Hiding behind the ice cream

It has been a rough weekend. We had to put Sammy to sleep this weekend. The kids are devastated. Robert and I are both heart broken. I replay what happened, and all the what ifs, what could, what should have happened's in my mind. Its on auto replay. Constant. Its hard to shut it off. You would have to have a heart of stone for this not to have bothered you, or to have compassion. I told my brother this weekend, it really sucks to be a parent sometimes, and this was one of those times. I hope time dulls the pain-eases the memory of having to break the news that Sammy wasn't going to come home with us, it makes me sad now writing it, even though I thought it would be cathartic writing. I hate the silence in the morning-the gap of not hearing her bang her bowl around, leaving a trail of kibble just the way she did. The fur, somehow vacuuming it up is harder this time, I can't yet do it. I've left myself open to the children-grieving in their own way. Robert is too. He was with her when the vet gave her the medicine to go to sleep. We all had an opportunity to say goodbye-both before she was given the dose, and after it was done. It was one of those occasions that we were in unfamiliar territory-we didn't know what we were doing until we were in the thick of it. I have pictures of the boys with Sammy, and of Robert with her too. Right now though, its hard to look at them. As a final gesture of love, the boys left a doggy treat by Sammy's paw, and a human mint too. The human mint was for Uncle Merle, who we hope greeted Sammy on the other side. The doggy treat was a treat for Sammy, something for her to enjoy over there. The questions come and go, is Sammy in heaven? When is Sammy coming home? Why did Sammy have to go? Will we get Sammy back? I hate the questions-if only because I don't have the answers. The tears come and go, the sadness is there. Its heart wrenching, grabs ahold of your throat, and makes it hard to breathe. I hate what its doing to the boys, and as us as a family. For all the times I wasn't fond of having a pet, its nothing compared to the happiness I had at having something here that made my children happy.

So I'm hiding behind ice cream, dulling the pain tonight with ice cream. The pain of losing Sammy is there, it will be there, but this is comforting. Writing and having outlets may help, it doesn't erase it, make it go away. At the same time, it helps me cope. Maybe writing is helpful after all.