Each day does get better. Oh, I'm still sad, and I still WANT MY FRITZ BACK, but each day does get better. Each day does get easier.
I think what really hurt was the feeling that I failed him. When a dog grows old, and we watch him labor, and we watch him age, and we know he had so many good years, while death is still painful, we reconcile ourselves to it. We ready ourselves.
Fritz did not get the opportunity to age and grow old. He had good years. Marshall was so good to Fritz. I have pictures of them swimming together, pictures of them playing together. Heck, Fritz, as big as he was, slept in Marshall's bed. Yes, Fritz was loved and cared for. When he came to live with us, he continued in his good life. He no longer got to sleep in our bed, but he had a good bed, and cool tiles and padded rugs, and hey, I even caught him on the couch. He had room to run and roam and play. He had, in Georgia, a companion. And he was fiercely protective of her. And she mothered him. On second thought, he didn't have good years, he had GREAT years. But he was still in the prime of his life, when that life was cut short. That makes it so much harder. Such a sweet dog should have the opportunity to grow old. (There I go second guessing God again. grrr)
But I did feel, the first few days, that I failed him. I wanted so badly to get him well. I promised him I would get him well. I promised him we would make it better. I made a promise I was in no position to keep.
The last day or two, I have had a new outlook on this though. Ultimately, as dog owners, our responsibility is to take care of our dogs. To make sure they have food. Shelter. Shade. Water. Vaccines. Love. Care. Toys. Companionship. And that they are taken care of. To make sure they do not suffer. That they are not in pain. Or sick. Or hurting. And, in that regard, I did not fail Fritz. In his last days, I comforted him. I pet him and talked to him. And I had patience with him. (not always one of my strong points) I sat down next to him to hand feed him just hoping he'd eat even just a little. Fritz was loved, and Fritz was taken care of .... even to the end. In that, Marshall nor I ever let him down.
On Monday, I went to pick up the prints of Fritz' paw. I knew that would be hard. What I was not prepared for, was that I was also given Fritz' ashes. I honestly thought it would take longer. I walked in and told them I had come for his paw prints. The girl said, "You had him cremated?" I answered that I had, and she handed me a purple bag. Purple, the color of royalty. How appropriate for such a regal dog. In it, was a beautiful sealed box. "It's heavy." she informed me. I couldn't answer. All I could do was cry. I tried saying "Thank you."
According to the paperwork, Fritz was cremated at 8:00pm the same day he died.
I have such mixed emotions about death. Anyone who knows me well, knows I am in complete denial when it comes to death. Oh, I believe in God and I believe in Jesus and I believe in Heaven. I'm not scared of death in any way. I'm just in denial about it when it concerns those I love. When my dad was dying, everyone else knew he was dying. I was waiting for the cure. Same with Fritz. I knew his heart was weakened. I was thinking the doctors could give him glucose or a feeding tube or something to strengthen his body until we got his heart figured out. Denial.
My mixed emotions stem from the fact that I think there should be more fanfare when someone dies. It seems so sad that one moment someone is here, and *poof* in a heartbeat, in the blink of an eye, they aren't. but ummmm, doesn't the Bible tell me such things? That that is exactly how it will happen? Perhaps the fanfare comes on the other side. The entrance, not the exit. OK. I like that.
Ivy Bath, a friend and wonderful woman sent me this link: http://www.youtube.com/embed/lJ7AfSO2fKs?rel=0
I love, love, love it. And that video shows why, even as much as I hurt right now, I will have another dog. Not now. That's not fair to Fritz. That's not fair to me. .... but eventually.
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