When I came home last evening, I was already sobbing. I rued the fact that my furry friend won’t be around to greet me. In the car, I heaved sighs of resignation and despair. As I opened the gate to our house, I wanted to whistle to my departed friend the way I always did.

The first thing I did was to go her little burial spot at our front porch. I removed the wrought-iron chair I placed the other night, whilst digging her final resting place. I then went to her little corner in the garage, hoping deep down for her expectant face (and drooling and panting!) to greet a warm hello.

But alas, she is gone. That’s a fact I have to live with – forever.

By the time I got inside the house, I was in tears for the nth time. Such is the pain of losing a someone who had loved unconditionally.

I chose not to train last night. I was too stumped, too grief-stricken. I wanted to watch the latest episode of my favorite show, but I couldn’t seem to muster enough will to stare at the boob tube. Writing was also out of the question. All the track & field stuff I’m so engrossed in suddenly became irrelevant. It was a gloomy Monday night.

The what-if scenarios came into mind as well. What if the vets in UP were able to diagnose her condition earlier? What if I brought her to Vet on Saturday night, instead of Sunday morning? Would it have made a difference? It kills me to replay those potential scenarios.

Whilst washing the dishes, I kept on glancing outside the kitchen window, hoping to see my panting friend staring back. Fat chance. Death is a fact of life we have to contend with.


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