beauty + lifestyle + parenting

When life delivers you a low blow...

It's been about three days and I feel like I can finally do this without crying... maybe. 


If you have been here for a bit, you know that I generally share the good WITH the bad, but I've never done the whole woe is me... 

Today I'm doing exactly that. Today I am cursing the heavens for the low blow that life is delivering me. The low blow that is coming in the form of loosing my beloved seven year old fur baby on Friday, Aug 21. 

I feel like blaming everyone under the sun, including myself. Maybe I could have watched him more and maybe if I had watched, I could have seen something was wrong. Maybe if I wasn't so wrapped up and involved in my social media my phone whenever I took him out to go potty, I would have seen a difference in the way he was acting.

Maybe I should have loved him more. Given him more time out of the cage. Maybe I should have pet him more. Told him that I appreciated the love he returned to me. Told him that he was my world. That he was my baby. Maybe I should have given him more treats. Or brushed him more. Maybe I should have taken him on more walks. Maybe I could have caught whatever was going on earlier, and he would still be here with me. In my arms. Where I could have done all the stuff I am missing so much.

It hurts. Alot. It hurts when I walk into my house expecting him to bark, and it doesn't happen. It hurts when I go back to my parent's house and don't have to return home to give him water or take him out. It hurts when Lil Man asks where he is. It hurts when I see that his cage is gone. And I realize that he is gone too. It just hurts. Like my chest has been cut open and a piece of my heart was ripped out. 

I'm ready for the numb stage to kick in. I hate feeling hopeless and I hate looking at his picture and knowing that he isn't going to be there when I get home. That he isn't going to be at the door smiling with his tail wagging and attempting to attack me with kisses. I hate knowing that he is buried on the property and he is never coming back. 

I have to believe in heaven. That he is there. And that his pain is gone there. That he is running and jumping, and chasing, and eating treats. I have to believe that he is in a better place. But I still question what was so wrong with this place? I understand he was sick and the vet even said that it was a perfect time to do it, because he was getting worse. But I still wish he was here. Next to me. Cuddling with me. I have to believe that I made the right choice and even though I am overwhelmed with grief, that he is happy and watching over me. That he knows that I didn't make my decision lightly. That it weighed on me for weeks. That it still does. 

I have to believe that my pain will lessen it's grip on my heart. That Lil Man will stop asking if we can go get Duce, or if we can dig him up. I have to believe that his soul is in heaven. I have to believe that when my hubby and family tell me to get out of the house and pressure me to go do something, that it's for my own good. That they care about me and know that sitting alone in my Duce-less house is bad for me. That they care. And aren't telling me just to forget. For their love, I am grateful. 

And I am grateful for the time I had with my baby. Grateful for the seven years and four months that he was mine. That he was happy. That he go to experience unconditional love. That he got to love.



"It has been said, 'time heals all wounds.' I do not agree. The wounds remain. In time, the mind, protecting its sanity, covers them with scar tissue and the pain lessens. But it is never gone."
~Rose Kennedy

*Linking up with Ember Grey


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