November 4, 2009 Part Two

Please read the previous post in order to be fully understand what is going on here.
And another warning: this post is full of cliches, similes, and potentially obnoxious metaphors. I apologize in advance, it is my sense of healing and closure.

The night now felt like a burden, like burden forever to be etched in my memory. Every movement I made felt like my feet were filled with bags of sand and pins and needles were in my clothing. Knowing every single thing we did for the next hour more or less would be Putter's last, and our last with him. It was almost unthinkable.

A neighbor -- so much more than a neighbor, our savior in so many ways -- came over to sit with the girls while they slept, endearing us with stories of his youth in a small, rough coal mining town in Pennsylvana, and how they "took care of this" themselves 65 years ago....Inappropriate, completely. Unexpected? Not at all.

We loaded Putter in the car to make the 20 minute drive, and, because this wasn't feeling long enough before we even left town we had to get gas.

Finally on our way, the road blacker than imaginable, the moon appeared as we cleared through the trees. That moon. That annoying, ridiculously bright bulb that hung in front of us the entire way, like it was pulling us right to where we needed to be. Accustomed to the lack of streetlights anywhere in the county, usually night is deep, dark night. The moon felt like the sun. Looking at it felt like I was looking at a lightbulb. It burned my already reddened eyes as it forced as to move closer towards our destination. Move towards the light...move towards the light....We're coming.

Once in the building of the Emergency Veterinary Office, there was one other 'customer' in the waiting room. I was not shy of my red eyes, my snorts and sniffles, my heaving chest. I know that customer was not there because their animal was getting their nails clipped. It is the type of place that you feel an automatic comraderie when you walk in. Like you walk in to a giant group hug, because you know everyone there has a very special thing in their life they are concerned about.

But a waiting room is a waiting room, and unfortunately, we had to wait. My stomach felt like it wanted to leap outside of my body and run back home, and I wish it had. I didn't like the feelings it was giving me. Our turn at the front desk, and there were painful decisions to be made. 'Do we want to be present?' yes 'Communal of private cremation, or none?' Communal Sign here. and here. and here. and here.
Then they took him back to insert a catheter.

More waiting. This time, just the two of us in the waiting room. Us and our red eyes and runny noses. And doubts and fears and insecurities. I am so glad we were there together.
To be continued....