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The Hardest Goodbye

It has been very rainy, gray and overcast the last few days. Yesterday was an especially dreary kind of day that made me think, “Someone must have died today,” because even the sky is weeping. I often feel like that on those kinds of days. I know it’s silly and that people die on sunny days too, but as far back as I can remember, in my mind, rainy days just seem more suited to grief than sunny ones. 

                                                            

I am so thankful that we had beautiful, abundant sunshine on our recent trip to the coast with our pups. Cobb and Lily enjoyed walks in the sunshine and Daisy, as weak and frail as she’s been, even managed a few short walks. 

 

Today is a sunny day, yet I’m struggling to understand how the sun can even shine while my heart is breaking. How is it that I hear people laughing, in the distance, when I can’t stop crying? 

 

Today, if you hadn’t already guessed, is our first day waking up without our Daisy. 

Yesterday, the “somebody” that died on a rainy day was our sweet girl. 

 

By the time we got home from our trip, we just knew it was time, and so we made the arrangements to set her free. She wasn’t Daisy anymore. She no longer had any quality of life. 

 

The night before, we went to bed knowing it was the last time she would sleep between us. We woke up with a feeling of dread for what was to come, even though we knew it was the compassionate thing to do. Paul grilled her a filet mignon for breakfast, and I added some blueberries and peanut butter because she loved them. 

 

At the appointed time, a veterinarian and a vet tech arrived, both full of hugs. Neither Paul or myself held it together very well. Thankfully, they were kind and understood. We used the same company, Sweet Dreams In-Home Pet Euthanasia, that helped us when Misty passed away. 

 

We put her in her favorite fluffy bed for the sedation while Paul and I, along with Lily and Cobb surrounded her. I fed her a Dove milk chocolate bar and more blueberries to distract her from the initial injection. 

 

Within minutes, she was sound asleep. We both kissed her over and over and told her we loved her and that Misty was waiting for her. Quietly, I whispered to her to send me a sign that she was OK. Then we told the vet that we were ready and she proceeded with the final injection. Daisy slipped peacefully away surrounded by our love. 

 

Afterwards, the vet and the tech stepped outside to give us, Cobb and Lily time to say goodbye. When they came back in they wrapped her in a snuggly pink blanket, and then gently placed her in a cozy basket to transport her. We kissed her one last time before they drove away with her. 

 

You might think this is where Daisy’s story ends, but it’s not…

 

Paul and I had just walked in the house when he looked out in the backyard and exclaimed, “Hey look! The sun finally came out!” We both stepped out on the deck and the clouds had literally parted, in one spot, allowing just a beam of sunshine to land right where we stood! We saw blue sky and bright sunshine streaming through. This lasted about two or three minutes before it just as suddenly clouded back over and the rain began to fall again. 

 

That may not seem like a big deal to you, but in our heart of hearts we knew, without a doubt, that it was our precious Daisy, telling us that she had made it to safely to Heaven, found Misty and that she was where she belonged. She had sent us our sign! 

 

Naturally, we will grieve for a while. However, we can’t help but smile knowing that Heaven won’t know what hit it with Daisy’s larger than life personality. She will have everyone laughing with her antics and we know she will be loved every bit there as she still is here. 

 

We love you so very much, Daisy, and we always will. 

 

 



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