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11:28 p.m. - 2006-08-05
Its too much.
When my father died in 1980, I wanted the world to end. I wanted everything to stop. How could people go on living when my dad was dead?

But they did go on. And they wanted me to go on. They wanted me to stop crying. They were uncomfortable with my grief. So I turned it inward, and stuffed it down with food to keep it from coming up and making people angry at me.

I'm grieving again. And she isn't even dead. I'm grieving that the end is in sight, whether tomorrow, next week or years from now. I'm grieving because I can't pretend that she'll be with me forever anymore. I gave her my heart to protect because she was the one person I could trust with it. And when she goes, my heart will go with her and it will be a cold, heartless world.

I don't want to feel anymore. I feel like I'm 9 again and have nobody to take care of me like I needed them to. Nobody to comfort me. Nobody can. I might be 35, but in my heart, I'm 9 years old.

I stopped loving at 9. It was too hard. My mom was angry. Angry at me for grieving. For whatever reason. Crying was against the rules. Talking about my dad was against the rules. Breathing was against the rules. Eating was OK. The more I ate, the more sedate I became. My brother distanced himself from us. So it was me and her and we hated eachother. I wanted to die so badly so I could be with my dad.

From that point on, I rejected committment, attachment, anything that might one day make me grieve. Until I saw my baby in the shop window. She lay there looking bored and miserable. She looked me directly in the eye, challenging me to open my heart to her.

And I did.

All the love I kept locked in my heart I poured into her. All the need for affection, for understanding, for mutual love and respect, I heaped onto her. And she gave back in spades.

I denied myself close relationships. I kept relationships with men casual. I talked about how much I wanted kids, but avoided committment to men.

But all that time I had hope. I had hope that my heart would heal and be able to give and take freely. I had hope because I was able to love this dog so fiercely.

But, in truth. She has made me strong. I'm dependant upon her. Without her, I am that broken little girl again living in a dark scary world waiting to die.

I can't imagine feeling joy again. I can't imagine feeling love again. I can't imagine my face without hot, salty, acidy tears running down my cheeks.

God, I can't breathe.

I'm afraid. I'm afraid of the grief that will coem when she's gone and I know its final and there's no more maybe.

I'm scared to death that she'll have to be put to sleep and the thought is horrifying to me. I can't bear the thought of choosing to have it done them waiting. That final day. Those final minutes. When the doctor comes in and I want to take her in my arms and run.

What so I say to her? What should my final words me? Will I be able to leave her even when its done?

God, please don't make me have to choose. Let her go in her sleep when she's ready. I can't choose for her.

I can't.


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