Misty. (possible trig?)

Today, May 18, makes one year since my dog, Misty, passed away. Part of me feels really guilty that I was able to go about my day like it was nothing, like I shouldn't be sad. I had set my alarm to wake me up at 9 AM, the time that she was put down last year, but I somehow managed to sleep through it. So I guess maybe writing this will make me feel something? Maybe I'll even cry. But that's okay, because I feel as if I need to today.

Not a day goes by where I don't think of her, though. Every night I touch her urn on my dresser and say goodnight to her and that I love her. It's not the same as being able to tell her in person, to reach over and kiss her where she's sleeping on my parents' bed and tell her. I still miss taking naps with her every day, and now every time I go to bed I still sleep with a stuffed animal of a black lab. It's just not the same.

Some nights I'll start to think of the fun times I had with her. Like the napping or when she got into the ice cream, or how she would wait for me to finish my homework, staring at me any time I moved to make sure I wasn't going upstairs without her.

But then my mind always strays into the bad times and I can't help but cry.

I remember once before the time she was put down she was sick in a similar way and I was so scared she was going to die that I petted her a lot and collected the fur that came off of her (she was a shedder) and put it into this wooden box so in case she died I would have a piece of her left. I still have all of that fur. I remember this time, how bad she got. How sick she was to the point where she wouldn't even eat and couldn't even move up and down the stairs to go to the bathroom and had such a hard time getting up onto the beds to sleep. I remember that I got my hopes up one day, because I was able to put some of my dad's Skippy peanut butter onto my fingers and she was licking it off, and I got so excited because I thought that she would get better slowly because she was eating even a little bit, but she didn't, she got worse and was in more and more pain. I remember how one day I took her upstairs and she just couldn't get onto my bed so I pulled the blankets off and laid down with her and covered her up so she wouldn't be cold. And another day I took her up before community service and laid on the floor with her with no blankets. And then I went to community service and tried to be so strong in front of the kids, but I was talking to D about it and she was going through stuff with her dog too, and I started crying. And when M got there she was so cheery, telling me the new responsibility I would have, until D told her no, not today, and what was going on and I started to cry just as the kids got there and I had to stop quickly. I now regret going to community service because those were a few hours I wasted. A few hours I could have been with her. And when my dad picked me up he was talking about how they'd have to put her down and I'd remembered all those times when Misty was healthy how my mom had said they'd just bury her, no urn because they're too expensive and I cried again because that was too cruel. Misty didn't sleep outside ever. She was always inside in my mom's bedroom or mine and they were just going to stick her in the cold ground like she was nothing and that wasn't fair. They got her an urn.

I remember the night before she was put down I stayed with her in the living room and kept holding her and crying and telling her how much I loved her and why did this have to happen. And any time she moved I'd follow her until she went into the kitchen where my mom had put her dog bed and then I'd just cry because she wasn't with me. And my dad would lead her back into the living room and I'd hold her all over again. And Daisy had called me right before bed and I was crying and my god. That night was hell. I kept whispering to her and I vowed that I'd kill myself. That I'd take some pills or jump off the porch or something because I wanted to stay with her. Thankfully the next day I felt at least a bit more at peace, knowing she wasn't hurting.

I regret going to school on the day she was put down. I should have gone with her to get put down. What kind of best friend am I that I didn't go with her to say goodbye? I didn't think I could do it but now I feel so bad that I wasn't there. I'd said goodbye to her in the morning before school and hugged her and just didn't want to leave. I was crying so hard all the way to school. I had told her again how much I'd loved her and it was okay to go, because I think she had been hanging on for me and I wanted so bad for her to stay and I knew she couldn't live like that. And at school I started crying again at 9 when she was put down and my friend walked me to guidance. And I left early and everything was missing.

But my dad said she was calm and peaceful and nothing bothered her. He said she wasn't scared and that's good because I didn't want her to be scared.

I thought I saw her shadow or heard her feet for the longest time. I expected to go home and see her. Or leave and say goodbye. Sometimes I'd say goodbye to an empty house.

My dad called my sister's dog Misty today. His name is Duke, nowhere even close.

God I miss her.
And I guess this blog entry accomplished what I'd wanted it to. Cried my eyes out typing. </3