I can't believe I'm finally grieving her. It's been at least 20 years since my beloved little terrier/poodle mix Lucy was put down, and I was callous enough to feel nothing at the time, or for many years after that. Now a wonderful little silky terrier has come into my life, and I've been thinking about and crying more over Lucy than I ever did when she died.

Crying now, can hardly see the words I'm typing. I've been putting off writing this post, but this was the reason I first sought out this great site, and I'm so glad I found you all, because I feel like I can say all this at last, and I hope you all understand my feelings now when I try to explain them.

Lucy was the best dog in the world. I know we all think that about our pets, but oh -- Lucy was so special! We got her when she was just a puppy and I was about seven years old. She was so much fun! Us kids would play with her and cuddle her, and Mom and Dad fed her and walked her and did all the housebreaking -- what a sweet deal, huh? For us kids, and the neighborhood kids, just the joy of having a dog!

And what I think most about her, lately when I've been thinking about her, is how she was just always there. I'd come home from a bad day at school, and there was Lucy. I'd have a quarrel with my brother or sister and storm off to my room mad, and there was Lucy. I'd have sleepovers with my friends, and there was Lucy. She was there when my sister had heart surgery and I was scared of what might happen. She was there when my parents got divorced. Heck, she was just there while I watched t.v.! And she was especially there when she'd sleep on my bed at night and take up two-thirds of the mattress, which was quite a feat for a small dog -- and she didn't particularly like being asked to move, either!

Then I graduated from high school, and moved out of the house, and I didn't see Lucy as much anymore. Sometimes, I'd notice how gray she was getting. And I began to see her have trouble climbing stairs. But, you see, I never really put those things together with death. I don't know why. Denial, I guess. I mean, who wants to lose their most faithful companion? I recently bought "Chicken Soup For The Dog Lover's Soul", and I haven't decided yet if it was a good thing for me to buy or not, because every story I read in it ends with me sobbing. But in one story, a mother tells her daughter that "while you were growing up, Ivan was growing old." And I read that a couple weeks ago, and thought of Lucy in her later years, and just cried and cried. I wish we didn't have to outlive them for so long.

Now here's the part I've been struggling with. Lucy started losing control of her bladder, and she was very arthritic, and it came time to have her put down. She'd been with us for about sixteen years. Mom asked me if I wanted to go along with her when she took Lucy to be put down, and I said no. And at the time, it made no difference to my life. Not only wasn't I there with her, I didn't even think about her when it was happening. I didn't cry, I didn't mourn her. It's like I skipped right past the mourning, right to grinning at the memories and agreeing that yes, she was a wonderful dog.

And I'm such a rotten person! She was with me through everything, everything! And I couldn't even take the trouble to be with her at the end! And I'm so sorry! I'm so sorry, Lucy, I hope somehow you know that. I loved you, little girl, I really did! Just not enough, huh? Not enough to mourn you when I should have. I can't believe I didn't care enough to go with you. And yet I know if you were here right now, you'd be wondering what's wrong, why I'm crying like this, and you'd try to fix it, and it wouldn't even occur to you that you should just stay away from me because I'm not good enough for you.

I'm on my fifth kleenex. I just can't stand this. During the day, I live my normal life. And then at night, I just start thinking about it again. One night, a couple weeks ago, I cried so hard I was hyperventilating, I couldn't catch my breath. Nobody knows I'm feeling like this, except you all. I guess I'm just hoping that if I can write it, and get it out there, then it will make something real, and maybe I can start dealing with this. If I even deserve to, because nothing can take away from my not being with her at the end and not feeling anything for so long afterwards. I'm so sorry, Lucy. I'm so very very sorry. And that's just not good enough.

Okay, I have to stop now. Sorry this was so long. Thank you for reading, anyone who has read this. I think just writing it has helped a little.

Michelle K. (Lucy's Horrible Mom)

Michelle K, Please don't feel badly, know that a wise old Lucy knew you very well, much more than you realize, she understood all that goes on in a young lady's mind, she knew your way was a necessary part of growing up. My cats witnessed the transition of two little boys, 4 and 6 into two young men, they grew old along with them and easily accepted the eventual detachment, intuitively knowing it was a normal part of growing up, still feeling loved even if the boys were busy with their boisterous lives. My old cats would look at the boys with affection in their eyes, though my sons rarely had time to acknowledge them. Such is that stage of life. From our teens until our mid twenties we are evolving, getting ourselves equipped with the mechanisms that we will need to cope with in adult life. Somehow this entails our becoming closed to emotions that we find childish: affection for our parents or pets, all this is put on hold for that time We like, perhaps even need to pretend that we don't care as much as we really do. This is a sort of auto protection. I know I've done this about people who I lost during those years -as much as I loved my grandfathers who died when I was 14 and 18, I could not feel grief like a mature adult would, there was that shelving of emotions that I have seen in my own sons when our dear cats passed last fall. Lucy knew, my cats knew, love is stronger than anything and once it is bestowed upon us, it's forever there: from you to Lucy, from Lucy to you. It's good for you to remember how sweet your growing up with Lucy has been, for you, for her too :she was had the pleasure to be a part of the life story of her loving human family. I'm sure she was also grateful to have the opportunity to see a child turn out into a beautiful young woman, to have seen the cycle of the seasons, the passing of the years while you were growing up. She understands and would not have wanted it any other way. You were not her mother though you were just as important to her. You brought Lucy as much love as she brought you. It's the love we feel that counts today. the last moments, symbolic as they are, are just that: details compared to a lifetime. Wise old Lucy knows that you loved her so much.Take care Michelle and know that you are still there for each other in your hearts for now and onto eternity forever.

