That’s when it hit me, that he’s never going to wake up again. The moment he laid his head down on his left paw, it looked unnatural to me as he didn’t sleep like that usually. That’s when I realised we’re really losing him, that we’ll never have him back again. I was already crying on and off at this point, and I really started to lose it. I felt so scared, with a knot in my stomach that I’m losing him, and I reverted back to an anxious child.
Feelings of anxiety and fear and helplessness overwhelmed me as the child in me got scared, and didn’t want to let him go. The adult in me calmed me down and knew there was more to come. We carried him to his bed as it’s likely there would be bodily fluids released when he died. I carried his head and it’s oh so light. I didn’t know what to do except to hold on to the vet’s words for dear life. He was a really good vet, he knew exactly the right things to say and how to say it, and it was my lifeline. Listening to his instructions was the one thing that kept me together.
Then after the vet went away, he came back to check on Bruiser and confirmed he’s fully sedated. He then gave us some time before returning for the final shot. When it happened, I could see Bruiser’s abdomen stop moving, and he’d stopped breathing. We were looking at Bruiser’s body from his back, so I couldn’t see his face as he expired. The vet gave us a moment and I moved to look at his face. He’s gone for sure, I could tell from the moment he was sedated. The Bruiser we’d loved so dearly was no longer there, and no amount of crying could bring him back.
In fact, Bruiser hadn’t been himself for months now, he’d been in pain and wasn’t responding the way he normally would. We had already lost him to cancer weeks before his body expired. I couldn’t hold back the torrent of tears and just lost it. I couldn’t smell Bruiser’s fur anymore because my nose was blocked and stuffed from all the crying. I tried to stop and blow my nose but it didn’t work, I couldn’t smell him anymore. I used to hate his smell, but I’m grasping at it now that he’s dead.
I could feel his body lose warmth as I kept stroking his body, petting his head, touching his face. I was touching his paw as I remembered how he used to raise it to shake my hand whenever I said shake! I couldn’t let go of his paw, I was just fixated on it.
His eyes were still half open so I tried to close them, but they resisted closing. I didn’t know what to do except to keep stroking him, and not let go. Because I knew the moment I let go was when it really was set in stone, that it became real, and I wasn’t ready for it. Now I understood why people kept holding on to a lifeless body even though he/she’s already dead. It’s not rational, it’s an emotionally driven fear that we don’t want to face. The vet came back and brought Bru’s body away. He treated Bru with such tenderness and care, I really appreciated it. He even said we took good care of him, because Bru looked so good and not like he was suffering.
The vet told us a story before he left - he said it was funny because he and his brother used to have a dog called “Joy” growing up. The dog was what made him and his brother decide to become vets. He said it wasn’t a very common name, and thought he’d share it with me since I’m also called Joy. I was very comforted by the story, because I knew I wasn’t alone in my grief, that others also lost their beloved dogs, and it had made such a big difference to their lives. It also made me glad that a dog called Joy once brought joy to others the way Bru did for us. He made us happy, as much as I hope we made him happy.
I’ve never seen a loved one pass away like this, and it was unbearably painful. I don’t wish that upon anyone, ever. I only hope that Bruiser is in a better place now, where he can eat as much as he wants and run around barking and playing with other dogs. Where he’s no longer in pain. While I don’t believe in heaven, this is the one time where I wish I’m wrong and it does exist, at least for such good dogs like Bruiser.
He was such a good dog. So kind, sweet and loving. Even in his dying moments, he was on his best behavior. I saw him wag his tail for the last time as the vet came in - I haven’t seen him do that in months. He then ate the doggy treat and lay down on the carpet as the sedation kicked in. He was so good and brave in his last moments. I will never meet such a good dog again in my life, and I sincerely wish I’ll get to meet him again in my afterlife.
For now, I hope we can live stronger, better lives for Bruiser.
P.S. Now it hurts to walk by any place where I have memories with Bruiser. I can’t stop playing back all these images of him. When he was alive, I didn’t think about him that much, but now I can’t stop. Why?
