Heavy Heart

I wish I had updated a week ago. My world felt much lighter then.

I completed my first endurance hiking event on June 7 — the Twin Valley Trail Challenge in Germantown, Ohio. 16.5 miles in just over 6 hours (in sloppy conditions, and I twisted my ankle).

The following day, we celebrated Blitz’s birthday/gotcha day. He turned 16 (more or less… we didn’t know his actual age when we adopted him), and we celebrated the 15th anniversary of adopting him.

I turned 50 on June 11 and celebrated by kayaking on Deer Creek Lake with Lance, having dinner with my family at Hofbrauhaus, and having cake and ice cream at home.

The day after my birthday — just one week ago — my mom and I went to Coschocton for a Sip and Stay. We enjoyed a tour of four wineries with Cork & Tap Excursions and stayed at the Coshocton Village Inn and Suites.

A week ago, my heart was lighter.

Saturday night, Blitz’s health took a turn. He wasn’t himself. He had difficulty standing up. He had no interest in participating in our daily routines. I hoped he would feel better in the morning.

He didn’t. If anything, he was worse.

He needed to be carried because he couldn’t stand without almost falling down. He refused to eat his breakfast. Because he had an enlarged spleen/mass, I always feared that that’s what would ultimately kill him. A big sign of spleen rupture is pale gums. So I checked. His gums were practically white.

We made the call to take him to the emergency vet. She confirmed our worst suspicions. Not only were his symptoms consistent with a spleen rupture, but he had signs of fluid around his heart. She started the “quality of life” discussion.

I knew. Knew in my bones on the way to the vet that we weren’t bringing him home.

So we made the hard choice. Really the only choice for him. We chose to say goodbye. They moved us into a less clinical room — a room with a comfy couch, lots of tissues, and a jar of “goodbye kisses.” I opened that jar to find Hershey Kisses because “no dog should go to Heaven without tasting chocolate.” I took one. Unwrapped it.

They brought Blitz in and left us alone with him. There was a doorbell in the room that we could ring when we were ready. I gave him the chocolate, and he gobbled it down. We snuggled. He gave me kisses. We gave him kisses. We cried. We said goodbye. We told him we loved him. We told him he was the best boy. We told him to go find Reece. I didn’t want to prolong the agony, so within five minutes, I rang the doorbell.

A few minutes later, the vet came in with the syringes. She explained the procedure (but we already knew about it, having gone through it before). The first shot, and he was asleep within seconds. The second shot, and I placed my hand over his heart. I felt the beat, beat, b e a t , b e a t . Stillness.

She placed her stethoscope over his heart and nodded.

Lance and I both kissed him on the head and then we were directed to a private exit that took us to the parking lot. I fell apart as soon as we were outside. I collapsed into Lance, shaking and sobbing.

We pick up his ashes today.

My world is not the same as it was a week ago. My heart is heavy. For the briefest of seconds, I think I hear him sigh. Or I think I hear the tap of his claws on the kitchen floor. Or I look at the clock and think it’s time for his treat. Or I wake up in the middle of the night, expecting to feel him curled up beside me.

Instead, silence. Emptiness.

I am gutted. After 15 years with this dog in my life, I don’t know how to live without him. But I have to learn, don’t I? Life does go on, after all.

I will miss you forever, my sweet boy.