She's too tired to play anymore. Too tired for climbing up onto the bed with me. Too tired to eat most days. She lays with her head to the floor and a far away glaze to her eyes and it terrifies me. She's so calm now, she could slip away from me completely at any time. I habitually check on her, just to make sure she wouldn't leave without saying goodbye.
There's this old Death Cab for Cutie song I loved when I was a teenager. It was released in '05, so I suppose I would have been 15 or 16 when I found it. I didn't know loss when I loved it. I'd lost two family members by the time I was that age, and I know what death is and how it affects a person. I had never been personally stricken, though. Today, for the first time in almost a decade, I heard "What Sarah Said", completely by chance. I was overcome with the selfishness of my own grief. I wept in the grocery store while looking for something that might suit Skylie's appetite.
I do say selfishness. Grief in itself is one of the most selfish experiences a person has. I don't cry for her, I cry for me. I cry because I am the one above anyone else who should have been there for her. I should have done more. I should have been smarter. Instead, she lays here now in her favorite chair that I set her in because she is too weak to climb up on her own. She is surrounded by half-eaten treats and bits of kibbles, but she doesn't want any of them. The medication only angers her, it isn't fair to her that I have to force them on her twice a day. Her teeth are softer now, too. she is missing two of her front teeth, and I'm not quite sure when or how they went. I should have been a better friend to her. For all the times she would come running at my tears, I was 'too busy' and I let her whither away when she needed me. She deserved better from me, and I let her down.
