Just over a week ago, something devastating happened to me. I lost my best friend, my long-haired love Sweet pea. Three weeks before that, another devastation, I lost my other beautiful best friend, Lacey. They were litter-mates, sisters, and best friends.

In March we found out Lacey had a very large liver mass, with the only defining time of how much time I had left with her was that “…every day that she eats, is a good day.”  Around that time, I noticed that Sweet pea was acting bit depressed, but I thought that was because I was spending so much extra time with Lacey and she was getting jealous. After a week she wasn’t acting herself still, so I took her into the vet the following weekend. The blood work left no questions – she was in renal failure.  This is truly the only time in my life I have ever wished for wealth, for money would have been the means by which time could have been bought for them.

I still can’t believe they are gone.  For days I cried nonstop. I cried when I woke up. I cried in the shower. I cried when I was drinking my coffee, on the way to work, at work, driving home, and in bed before I went to sleep. Last night I cried as I sat on the sidewalk watching our town’s firework display. You see, fireworks would scare my babies so I never went to them; I always stayed home comforting my puppies during the bangs and booms of the 4th of July celebrations. I would have given anything to have been able to be home with them instead of where I was.

My days are lonely; there is no one spinning in circles and jumping for absolute joy when I walk in the door. No one is by my side when I watch TV, or waiting by the shower door when I step out of the tub, or begging for a morsel of my breakfast. The place in the bed where my dogs once lied is empty and cold. My grief has not subsided and I know that as the months pass life will become more “usual” for time will force this change on me, but I will never get over this loss.  I will never get another dog, for I can’t even thing of replacing my lovelies. I will go to work, pay my bills and act normal because I have to, all the while hiding the grief and (mostly) waiting for private moment s to let down the barrier that holds my tears. Most of the time I am able to, although while at the mall a few days ago returning something I couldn’t stop the flood of tears and the poor girl waiting on me didn’t even know how to act (can’t say that I blame her).

So, I wait out until the time when God calls me home. While I am not suicidal, truly I hope it is sooner rather than later. My joy is gone. Sleep is a relief, and when I dream about my babies it feels so good to “see” them again. I have had them both since they were seven weeks old, and for 14 years they have loved me like no other. At the same time I feel guilty, wrapped up in my own feelings and so mad at God for not giving me more time with them and taking them both at almost the same time, that it’s hard for me to feel the pain of those around me. I have a co-worker who lost her husband last month and I am so busy grieving for myself that I can’t share her grief like I think I should.

I wanted to put this down into words for there is a strange consolation in sharing my loss.

— Pam from Felton, PA