I felt like, when I made the decision to let Stella go.. my beautiful daughter, best friend, sole mate of a beagle, I had made my peace. It was the right thing to do for her, I OWED her that. She was only seven, and after fighting leptospirosis and kidney failure for two years, she had just given up. I cried for two weeks before I made the decision. I went through denial, then I was angry, then I could do nothing but cry, but then this sort of calm came over me, because I kept repeating the mantra, "It's not about me anymore, it's about her." And doing that, I could set myself aside and see how horrible she felt, how she herself was ready, and I knew what I had to do for her. But the procedure was horrible. It was horrible and I can't get the images out of my head. Afterward I felt dead, just as gone as she was. As if with her departure she took my soul. And since then I feel like a zombie, except for the times when I feel sick. I feel like I can't accept that she's gone. No matter what, I feel like she's just at the hospital again for treatment, and I'll see her in a few days. I can't fight through this fog, and I'm not sure I want to. For a long time, she was all I had-- my only friend, sometimes the only family speaking to me... she was everything. And now my instinct is that I have nothing. I'm hollow. I don't even know what "I" is anymore. I can't imagine life without her. Anyway, this is my first post, pretty much ever, online. I don't usually think people should be bothered with my worries, having enough of their own. But... I just don't know what to do. Any feedback would help me feel like I'm not so alone. This has been very stream-of-consciousness, so I'm sorry if it doesn't make the most sense.

Jaedon-

I want to say I'm so sorry for your loss of Stella. She sounds like she was a wonderful dog. You will find this site very special for us furbaby lovers. We all seem to know exactly how each is feeling at this time of loss...pain...guilt. I too am feeling everything you are saying. My Omar hasn't been gone a week yet. I'm a zombie. No make-up...no smile. People at work stay away from me. Don't know what to say. The others all seem to say the same thing. He was old...had a good life...you did the right thing...move on. I have gotten to a point now I'm afraid to show any emotion around my family, because they seem tired of it. What? Less then a week and I'm expected to 'move on' and 'get over it'. I don't think so. Omar was my 3rd son. I have always told everyone I have 3 boys. One may have been hairy, but he was my baby. He loved me so, and I did know that. He needed so little of me...compared to others. I miss him dearly.

So hang in there. Don't feel like we are bothered by your worries. We all have them here. They come and go as time goes on, but they don't go. Post a picture if you would like. We all love to see them.

Take care.
Omarmommy
-Marcie

Jaedon,

Don't feel like you are bothering others. We are all here to support each other. I feel the same way as you. It helps to be here and know that there are others who feel the same.

I feel like I should be able to 'snap out' of this foggy depressed state. But it's only been four days. Although, in some ways it seems like I've been feeling like this for weeks. I can't concentrate on anything else. I'm finding it hard to work.

Please don't feel alone. There are many people here for you.

Keep sharing.

Ali.

Thank you for your responses. It's been two days exactly for me without her. I have lots of pictures sitting right here beside me, that really I haven't looked at because it's too hard. But, it's good to know they're near. As soon as I can get some of them scanned, I'll post. She's too beautiful for words.

you said:

Thank you for your responses. It's been two days exactly for me without her. I have lots of pictures sitting right here beside me, that really I haven't looked at because it's too hard. But, it's good to know they're near. As soon as I can get some of them scanned, I'll post. She's too beautiful for words.

Two days is a very small amount of time. You are in the worst part of grief..the beginning..the part where it is all so very devastating..24/7. You are not alone in how you are feeling. Many here are in the same place, or have been there, or..anticipate being there soon. We may have different ways of expressing our grief..but none of it is ever wrong..it is normal for us. What is the same is the pain...it is the same intense pain we all feel. You went through a lot of grieving, preparing for her to leave. That is so hard...because there is still a choice..to do or not to do...but because you loved her so very much..you did what was best for her...not for you but really for her. You gave her peace. She is not suffering anymore. When there is no quality of life, when there is no cure, no hope of getting better...when we can't help them get any of that..the best gift we can give them is...peace and no more suffering. Unfortunately, that will be the decision that just starts our real pain and our real suffering but better us than them. They are pure souls who only know how to give unconditional love (unknown to humans) and they never ever deserve any suffering.

One Mom has a saying that helps me: The pain of losing her will never ever be greater than the joy of knowing her. I find strength in that.

This is the time to basically "come apart"....cry anytime, vent anytime, do what you have to do ..to get through the moment. You said she was fighting her problems for 2 years...what a sweetheart...and I know you were with her every step of the way.

