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Her last moments.
May. 23rd, 2005 04:42 amI'd never watched anyone die before that moment.
For all the times I've heard about others dying, or relatives dying, of my childhood dog, Sam, dying, or watching shows about death on television, there simply was no way for me to understand.
The other night, I knelt before someone who had been my companion for exactly half of my lifetime. I knelt, my head on the floor, gazing intimately and intensely at the crystal blue-green eyes that had been as familiar as my own fiery hazel irises. In her final minute, I watched her pupils constrict tightly, then release.
For a moment, she continued to look at me, even after she completed her last breath. Then, after I spoke to her -- tenderly, gently, impassioned, devotedly -- her pupils dilated to an extent which I'd never before seen. I found myself locked deeply in an inky blackness which couldn't have responded to me, because there was no longer anyone there.
At 3:07am, on Saturday morning, the 21st of May 2005, I carefully cupped Smug's gentle head in my left hand and held her paws in my right as she died. She was 15 years, 11 months and 26 days old. In feline years, she lived to be 79.
( Not a quick read. Take your time. )
For all the times I've heard about others dying, or relatives dying, of my childhood dog, Sam, dying, or watching shows about death on television, there simply was no way for me to understand.
The other night, I knelt before someone who had been my companion for exactly half of my lifetime. I knelt, my head on the floor, gazing intimately and intensely at the crystal blue-green eyes that had been as familiar as my own fiery hazel irises. In her final minute, I watched her pupils constrict tightly, then release.
For a moment, she continued to look at me, even after she completed her last breath. Then, after I spoke to her -- tenderly, gently, impassioned, devotedly -- her pupils dilated to an extent which I'd never before seen. I found myself locked deeply in an inky blackness which couldn't have responded to me, because there was no longer anyone there.
At 3:07am, on Saturday morning, the 21st of May 2005, I carefully cupped Smug's gentle head in my left hand and held her paws in my right as she died. She was 15 years, 11 months and 26 days old. In feline years, she lived to be 79.
( Not a quick read. Take your time. )
