The Morning It Started
One morning I woke to my mom at the foot of my bed.
"You should come downstairs," she said.
Sandy, our sixteen year old shih-poo, had fallen down a small set of stairs the night before. I thought of how small she had looked on the basement landing; her back far too hunched, her legs buckling as she struggled to support herself. I thought of her lightness as I scooped her into my arms and carried her to her bed. I thought of the fact that only my mom and I were home.
I wondered why she had woken me, I worried why she had woken me, and I shivered at the thought of being the one to carry that same lightness through the front door.
Meeting Her at the Bottom of the Stairs
She looked even smaller than the night before, from the top of the stairs where I stood now. Her head hung low, and her paws continued to slide out from under her. Slowly descending the stairs, each step heavier than the last, I met her hazy eyes at the bottom. My mom, now crouched beside her, remained tenderly petting the top of Sandy's head as a stream of urine ran down her back legs; she didn't squat.
Through a voice thick with grief, my mom whispered "I think it may be time," and I wished I could tell her she was wrong.
The Phone Call That Changed Everything
Sitting outside to breathe easier, I called my boyfriend at the time. Finally answering after the third call, and seemingly already annoyed, he asked me what I wanted. I immediately broke out in a sob, "It's Sandy," I started, before he cut me off.
"I'm so sorry, I know how much you loved her," he yawned.
"She's alive," I blurted, "but not well. I don't know how much longer she has."
"I'm so sorry hon," he sighed. "I have to get ready for work. I'll talk to you soon." He hung up.
Truths I Had Filed Away
Blinking away the abruptness, I breathed in the blue of the sky. With my phone heavy in my hand, truths I had once filed away began slotting into plain sight.
I knew I would shortly lose them both, though I wondered if one had to come first. Sandy had supported me through every loss I had ever known, and I knew she could do the same for me through the loss of him. What I was unsure of –what I reluctantly knew the answer to– was if he was able to support me in the same way, through the loss of her.
The Text Messages
Later in the day, my phone chimed three times on the pillow beside my head, waking me from my nap.
"Hey Babe," read the first message. I was excited to read more; eager for him to prove me wrong. Facing the ceiling in bed, I held my phone to my chest. Allowing myself one deep breath before I continued to read what was still unread, my lips tugged into a soft smile. My eyes closed of their own accord, my shoulders loosened in response.
Reading the next messages, my chest tightened. Spotting the words 'UberEats', and 'Same as last time, please', forced my breath to hitch. Finally, and all at once, all my priorities had fallen into place. What had previously existed as a disorganized mess of ideas, now slotted into a neat numbered list in my mind, with Sandy sitting at the top and him buried at the bottom.
Her Final Act of Love
I broke up with him one month later, and Sandy passed away in three. I cuddled her through the breakup. She licked away my tears. By the time she had passed away, I was strong enough to stand on my own. By then, the heartbreak I had felt from losing him was only a distant echo, and the heartbreak I had now felt from losing Sandy was immeasurable in comparison. She had consumed my prior grief in a way that made him nonexistent. As her final act of love, once again, she showed me the way.