I am glad you have lots of pictures...pictures say so much. They are of a happy, healthy time and in the future, they allow us to remember that and smile at the memory. That will also help with the sadness..when we learn to push aside a sad thought and in its place deliberately remember a good one.

That doesn't work too well in the beginning because we have to grieve...we just have to exhaust ourselves emotionally. Eventually we try to find some acceptance of it all but whatever it takes to work through our grief...whether it is crying, anger...whatever gives us some relief...that's what we do especially in the beginning.

One way of venting can be to post here and tell us stories of Stella..things you remember about you that you treasure and that bring a small smile to your lips. Or, another way is just to let all the thoughts and feelings out as they come to you and even though you may feel like you are rambling when you do so...chances are very good..what you say will make sense here.

When you are here, you are not alone. There is truly 99.98% caring so the odds are always with you. We are always listening. We care. And when the scanning is done, we would love to see Stella's pictures.

Take Care..here is a hug for you and your Angel, Stella

Judy

I'm so very sorry for your loss. Beagles are quite something aren't they. My neighbour had one for years, and I'd always visit "Timmy" when I was out with my dogs. I feel like I'm going backwards in the grief cycle too, it's been two weeks and three days. I think it just seems to hurt more as the numb shock stage wears off. I find I've been either withdrawing, or being bitchy. Then I feel guilty for snapping at my partner etc...

You are not alone.

i am so sorry to hear of your loss. you are still in the midst of the shock, there is no backwards...only through, and it takes a long time to be able to feel joy again. you go from knowing they're gone to utter shock and disbelief several times a day. it took me a good month to not cry everyday, and another to not cry every other day, and yesterday, after three months, i bawled pretty much all day. when you love someone-furry or not-for a long time, it should take time to get through it, and even then, there are scars. i think it will honestly take me years to really get to the point that i am only happy of his memory and can't think of the tragedy of his death, and even then i have some doubt. never think you are troubling anyone with your grief, this place is full of people who know and understand. some use their threads to write their loved ones letters, i did and it helped some. maybe try that and post pictures when you are able, it helps everyone when you share your story. take care and do it one day at a time.

sarah (oliver's mama)

I've uploaded a couple of pictures of Stella, for all who are interested. I'm waiting for more from family. I have a some much better ones, but unfortunately my scanner isn't working. It is kind of nice seeing pictures that other people have taken of her, though.

I still can't believe she's gone. Whenever I try to tell myself that she is, there's a voice inside my head that screams, "NO!" And then I feel sick to my stomach for a couple of seconds until I can focus my mind on something else. I've read that a lot of people get rid of their pet's things or move them out of sight. I can't imagine doing that. I almost feel like I should still be putting food out for her and refreshing her water. I feel like she's just in the hospital again and will be home in a few days. I thought last night that maybe that's one reason why I panic sometimes when I think of her. Because I think she's in the hospital frightened and sick, but then I try to tell myself that she's not, she's okay now. She's not hurting, she's not scared... but she's also not with me. And although I'm so thankful that she's no longer in pain, it breaks my heart to realize that the time when she may feel her best.. I can't share with her. I miss her bright eyes and the way her lips would curl into a smile right before she'd throw her head back in triumph with a great howl. How she'd howl with such force that her front legs would come off the ground, and sometimes she'd even throw herself into a circle with excitement.

She could do this great trick where I'd point my hand at her like I was holding a gun and yell, "BANG!" and she'd stumble around and finally fall on her side to "play dead." Only when she was too excited she couldn't do it, so it looked more like she was break-dancing, rolling over on the floor and spinning around in a circle. She was my angel, my saving grace, my best friend, my daughter, my pride, my joy, my rock. I knew that as long as I had her, everything was going to be okay, I could face anything.

On the good days, we'd race around the house, her tail tucked under like a rudder, we'd play with her favorite toys (or sometimes her dad's socks when he wasn't looking). On the bad days, I'd bury my face in her fur and cry, and she'd kiss me and look at me like, "It's okay, Mom. We'll get through this, we always do." But in the end the lepto won, and our good days came to a crashing halt as she lost her will to fight. It just became too much for her. I'm glad I could be there with her until the end, but I wish to God that I could have saved her. I don't understand why something like that happens to someone so good, so young. No matter what, though, she will never be truly gone from me. I know that. So in some way my delusion is correct: she's not gone, she never will be. I just have to rectify that with reality. Someday, somehow.

Again, thanks for being there. This site does help.


