Man's Best Friend

I had taken Kristy to the vet and it was confirmed that she had cancer. She wasn't that old, only 6 in human years, yet she still stole my heart. I was devastated, but had options. There were places that specialized in cancer for animals, and I agreed to start chemotherapy right away for her. After a few months of this, Kristy seemed to have gotten better, was more active, and showed a glimpse here and there of being her old self. One day she refused to come out of her kennel, she refused to eat, and didn't drink much either, she seemed so tired. I called the vet and let him know how Kristy was doing. He reminded me that the procedure may not work, and even if it did, we were on borrowed time.
I watched Kristy over the next couple days. She still would not eat, or drink, she just lay there, in her kennel, sleeping mostly. One night I heard her whimpering, she was by the back door, just laying there, looking at it, whimpering from time to time. I picker her up and put her back on her pillow in her kennel. After a few minutes I heard her moving. I looked over to see her crawling on the floor, she was heading to the backdoor again. I picked her up once more and put her back down in her bed. I petted her for a little bit, and then sat in the recliner to watch her. She slept through the night. I called her vet once more to let him know about her behavior. He told me to prepare myself, as it seemed to him that Kristy was looking for a place to die, as most dogs do. He said to bring her in, and that he could give her something to make her transition less painful. I picked Kristy up and put her in the truck, and we drove to the vets office. When we got there, I picked her up again and began walking to the entry door. I stopped, just staring at the door, knowing what was going to happen her. I considered turning around and running. Putting Kristy in the truck and just take off. But I knew that would do nothing. We couldn't outrun the inevitable. She deserved to have the most comfortable transition as possible. We walked in and waited.
The vet talked a little bit to me about the process and what was going to happen. He said that Kristy wouldn't feel any pain. That she would fall asleep and pass in her sleep. I said ok. The vet asked if I wanted to sit with her, there was an old rocking chair in one of the offices and I asked if I could sit there with her. He said of course. I sat with Kristy, rocked her a little, her head resting on my chest just underneath my chin. I could feel her lungs expanding as she breathed in and out. Overtime it grew slower and slower, I watched as her body began to shut down. I prayed to God to please take Kristy quickly, please don't let her fight for her life. I talked to her, telling her what a sweet girl she was, how much I loved her, and how grateful I was for all the love she had given to me. I told her to let go, that I would be ok. Even though I knew I wouldn't be. I snuggled her a little tighter. I tried not to think of all the times we had shared, when she was a puppy, when she was growing up. I could physically feel my heart breaking a little more with every tear that fell.
I asked her a question. I whispered, "Kristy, would you like to hear a story of the person that you were named after?" Her eyes shifted a little, I took that as a yes and that she was interested in to what I had to say. I told her awhile back before she was born, I had a friend named Kristy. She was in so much pain when I met her. A pain that I could never understand. Pain that was deep inside of her and was so strong that she couldn't take it herself. She began to cut herself, to take from the pain she felt inside. But the outside pain was very temporary, and the pain inside would take over again. When I met Kristy she had what seemed like hundreds of cut marks on her arms and legs. I worried about her everyday, I thought about her everyday. I could see her pain, and when we began to talk, I could feel as it well. We talked everyday for over a year, and I believe that the more we talked, the more the pain inside her slipped away. She once told me that she wished she could wear a short sleeved shirt, spaghetti strings, anything that wasn't long sleeved. But she was ashamed of the scars and marks on her arms. I suggested to her to have sleeves done, tattoos to cover them up. She did, and after a year and a half, she had her scars covered up by ink. Her ink told a story as well, of her struggle, her fear, her courage. I was very proud of her. I was lucky to be able to watch her overcome her greatest adversary, herself.
Eight months before I got you, Kristy committed suicide. She hung herself with an extension cord from a tree in her backyard. She had wrote a letter, and in it my name was mentioned. She said thank you chef, for taking the time to find me under all the hate, and ugliness that had covered me up. To see myself and smile, to love myself and others around me. You were right, you should love everyone you come in contact with you, and not be afraid to tell people that you love them. I love you chef, and am grateful for all of the time that you sacrificed for me. But this was going to happen regardless, we were always on borrowed time. I go with piece in my heart instead of rage. And I owe that to you, it is a debt that I could never have repaid.
I looked down at Kristy, the light had gone out of her dark blue eyes. I couldn't feel her chest expanding anymore, she had passed. I sat there and rocked her for just a little while longer. Trying to treasure a few moments more while holding her. I whispered one last time in Kristy's ear. Find her my sweet girl, bring her a little joy in heaven, as you have brought to my life.