Michelle

Lucy sounds like a wonderful baby. She loved you and she knew you loved her. I hope you can find a way to forgive yourself. You wouldn't be that way today and I think that is our true test. Like Maya Angelou says: 'You do the best you can with what you know, when you know better, you do better".

I know you know that Lucy would not want to see you beating yourself up now, she would just want to see you happy. I hope writing it down helps you.

Lucy is waiting for you at the bridge, and she is going to be so happy to see you!

Love

Michelle,

I don't have the words of wisdom that others have written ... I do know the pain of losing a pup and I have been on both sides of the equation when I lost one ... one I was there for till the very end and one I was not. Your not being there for Lucy's last moments in no way diminishes your love for her or what she meant to you.

There is an element of grief called denial and from everything I have read this can last a few moments or years ... it seems to me that in your case it lasted years. What you take for a lack of concern or caring could simply have been your minds way of dealing with something it was not capable of dealing with at the time. Please do not beat yourself up over this ... accept that you handled things the best way you could at the time ... much like you are doing now. Lucy loved you and she is waiting for you ... nothing will change that.

Feel to write here ... no one will judge you.

Hugs,
Beth

I would like to speak of denial. Sounds to me like you experieced the longest spell of it in recorded history...it's the stuff the "Guinness Book" is made of...and we're all made of it too. I'm going to be fairly brief (something I don't do often enough)...denial is our minds way of protecting us, There is no time limit though on how long denial takes it's toll on us. I am glad you have shed it. I applaude you. You in no way are a terrible or callous person for your minds own defenses for which you have no control over....hell...my wife lives on denial..and we both know it. We even joke about it sometimes. In all seriousness though this monster can be harmful. I am glad to see you were in no way injured by it. It's good to see you write about it.

Dear Michelle,

Don't feel guilty for something you didn't have control over, denial or youthful detachment, whatever it is, we've all been there, I remember when one of our family dogs was PTS, when we are kids, we didn't even stay with him, my sister, my mom and I sat in the car and listened as he cried (out of fear) until it was over....and we cried and cried, now what was the matter with us? but then in the 70's you didn't go in with them I guess, honestly I don't know what our problems were, but we always felt bad about that, so now we all are present in the end for our pets passing.

Try not to be so hard on yourself, your Lucy knew how much you loved her and she you, and our Alfie knew too, I just hope he has forgotten that we left him like that!! see I still feel that too...

Peace to you, keep coming here, these people are so helpful, Tory, Hrudey & Fuzzies Momma

Thanks so much, everyone, for your kind words and encouragement. It did help very much just to get it all written down. Writing, I've found, can be very therapeautic, and a lot cheaper than a shrink, if you can go the writing route (I know not everybody can).

Yes, Lucy had a wonderful life with us -- in fact, I'd probably kill for such a life, especially after the day at work I just had!

I've thought about just writing a letter to her and put down what I would have said if I had been with her in the end, and then maybe that will really help close it up.

She was my sweetie. She was my sweet little girl.

--Michelle K.

I really hope you can make peace with it...it' so hard when we look back with guilt. It never really lets you grieve at all, and sometimes I think that's why it stays buried. You're not a rotten person..she knows that and I hope you do, too...

Michelle (Lucy & Josie's Mom)


I think this is a wonderful idea, it really can help. We lost our boy very suddenly and didn't feel we had gotten to say goodbye the way we wanted to. My husband and I each wrote him a letter saying what we wanted. I think it helped us a lot.

Love

I think it says a lot about you that you can say these things now. We all have regrets, with animals, with people, with just about everything. The important thing, the thing that I believe (I'm a fairly religious person - if you aren't, bear with me, please) is that God understands you are sorry and want to make amends, and you understand that you perhaps acted in a way you wouldn't have now, however many years later. It's understandable. Tell yourself that - you are a different person - aren't we all, when we have a few years on us? We all do things when we're younger that we look back on and can't believe we did - but we did, and we have to just understand that we won't do that again. Lucy, where she is, knows that, and probably did then, too. Accept it, know you won't do it again, and move on to be the loving animals person we know you are. We won't judge you, God doesn't judge you, and Lucy doesn't judge you. Try not to judge yourself. It's hard, I know, but does it really help you, in the end, to be a better pet person? You've learned from it, yes, now live what you've learned, and be kind to yourself. (You've never been a horrible mom, for instance. You care - bless you for that.) Take care - Barb