To Stella:

Baby, I love you so much and I'm so sorry. I hope that wherever you are now, that you're not scared. I want you to be brave, like you always have been, and be strong. You've always been my little trooper. Eat all the food and treats you want, sweetheart; you don't have to worry about your diet anymore. Daddy and I miss you so much. The house isn't the same without you. Your brother misses you too. You really are my little horcrux, but I know you'll take good care of the piece of my soul that you took with you when you left. I'll see you soon and will probably write again often. Please come visit me in my dreams sometime, I'd really like to see you. I love you, Roo.

Mom

Your "little horcrux" - interesting and very true concept. It really does feel like part of our souls are lost/damaged when we lose our beloved pets.

She was a real cutie pie!!!

I was one of those people that thought I needed to get rid of my furbabies things right away, or I would lose it...now I TOTALLY regret it. I have his big bag of food still sitting in the same spot...but everything else I got rid of...and vacuumed. I so regret it. I know I have a big clump of his hair waiting for me in the vacuum...but it's not the same.

Your Stella was beautiful.

Well, it's been 9 days since I've lost Stella, and I still can't believe it's true. I'm not crying as much, really not much at all, but I can't seem to stay happy for more than a few seconds, either. What consoles me is the thought that I no longer have to worry about her being sick, or in pain, or scared. I just wish that didn't have to be because she's passed. I wish it were because she'd gotten better... but that's sort of useless, because of course it's never going to happen. Posting here does seem to help. Thank you all for getting me through the first few days, especially. I'm on my way home now to a quiet house full of ghosts.

I am so sorry for your loss. It almost feels surreal, doesn't it? Like in any second you're going to wake up from this crazy dream, and there will be your best friend right next to you, healthy and the same as always. Though you will never forget your baby, time will reveal relief in remembering the good times you had with him instead of the end. My prayers will be with you.

Jaedon, Try not to think about going home to "ghosts". A warm hearted spirit instead. Excepting is extremely hard for me too. Not in one of my posts have I not looked at my avatar and think"I can't believe I'm here, I can't believe I'm doing this". I say it too "how could this have happened to something so sweet and innocent, who never hurt a fly".(well, maybe a few mice, chipmonks, dragonflys, bees, birds, etc)I wish for you many happy dreams of your beautiful Stella. Post anytime. I am so sorry for your loss. My heart breaks along with yours as well as everyone here..Hugs..Ann

I hated that fresh, "I can still feel him!" stage. The disbelief was so intense. As if I could think hard enough, or do just the right thing, I could have him back again. Like there was a logic or magic key just out of my grasp. On the other hand, I didn't want it to fade, because then I knew I would lose precious details about my baby. So I wrote down everything endearing about him, from his stinky little cat breath, to his missing tooth, to his double "hi-hi" greeting, to the weird way he used to nurse on his brother's fur, to the lovely game of hide 'n seek we'd play when I made the bed. When I've stumbled across those pages in my journal much later, they brought incredible joy = it was like they brought me fresh back to him, like you are now, but without the pain. I had indeed forgotten some of the details, so it was a gift to have them written down. Add more, to what you're already writing, in a place you can find later.

By the way, I just learned something recently. Many folks here refer to the "stages" of grieving, alluding to those outlined by Dr. Elizabeth Kubler-Ross years ago. Keep in mind, those stages were observed in people who were themselves dying. Dr. K-R never meant this was the same process for those left behind, which brings a whole tangled web of other issues to the table. So don't question whether you're grieving "in the right steps" or "backwards." There is no backwards. There is no right way. It's just getting through it. And, having experienced 4 cat deaths and 3 human deaths in the last dozen years, no two griefs are the same. Each was so different from the other. The getting-through is just getting through it.

My deepest condolences over your lovely Stella. I love the games you described with her, sounds like so much fun. ~Kimberly

Hey Jaedon, I know that you feel devastated beyond words right now. The dread and loss that you are carrying is heavy like a weight on you. I know because I felt the same. Let go of it and just accept that you feel like crap right now and be honest with your emotions. There is no quick fix. You will be sad for a long time, but there will come a time sometime in the future where you will be able to think about your baby without completely falling apart.

You will never never forget Stella. You will always feel her in your heart. Please go easy on yourself. stella would definately not want you to be overly sad at her passing. She was given as a gift to you for a short time, and that is cause for rejoicing, even if she is not with you physically.

I still think of my Sadie Mae every day...but now I can with a bittersweet peace. It does get better, but it will never be the same...nor should it be. Stella made a mark that can never fade. for right now just be patient with your feelings and emotions because they are acting a little crazy right now. Crazy but normal.

