Dear Lucinda,

I miss you. 🖤

One month after

It was the first gray day in weeks.

Days of 80 degrees and sun, replaced with a Pacific Northwest mist. Clouds.

We take you to the beach, leaving Bubs at home to rest. He and Freyja manage the house.

You didn't want to do much, and that was fine. It was perfect. It was what we needed. I hope you had a good time watching Lysander splash in the water, build sand castles, eat snacks.

You dipped your paws in. You wandered around, closer to the fishermen than was comfortable. Curious yet calm. You were rarely calm when out in the water, but today you were.

You sit on the blanket with Octavia and just exist. The two of you, together. As always.

--

Back in the front yard with Bubs. Lysander kicks a soccer ball and Bubs chases it. You watch.

You give a chase with Bubs to something in the tree, a squirrel? One last burst of the Goosebody energy we lived with for 11 years.

We sit. We hug you and pet you.

It's time to go to the vet. You love the vet.

--

Lifting you in to the car one last time, and we're off. I don't remember much from here.

--

We drive, Bubs and Lysander with us. We pull in to the vet's parking lot and I help you out of the car. We go in the door and are shown to the room on the right. No scale today.

There's a pillow on the floor which has never been there before.

Dr. Adams comes in. The assistant DJ helps. We say yes to having a paw print made.

Dr. Adams bends down to you and gives you some pets. He sees how hard it is for you to breathe.

You go to the back one last time, but it seems you don't want to leave us. I don't want you to either.

They bring you in with the IV area ready. A bandage with a blue heart on it.

We have as much time as we need to be with you.

We read books, as we do.

The Longest Letsgoboy. Lysander reads with us. It's hard to read through the tears.

I go out and nod to the front desk saying we're ready.

Dr. Adams comes back and explains that first you will go to sleep. Then the final shot to let you go, away from pain, away from coughing, away from a tumor by your heart and lungs.

--

You go quickly and quietly. There is no final coughing. You are on a blanket and small pillow from home. You are comfortable and you are gone. The energy and light is gone. You are so still, making no noise. To not hear noise from you is the most strange thing.

We sit. We hold you, feeling the warmth of your body. It fades slowly, but you were still warm. Bubs is quiet and I see an actual tear fall down his face. Lysander watches.

We position your body so you look at peace, head resting on the pillow. We say goodbye, we leave tears on your pretty coat. We leave out the side door in the room, walk to the car, and somehow drive home, without you.