Shortly after Sienna left us, I looked up the stages of grief.
I always like to know what’s coming.
The final stages are acceptance and depression.
In this ‘stage’ you’ve accepted the fact the denial and bargaining aren’t going to do anything to bring them back. They are gone, and you’ll have to learn to live with their death for as long as you have left. It is the second gut punch. It hurts to accept this as much as it did to lose her initially.
I guess my negotiation was playing every scenario back through my head and critiquing it. What I should’ve done differently. Where we should’ve gone. The decisions we should’ve made. Hindsight always being 20/20 isn’t always fair. I made the decisions I made trying to do what was best for her. Trying to fix what was wrong, maybe somewhat selfishly. She was my girl though, and I was determined to get her back to healthy. Back to home. Back to me.
Each day, three things make me sad: waking in the morning and her not being there, before we go to bed, and every time I walk up the basement stairs. She would never go down the basement stairs, but almost always laid by the back door facing the basement steps. I had come to expect her face to be there when the kitchen came into view. Her face is not there, just an empty rug. Memories. And a wall still striped with her.
I don’t think re-painting would remove her stripes from these walls. The kitchen, the living room, the foyer, the stairs all have stripes from her rubbing against them. Most people would probably clean that off. We can’t. The same way I can’t bring myself to clean her blood off the trim piece in my car.
At times it feels ridiculous to be this torn apart about losing an animal. I always knew the time would come. But she was with me almost every day for over a decade. To not be torn apart would be…wrong.
For reasons I can’t explain, this whole thing has just made me want to disappear for a while. I don’t know to where, but somewhere far. Somewhere I could be alone until I was healed. I can’t do this. But damn, would it feel good to get on a plane, and get off with the knowledge that no one would know where I am.
We adopted a dog from the animal shelter on 10/3. We named him Charlie. He is, for all intents and purposes, a good dog. He deserves a good home.
In an attempt to do something good, I have fucked up again. Just like I did trying to fix Sienna.
This was too soon. I can’t…I don’t have it in me to love another dog the way I grew to love Sienna. I don’t know how to undo this in a way that isn’t awful for him, but I don’t see this working long-term.
I should’ve taken the hint from the two attempts with the rescues, but didn’t. And here we are.
I’m ok. Except I’m not.