Take care
John

When I first saw Stella, I was 20 years old and had just gotten my first apartment living by myself. My ex-boyfriend had called me and suggested I go look at some puppies in what was basically the armpit of a suburb of Dallas. I had been toying with the idea of getting a beagle-- I had wanted one all my life even though my family was a "##er spaniel family", so my request was always denied-- but I didn't think I was ready. I was 20 years old, still going to college and holding down a full-time job. I thought my lifestyle wouldn't be fair for a puppy. But my ex said that this particular puppy was exactly what I was looking for -- a female 13" tri-colored beagle who was mostly black. I gave in. I thought, "Well, at least I'll get to play with a cute pup for a few minutes. That's worth the trip."

When we arrived, after the 35 minute drive to a very bad part of town, however, I was horrified. The house was filthy. There were about five puppies thrown into a narrow, three foot high cardboard box which was located next to an open sliding-glass door. This was the middle of February which, believe it or not, is quite frigid in Texas with very unforgiving winds. But what struck me the most about the scene was a poor, sad little girl beagle sitting on a ratty, orange and brown plaid couch. Her belly was distended and her eyes were covered with dried tears. The breeder proudly told me that she had just given the pup a bath and dried her with a hair dryer. A huge no-no for a five week old puppy. I took one look at that poor baby sitting there, pulled my checkbook out of my purse, and asked how much the lady wanted for her. No matter what I might think of my current lifestyle, it had to be better than this. And that was how I met Stella.

She rode home that night hidden in the sleeve of my jacket, crying softly. Luckily it was a Friday night, so I had the weekend off. The next day, we drove to the local pet store and bought her all the fixin's. A new crate, stainless food and water bowls, toys, bones, and top-knotch puppy food. And then we went to the vet. As it turned out, Stella's belly was so big because she had a rare variety of hookworm, which the vet had diagnosed by trudging back through his school books. Stella's mother had been moved from Oklahoma to Texas while pregnant, and I can only assume her living conditions were less than ideal. So for a week, Stella's diet consisted of a bland hospital food laced with a powdered white medicine. Eventually, she beat the worms and boy did she come back with a vengeance. I thought she was possessed. She would bound around the apartment, chasing me, barking (at this point, she still wasn't aware that she could howl), and chewing the mess out of any toy (or high heel) she could get her paws on. I called to see how soon I could get her into puppy kindergarten and was told I still had a couple of weeks to wait. Yikes! In class, she was the star-- always a charmer. However, she still liked to show me that we were equals. I was not her boss, thank you. After a few breakthroughs and one-on-one sessions with her teacher, though, she became happy with the idea that I might not be her boss, but I was definitely her mom, and that gave her a new respect for me.

One day, while practicing "sit", "down", "stay", "come", and her famous "bang!" trick, she grew flustered, and, to her shock and mine, threw her head up in the air, front feet off the floor, and let out a great "RRROOOOOOOO!!!!" Afterward, she looked around in amazement as if to say, "Holy cow, was that me?!?! That was cool!!!!" From that point on, her nickname, "Roo", stuck.


Thanks for reading this insight into mine and Stella's life together. It helps me to write things out here... and the happy memories are starting to fight their way through the fog. I wouldn't have her back now if she would only be sick again... I wouldn't do that to her. As long as she's happy where she is and not in pain, I'm glad for her. And I am grateful for what she gave me. A best friend, a daughter, and a soul mate.

Thanks for telling us about Stella. How wonderful you rescued her from a questionable environment. I'm glad you two found each other.

you said:
It helps me to write things out here... and the happy memories are starting to fight their way through the fog. I wouldn't have her back now if she would only be sick again... I wouldn't do that to her. As long as she's happy where she is and not in pain, I'm glad for her. And I am grateful for what she gave me. A best friend, a daughter, and a soul mate.

Writing is good for the soul. Write as often as you feel like it. We are always here listening. We can smile at your happy memories and feel your sadness when you grieve.

I like what you said above that I quoted. We need the happy memories..they are very important.
And for what you said after the first sentence.....it is sad to think about but I totally agree with how you feel about having her back...I can relate to that with my boy. And, I, too am grateful for what was given to me. And I know many others here who would agree as I have.

I'm sorry it was her time but I am glad you had her in her life. These babies are true
sweethearts and we will miss them and love them forever and truly are forever grateful they shared their time with us.

I wish you peace and healing and a cyber-hug. If you have more pictures of her, we would love to see them.

Judy

I loved your story of Stella. It brought tears to my eyes, but it was happy and so cute. I'm sure we all have some great memories of our furbabies doing silly things. My Omar just liked to get into the trash...and dig. But I loved him oh so much.

Take care and hang in there.
-Marcie

I definitely think coming here and sharing your thoughts of where you are at right now is great. I love that you took the time to share your memories of Stella.

