The End of the Story

Murray's gone.  The vet came at 4 this afternoon.  She was very good, very compassionate, and she told me everything I wanted to know. She was very loving to Murray as well.  She spoke to him, encouraged me to continually speak to him.  She told me she was going to give him a sedative to take the edge off.  The final injection is actually similar to an i.v.  She told me the sedative would take about 10 minutes and that Murray would be sort of like he is drunk, very relaxed.  And she was right.  She had to shave his leg because he has this sort of down like hair and the veins are difficult to see. He hates the sound of clippers, but he was okay, the clippers weren't so loud after all.  When he was letting the meds settle in, I talked a little about the cost.  It was actually almost half of what I thought it would be.  The "ten minutes" went by pretty fast, but I held his head and talked quietly in his ear. 

She put the lethal injection in his vein in his arm and it hurt him so he turned toward her and jumped and cried out.  Then he put his head in my lap and within 30 seconds he was gone. I felt the life release from his body.  She said he was gone, I looked at his body and the breathing that had been so steady, was still...not a move.  His head laid heavy in my lap.

This is the end of my story. I've blogged about it the last two or three days. This is the end.  So many pet owners in their tributes to their loved ones speak of how much they loved their pets ....they do talk about the unconditional love their furry loved ones gave them, but what stands out in my mind is their love for them.  I want to say that Murray's love for me stands out in my mind.  His patience with me, his compassion when I would cry; he would always come and lick my face. 

I try to think that I'm not judgemental, but if you were to come to me and minimize the amount of influence the love of a dog has on ones life, I would judge you as an idiot, an insenstive, shallow person, a person I would have nothing more to do with.  A dog's love is far superior to a human's.  Truly.  It's sad they can't speak, and they don't have  opposing thumbs, only for the skeptics that is.  They don't need English or an opposing thumb for me to know that these sweet creations from God are actually just an extension of his love and mercy to humans. 

Murray, and sometimes I called him 'the Murman' is so missed by me right now.  And probably will be for a long time to come.  So, here is my last post, a letter to him.

Dearest Murray,

I am so sorry the decision to end your life was in my hands.  I'm sorry that I couldn't have helped you stay longer, helped you live more comfortably. Thank you for being the gentle spirit that you were.  You were intentionally kind to all the kids who put their tiny faces right up to yours...and all you did was give them a sloppy kiss and make them wince and laugh.  Thank you for each time I cried, you were there, sad face for me and all.  Thank you that you loved me when it seemed no one else could.  Thank you for being present when I felt alone at night. 

I hope that tonight you're somewhere flying free of pain and sadness, because that's the least you deserve.  I hope that somewhere you know that this middle aged lady loves you with all of her heart and soul and is one very sad person . I wish I could give you one more hug, one more whisper of love, one more anything really.  Death truly sucks...it's just shitty.  I love you Murman, you will always be a huge part of my heart.  You helped my healing and for that there are no words to show my gratefulness.

This poem really sums up my feelings....Murray, this is for you..rest well my friend...I loved you much!

Funeral Blues (Song IX / from Two Songs for Hedli Anderson)

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone.
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling in the sky the message 'He is Dead',
Put crêpe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last forever, I was wrong.

The stars are not wanted now; put out every one,
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun.
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood;
For nothing now can ever come to any good.

w.h.auden