It happened in just a few days. It was the Easter morning when the clinic where she was fighting the post-surgery called us saying she was gone.
She spent 15 years with us, her entire life. She changed 3 houses with us, saw the birth of our kid, and played with her furry sister who is one year older.
Thinking of it now, when the emotions of the moment calmed down a little, we’d probably have made different choices. The risk of surgery was very high, but they told us she could survive IF she had passed the first 48 hours.
I didn’t consider that big “if”. I failed to be analytic and held on to that small, unrealistic percentage of hope.
Thinking of it now, I can say I should have taken her back home and waited for the end to arrive. Or even helped the end to arrive. But she would have been at home.
We decided to cremate her.
And after a few days, she’s now back home.