I relate so much with what your first post. You had to really talk yourself into doing this act that seems so counter to your first instinct of wanting to hold on to your lovely pet. Then after it is over, you are in shock over what you had to do. This does get better over time. I am just a few more days ahead of you in this process.

I got her ashes back last night. I couldn't even bear to take the urn out of the box, couldn't even touch the box when my boyfriend brought it home. I just stared at it, sitting on our dining room table. I still don't know what to think about it. Or how to think about it. I felt like I was getting a little better before, but then when I saw the small box with what I knew was Stella inside.... I can't describe it. I'm glad I chose not to bury her. We don't know how long we'll be here, and I know I couldn't stand to leave her... but it's still hard. I guess it would have been, regardless of my choice. This weekend I'm going to be collecting her things and creating a place for them in our office closet. It used to comfort me to see her things everywhere as though she'd be home any day, but now that I know it's an impossibility, seeing them just rips open a fresh wound in my heart. I could never get rid of any of it, but I can no longer be surrounded by it, either.

Hi Jaedon, Yes the "clean up" is hard. When we lost Arthur, Dave just tossed everything in a bag and put in down the cellar. I had to go though it and decide which to toys goes in his memory box and grave box. And there is still a lot of "stuff" I just can't part with yet. My first thought, donate, but I'll wait. Like you I had him cremated, 'cuz of the uncertainty of living arangement. It gives you "time" to decide to keep the ashes or bury them. With us we did both. Most is in his memory box, which I pick up and kiss everyday and place fresh catnip in it. A few scoops we buried by his catnip plant which he loved. I thought I'd be like you about the ashes, but that doesn't bother me as much as if I were to bury him as he was. I couldn't do it, and again moving and leaving him there, just didn't sit right with me. It's going to take a lot of time. The "accepting" is the hardest part of all.. Hugs to you and Stella

In two days it will be two months since I lost Stella to lepto. I still often cry myself to sleep and feel frequent jabs to my heart during the day when my mind wanders back to her. What I find disturbing is that there seems to be a part of me that's bent on torture. I replay her last day over and over again in my mind, even though I try not to remember it and to focus on the good times. It just happens and it rips my heart in two. I can't help thinking, "Was there something else I could have/should have done?" Was she disappointed in me? Did I let her down? Did I let her go too soon? Should I have let her go? Was she afraid? Where is she now? Besides, the horrible voice inside me sneers, in an urn in the corner of my closet. What have I done? Was I selfish?? How could I have done this to the one I love most in the world? There is a kinder voice that tries to assure me that it wasn't my fault; it was the lepto. I've even told others not to blame themselves. Yet at times, I can't manage it. What would have happened if she had been human? Would I have done more? Would the doctors? I remember her last couple of weeks, when one of the vet techs was reacting to her as if she had leprosy, and there was a bright pink sign on her file that warned everyone against touching her with bare hands and of keeping her anywhere outside of "quarantine." Did this keep them from helping her as much as they could have? An angry, desperate fire is burning somewhere deep inside my chest, threatening to consume my heart. I've noticed that, since her passing, I have a harder time controlling my emotions. At one instant, I'm happy and almost hyper, but then, moments later, I'm brooding and irritable. It's only after these horrible mood swings have passed that I become absolutely mortified, thinking about what I've said or done. Everyone must think I'm going insane; I've begun to wonder the same thing. I've thought about seeking help, but I don't want to be patronized. I can't help but think that no one can truly understand who Stella was to me. It seems trite, it does, and it's said by so many, but she was everything. She was my rock. When I had nothing and no one else, no matter how horrible the day or life seemed, she was my light at the end of the tunnel. And now she's gone. I feel like my safety line has been cut, and I'm floating around in darkness out in space, continually losing oxygen. I'm done being strong. I'm done. I want her back now. I give up, I can't do this, whoever is trying to put me through this test-- you win. Give her back. I'm done, I quit.

Jaedon,

Please do not beat yourself up, you did the very best you could for Stella and she knows that! While the loss seems hard now, it will get a little easier over time. I don't think we ever get over the loss of our furbabies, but it is the love they gave us while they were physically with us that keeps us going. That unconditional love which lives forever in our hearts is what we all need to draw on when we are missing them the most. For me when I get to missing my Fleetwood so much the pain becomes unbearable I retreat into my heart and remember his purring and his warm fur next to me. I know he’s still looking out after me and on occasion I see him running down the hallway and know he is just looking in on us. Hang in there and know you can always come here for comfort.

Mark
Missing Fleetwood