This is Day 2 after Emma's passing!

The pungent and sour odor that was our consistent experience these past few weeks, is just starting to dissipate. Her sad whines and cries are becoming a faint memory for the sound of silent sighs of each of us as we pass the bathroom that had become her ICU room. Her male nurses have gone back to being my sons and husband. She really had their hearts for those weeks. I couldn't really sympathize, myself. I thought that we should have ended it awhile ago. I said, she is a dog. I loved her, but she is not my child or a human.

Emily and I were in agreement about this. Day after day, I looked in on her, but I didn't go in and I didn't do much, except bring her water from time to time on a flat plate so she didn't have to lift her head too high.

She was on a plastic pallet, with pillows and blanket comforting her, in the end. She had to be cleaned a couple of times a day, for the stench of her excrement. That dulled the odor a bit, but it was putrid. We will be doing the cleaning regularly to completely clear it out.

On the last day, I felt it, but I wanted to feel that feeling each day of the ordeal. I looked in and we looked eye to eye, but I didn't say anything and neither did she. I felt bad about that later in the day, when I heard that she had been completely alone, when it happened. I felt angry that my boy had to be the one to find her. Is that his preparation for adulthood, Lord? What does that mean about this poor boy's experience to be 14 and seeing the dog die in our bathroom? I would have spared him that. This thought quickly faded into the guilt of not even saying goodbye to her and the thought that I couldn't have been there to direct the final process. That faded into relief that they were grown enough to complete that task without my intervention, even in the least. I have become the final clean up person. After they do their best to clean up the mess, I am the sterilizer. I pour the last bottle of bleach on the situation and hope that there is nothing else to pick up from there. Oh, what a beautiful teamwork to observe of my men, doing their thing. That made me glad.

Emily and I did our usual grousing and grumping on the way home. That has become our female bonding and commiserating that our female sensitivities had been taken to their limit on this situation. We were ready to take her to the vet weeks ago and we were no longer sympathetic to the loss as we would have been, had the whole house not wreaked.

I thought I was going to get to say goodbye. And I was nearly crying about that, but I didn't let on. That disappointment hit me, as we pulled into the driveway. I couldn't let on, the depth of my disappointment because the boys and Ben had had the brunt of the responsibility. My eyes looked to the sky, as it often does as I agonize my knees out of the vehicle and I saw a cloud that looked like a dog's head, right above me. There is her goodbye, I said to myself relieved that God didn't leave me to feel so incomplete in this part of the relationship. I offered a little prayer to be able to keep my composure and at least show my strong side, in this funeral like moment.

I wasn't ready for my room to become the wake for the dog. But it did. We shared our good memories of her. Ethan shed his very well hidden tears in a moment of reminiscing, but very maturely. Hand over the face and not even a whimper. They are learning that our griefs have gradations. Our dog touched us deeply, but nothing like the sympathy that we feel for humans in their suffering. That is a wonderful lesson for children and I am sorry that I didn't know that as a lesson for my children earlier.