Step 38: Find The Strength To Carry On

I had to let my best friend Niles go on Thursday. I know time is truly the only remedy for grief, but I hoped that by putting my feelings into words it would help ease the pain in my heart.

I knew this day would come eventually. Everyone who brings an animal into their lives is automatically signing themselves up for heartbreak, and death is simply a part of life.  As much as I can reason with myself that, yes, it's normal to feel this way, and yes, I made the right decision, I can't help by beat myself up over it. It all happened so fast, and in my robotic understanding that he was never going to get better and for fear of prolonging his pain, I made the quick decision to end things while he was still in good spirits. I wanted to remember him when he was still beautiful, and not a shadow of his old self, but days later I am wondering why I didn't give myself more time to say goodbye. What difference would an hour or two have made?

I sit here with a knot in my throat as I stroke his mismatched shoes--he had a club foot on his right front hoof, and an underslung heel on his left--and I think about what the Doctor said when Clara died:

"The day you lose someone isn’t the worst. At least you’ve got something to do. It’s all the days they stay dead."

It's not like I haven't ever lost anyone or anything close to me before. But, while Niles touched the lives of many, he belonged to me and me alone. We had a bond that transcended species lines--he owned me every bit as I owned him. He had and language and personality all his own that I not only understood, but was entirely fluent in. I knew what his favorite treats were and just where he liked to be scratched, and he knew how to walk gingerly around me as I sat on the floor of his stall, standing vigil while I cried over a boyfriend or a tough loss or simply because I had bit an onion.

Half of me is thankful that the decision was essentially made for me, that his condition was terminal and that I wouldn't be given the option of a long, painful treatment process to extend his life by a few extra months. The other half is consumed with guilt, wondering if maybe the signs were there and I could have spotted it earlier if I had just been looking for it, wondering if I simply didn't take care of him well enough to give him all the years he should have had.

The outpouring of support and sympathy has been vast and overwhelming. I know countless friends who have been in my shoes, so to that end I understand that my pain is just a drop in this bucket we call life. Unfortunately, it's my burden to bear--which seems apt, considering Niles carried me for 18 years. It's my turn to carry him in my heart for the next 18 years, and for the rest of my life.

FF Bey Ovation (1993-2016)