I haven’t written in a while, and coming back to discover my grief when Rosey died is a quiet punch in the gut.
I know this post isn’t much better, I’m still referencing it, but what can you expect? It’s still raw. I still walk into the room and expect her to be there. I make a noise and turn to see if it woke her.
I’ll get past it. I don’t think I’ll get over it. It’s almost Bongo’s time as well, he’s getting thinner pretty rapidly, and he doesn’t eat much at all. All of the steroids in his system (that prevent the autoimmune disorder from eating him alive) have consequences that are inevitable.
I’m hoping we take in 2021 with him, but I’m not certain. I find myself wondering “How bad will he need to be before we bring him in?”.
Leaving him to eventually expire is not an option. I shouldn’t have left Rosey to that fate. I won’t leave Bongo to fight for one more breath. It was agonizing to watch, I can’t bear to subject our Boo to that as well.
That does of course lead to the thought that I’ll probably want to find a similar service for *me* when everything finally breaks down. There’s no victory in trying to fight inevitability.
I still have a long time before I need to consider that. If I’m lucky, maybe 40 years? That’ll be enough time I think.