Life is supposedly pretty predictable.

Still, I felt blindsided yesterday afternoon when I visited my parent’s house and was told quietly by my dad that my dog, Chloe, is dying. And that the only thing I can do to help is to her death as painless and swift as possible.

I’ve had Chloe for twelve years. Since I was twelve. She wasn’t my first dog, but she’s the only one I remember, because my parents gave my actual first dog away when I was only two, because she made me sneeze constantly.

I didn’t cry when dad told me. And I didn’t cry a few moments later when mom told me – she didn’t realize dad already had. She started sobbing, but I held it together.

And then – because life insists on going on no matter how unlikely it seems – my Significant Other and I went to Sam’s Club, because we needed to buy little cheese wheels and veggie straws.

I cried in the parking lot and on and off during the trip – and got looks ranging from pity to alarm. Most interestingly, my Significant Other got the same looks. And other looks of reproach. Probably because he’s more than half a foot taller and out weighs me by 150 pounds and responded to my almost unprecedented tears by loudly talking about the food displays and patting me awkwardly on the head.

He doesn’t do public displays of affection very well. But he did let me lean against him while we were in line and did his best to cheer me up with cheesy jokes.

I continued to cry off and on all afternoon and went to bed at 8:30 P.M. – about four hours early than usual.

When I woke up this morning I felt sorta numb. I know this emotional flatness is only temporary, but I decided that I may as well take advantage of it.

So, I returned to reading the KonMari book – while watching House and chatting with my best friend in the entire world ( we’ll call her Harley). My SO told her to come by today, to keep me company while he’s at work, but she’s sorta bad with time and is still yet to arrive. She has plans to get me out of the house, I’m sure, but I don’t know whether or not I’ll actually let her execute them.

Grief is weird. Especially when mourning something that’s inevitable, but has yet to actually come to pass. It’s an oddly helpless sensation, but there’s fury and loneliness within it, too.

What’s weirder is that this is not my first tine experiencing grief at the advent of an unavoidable death. My Aunt Deb and my Papo both died awful lingering deaths from cancer – which is also what is cruelly making Chloe’s last days so difficult.

But I guess each death is an isolated thing when dealt with singularly.


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