Letting Go

The vet sat in front of us and assured us that we were making the right choice for our dog. “It sounds like you guys know him well and you know he’s not doing well.”

Bingley’s health began to quickly deteriorate after we found out that he had a tumor. It was difficult to accept that his time was coming but he was hardly eating anything. One night I begged him to eat something and I collapsed to the floor and hugged him. Felicity stopped what she was doing and came to me. “I’m sad because he’s very sick.” I told Lici.

One evening I laid in front of him and reminisced. “Remember when Bingley..” I’d say. I laughed, I cried. Ana came in after an evening out with a friend. I sat up and wiped some tears away. “Im ok.” I said. I felt this need to apologize, for not being my typical self, for not being in a place where I could talk to her about her life, to be a mentor. She stopped me, sternly. She said she was grateful to be there and that she doesn’t often see us in that state. It was good for her in a sense. I wasn’t at my best. I was raw and real, human. I’ve shared a lot of care and wisdom with Ana. Yet here I was, a complete puddle, broken and sad. I was in more need of her care than she was of mine and I struggled with accepting that. The layers of who I was were beginning to fall away. 

The vet explained the procedure to us in a calm tone. “When you are ready I have a special treat that he’ll love and then I’ll give him a shot which will put him to sleep. He won’t feel any pain anymore and he’ll be around the people he loves.”

I don’t know how this woman does this job. It felt like she was an angel right there in our living room. We nodded. “We’re ready.”

Bingley laid chewing his bone on the floor. We surrounded him and kissed him. Brandon nodded to the vet as I held the treat out for Bingley to lick. She gave him the initial shot and he slowly drifted off. “He’s having the best dream of his life.” She said. 

She proceeded to press his paw into a piece of clay to capture his sweet big pawprint. We kissed him profusely, told him he was such a good boy. I thanked him for everything. For his loyalty. For his help of my grief of Samson, for loving us, for being good to Felicity from the very beginning, for the silly antics, for being good from the beginning to the end and for being the best thing that happened to us during such a dark time in our lives. When Brandon saw how calm Bingley’s body became after the first shot he grew emotional. It seemed Bingley was in discomfort for a while. He was shedding a ton and groaning and always unable to get comfortable. Seeing him still and at rest was a mixture of sadness and relief. We also felt the wave of sadness mixed with relief that we’d made it, that nothing bad happened to him in our care and that we could finally take a deep breath.

The vet shaved his hind leg to get to his vein. She was unable to get to it. She tried his front leg and was also unable to get to it. She tried his abdomen but the tumor had grown so much that she couldn’t do that either. “Sometimes this happens, the body is working so hard and unable to pump blood to their extremities. As a result their veins collapse.”

It felt like more confirmation that it was time and he’d suffered enough.

“I’ll have to go straight to his heart, are either of you squeamish with needles? Because the needle is larger for that.” We shook our heads. 

“When you are ready.” She whispered.

One last kiss on his snout, one last whisper, one last thank you. One last I love you Bearsy, you’re a good boy.

We told the vet to go ahead. She gently stuck the needle through his chest and then pressed her stethoscope against his chest. After a few moments she quietly said, “He is at peace now.” My world shattered. I didn’t fully know it then, but that’s probably when this all started.

The vet stepped out and we cried. Zelda came downstairs without our noticing. She sat there behind me and then Brandon pointed her out to me. “Look.” he said. “Do you think she’s saying goodbye?” 

Zelda rarely came downstairs and it seemed eerie that she showed up when he was finally gone. It definitely seemed like she knew. 

The vet told us to open the door when we were ready for her to take him. She brought in a stretcher and blanket. She placed the stretcher behind Bingley while I cried silently. She slowly slid her arms under his body and gently pulled him on the stretcher. She rested the blanket over him, tucking his tail and paws in and tenderly wrapped the blanket around his face. She untucked his ear from under the blanket and touched it softly. She treated him with such respect. Our friend was gone and she seemed to know how much he meant to us. Only his head sat out from under the blanket. “Goodbye buddy.” I said and kissed him again. 

The vet and Brandon picked up the stretcher on either side and walked outside. They placed him in the back of her SUV. Blankets and flowers adorned the sides, and behind him a message board read, Saying goodbye is love too. She hugged us and told us to take care of eachother, which I had also promised Bingley before she’d arrived.

When Brandon and I came inside we held eachother and cried. Shortly after Ana walked in. She was prepared to give us space but I grabbed her and said, “Where are you going? I want you here.” She sat beside me and held me while I cried. I cry alot. But I hear it’s cleansing.

Losing Bingley has been painful. Like a pain that’s seared straight through me. What has ensued this summer beyond Bingley has been a downward spiral like I’ve never experienced before. Feelings of panic and paranoia returned. My irritability was at an all time high and our family has struggled to get stable. I’m encouraged to say that it seems I’m on an upswing now after receiving help and an abundance of prayer warriors. But man it’s been hard. Some deep healing work is going on over here.

As I’ve found out there’s still alot of hurt with Samson and in my past in general. Alot of anger, fear, shame and guilt and it’s seeped into everything. I’m untangling this massive mess, healing. Old traumas are being uncovered. I feel fragile. I lost my friend in Bingley and I’m devastated. I have struggled to manage my grief. I was feeling at times like I could not go on, like all I could do was lay in bed and cry, I grew distant from Brandon, I lashed out at everyone around me. I felt like screaming. One day I did in the car alone. What is going on? I asked God. I’m confused, I couldn’t think straight, brain fog had overtaken my mind.

Many triggers contributed to this spiral, it was bound to happen at some point. When the crying wasn’t enough anymore I screamed as loud as I could driving down a country road. The walls of the car muffled the sound of my anger from the world. I was angry and I couldn’t say that alot but I was angry. My anger scared me, and I see now that it was coming from trying to hide my shame. I was in so much pain I couldn’t hide it anymore. I was screaming out in deep rooted pain and fighting for my life. At first I’d felt like the dust was kicked up around me and I couldn’t see. Then I felt like a reed bending so far I was about to snap and then I knew I was turning into this volcano that was erupting.

“I think I’m having a mental breakdown.” I told my sister over the phone. I told her I’d screamed and I couldn’t bear the pain and I couldn’t think straight.

She prayed over me and said, “Eventually the top is going to blow off & all that anger, fear, anxiety, sadness, longing, all of it has to go. You’re letting it all go & fighting for your mental wellbeing. For your spiritual freedom, Natalie has been chained down long enough, let her out and let her fight.”

My nervous system went into shock and I suffered multiple panic attacks in the days following. I had been so up and down I could not function.

God has a story for me here and I’m seeing alot of it now. I’ve hid my shame from him for a long time, not wanting him to look at it. Not wanting Him to see this stain on my life, as if I thought I could hide a festering wound from Him. The Lord has been patient with me. He’s speaking truth to me, healing me, protecting me. I’ve been believing some lies that I didn’t even know were there they’ve been truth for so long. He’s weeding it all out.

It feels like I’m coming out of a deep sickness. But overall I’m grateful for a God who has shown up in my sorrow and anger and helped me fix my eyes on him, I’m in full surrender.