This morning I woke with you in my arms. “What time is it?” you asked me. “Time for school, kiddo.”
You rolled over, all arms and legs, and groaned. Moments later you sat down at the kitchen counter in running shorts and a hoodie. “Casual day today, huh?” You smiled.
“So. Being eleven has pretty much sucked so far, huh?”
You laughed and your eyes filled with tears. I turned away and offered to make you some eggs for breakfast. I don’t usually cook in the morning but I wanted to be busy and I couldn’t look at you. I knew if you looked me in the eyes you would try to stay home with me today. I can’t ever fool you.
“It’s just that everything we do all day will make us miss him even more, Mom. It will really feel real when I get off the bus. Even though it’s different now, like he doesn’t run down the driveway anymore, he still comes out…”
You stood and I wrapped you in my arms. You have grown so tall. And you have grown into this warm, compassionate, funny girl. We held onto one another in the kitchen until Lucy barged in and broke up our sobfest.
Yesterday, after Fisher was gone, we were sitting in the living room, you and me and Dad. I mentioned that I should probably throw out his dog bed before one of us was curled up in it, breathing in his scent and sobbing. Dad broke the silence as he said “Yeah, Mom is really trying to help me save face here because I was just about to do that…” Your laughter was so perfectly right on time.
Not an hour before Fisher was gone you were eating an oatmeal raisin cookie and you broke off a little piece for him You stopped and pulled your hand back “But the raisin….” and we all laughed. You have my same horrible sense of humor. But you have a quiet confidence that didn’t come from me. I love it.
Em, I am sorry that this birthday will always be the day before Fisher died. But I will never forget the gracious, loving, incredible young woman you turned into when you were only eleven years and one day old. I asked you if you wanted to be in the room when Fish was put to sleep and you said that you did. And then I asked you for a difficult favor. “Baby, I am going to need to be there for Fish. And just kind of do everything I need to do for me to let him go, if you’re there, too, I am going to need you to just kind of take care of you for a minute and I feel awful even saying that…” You interrupted me to assure me that you knew that already and that you’d be fine.
The veterinary assistant was carrying Fisher to the front door when you sat down in my lap and put your head onto my chest. “Oh, Mommy….” Together, we wept.
This morning the bus pulled up at the bottom of the driveway and I kissed you quickly and said “Don’t worry about me today.” You smiled back at me. “Impossible.”
You’re incredible, Emily June. I love you and your big puppy feet.
Pingback: Trusting Emily June | Excitement on the side
Kelly, Sorry to read about Fisher. I have a beautiful 12 year old black lab, molly, who’s slowed down a lot recently. I know she’ll be crossing the Rainbow Bridge soon.
I always ask myself after losing a dog, “why do we give our hearts to a dog to tear.” Rudyard Kipling
Bruce G, Fredericksburg
We dog people have all been there – it is terribly hard, especially for young folks. Emily is showing great maturity and strength – which she comes by honestly. So sorry.
You are killing me here! I can’t handle stories about letting go of pets – that’s about the only thing that makes me cry. But at the same time, what an amazing girl you have! You are truly blessed.
Oh man- you got me on this one. Sorry about your old boy- he had such a great life . Damn- it is one of the deepest hurts I ever have felt.
I have have an old fella in my life that I gained through my new relationship. And although we’ve only been in each other’s lives for a few short years he means the world to me and I know his time left hear with us is coming to an end.
I sat with him last night- (after almost killing myself from sliding in his warm pile of pee bc his old hips ain’t working too well) and held him through his labored breathing telling him if he wanted to go that he could – that is has been such a good boy and loyal friend that we got this without him .
But awoke he did another day – such a trooper they are – they just want to love us and hold on forever and they will always – in our hearts and our countless memories . I am dreading having to make this decision again here soon.
Thank you for sharing your story and I am sending you and your family the biggest hugs and wet salty beach kisses . Miss ya lady!!!
Sent from my iPhone
Nope. Can’t read this one either!!!!! Not in school (-:
On Tue, Sep 20, 2016 at 2:21 PM, Excitement on the side wrote:
> Kelly posted: “Dear Emily, This morning I woke with you in my arms. “What > time is it?” you asked me. “Time for school, kiddo.” You rolled over, all > arms and legs, and groaned. Moments later you sat down at the kitchen > counter in running shorts and a hoodie. “C” >