Today marks the first day without you. Everywhere I look, there are signs of you: teeth marks on the food container, the sag in your favorite seat, the empty bowls where you once stood to eat at, and the yard you roamed around. We miss you so much. We can't help but reminisce about you when we're together. It's easier to share in our communal pain and allow ourselves to smile at all of the memories you helped create.
Today marks the first day my husband didn't rise with the sun to let you outside after you stood by his bedside to wake him up with your goofy "woof" or the swift tap-tap-tap of your tail against the mattress. It's the first morning I didn't pass you by in the hall or see you lounging in the living room on my way to the kitchen. Opening one can of food instead of two felt strange. Even the cats glanced over at your bowls, probably wondering why you weren't waiting for your breakfast as usual.
Today marks the first time I did not place your pills into pill pockets. The bottles containing your anti-seizure and hyper-thyroid medicines are gone. The shelves where I stored your food and treats are empty, much like the spot in my heart you occupied. Well, that spot remains, as it always will, but for now it's also filled with a tremendous amount of grief and pain. I also know that will subside in time and once again the space will blossom with all of my love for you.
Today marks the first time in a while that I have become aware of the silence. It's an ever widening gap and constant reminder of our family's loss. How I wish I could hear the pat-pat-patter of your paws across the hardwood floors. The jingle of your collar as you trot up or down the stairs. The sound of you drinking water from your bowl or the groan of a cushion when you jumped onto a chair to look out the window.
Today marks the first time in a while that I had to remind myself of the last time I lost a pet. Along with that thought rose the memories of all of the pets I had before you, many for a short time, others for a longer duration. The various hamsters, gerbils, fish, birds, turtle, cats and dogs that have found their way into my homes and into my heart. I wondered if you had been able to meet any of them. Did Lady or Pudge bark their greetings as you crossed that rainbow bridge? Did you see any of your siblings or even your parents? Perhaps Spot or Leo or Buttons introduced themselves? I wonder if Prince said hello and asked about us. Whatever happens, I bet you're not alone.
Today marks the first time I am ever so truly grateful you came into our lives and helped change us for the better. When we spend our lives with a pet we sometimes tend to take them for granted, always expecting them at the door when we return or to sit by us when we eat or stretch out by our feet when we watch TV. To us you were more than a dog, you were one of us: family. After your first seizure almost three years ago, we realized that every day which followed should be considered a gift. When the seizures worsened and the ticking of that invisible clock grew louder, we attuned ourselves to watch for the signs and listen for the indicators so we could be by your side as you endured another one. And during that morning, your last one with all of us, the girls were by you. Hours earlier when I studied your face, I was struck by the emotions evident in your eyes. Yes, you were tired and in discomfort, but the pure love I saw there--and I hope reflected back in mine--was reassuring. I knew you were saying goodbye, that you would miss us all and, like us, would always love us and never ever forget.
Yes, today marks the first day without our beautiful boy and you, Jake, will always be a part of us. So go on and run, let the sun warm your fur, and enjoy yourself. One day we'll see you again, boy. Now go and have fun.
