how to root really good in a blanket, how to walk through the mulch to keep your paws dry, and where to lay to catch the best rays.

I am beyond blessed to have an amazing husband who has such a heart for our dogs and loves them as much as I do.

*******

Belle is going to be missed like crazy and there will still be tears, I can guarantee you that, but she is telling me it is time to shift my focus and remember all the wonderful moments we shared.  

And she's says there's a squirrely basset here named Willow who needs walked, some trips to the dog park, road trips, some extra attention while she adjusts to being an only dog, and lots of belly rubs.

The physical organic matter that was Belle is back home, safe and secure in a beautiful wooden box.  But the essence of Belle - what made her so awesome, unique, and special is tucked away even safer in our hearts.

Well done, Belle.