#bereaved

Josh,

I had a really shitty time about a week ago now. Not to make everything about me, or rather, you, but it was painfully reminiscent of your dying.

See, I took my rat to the vets. He’d been ill for weeks now, but from what the expert (and painfully expensive) vet had said, I was pretty certain we had options left. We’d only had him a couple of months; we adopted him and his brother as younger playmates for our older boy.

I had no expectations that I’d be going home without him. I thought we’d just be picking up a new antibiotic or maybe some alternative medications to force-feed him on biscuits for the next week. But the vet said she didn’t like how hard he was breathing, even though it was no worse than every other visit. She told me that she had one last idea, but after that we might need to have “a different kind of conversation”.

The last idea was in the form of a fast acting injection. I was sent to the waiting area while we waited to see if it helped. 45 minutes later, she told me there was no change.

“There’s a small chance he might improve yet, lets leave it a bit longer.” She really was trying to give him every chance. “Why don’t you take him out to waiting area and sit with him?”

I was grateful of any extra minutes I got to have by his side. But I knew there was a very high chance he was going to die soon. I couldn’t talk to him, and I tried so hard not to cry. Other people were in the waiting area. I just watched him in his little carrier. Pottering around. Smelling anyone who walked past. Nibbling his food. Breathing hard and trying so hard to keep living. I wanted to tell him I loved him. To get him out and love him. But I couldn’t. I could hardly bare to look at him in case the tears started coming. I was alone, in shock and waiting for him to die.

It was the hardest 40 minutes of my life in a long, long time. I didn’t want them to end, I dreaded the vet coming back out to call us. But I also wanted it to be over so I could get back to my car and cry in peace.

He was young. I didn’t expect him to die. But then I knew he would, and I was forced to just sit and wait for the inevitable. So, yeah, it made me think of that day.

It hurt like fuck, and yet a week later I’m numb again. I’m not sure which is worse. Life is such a fucking bitch, Josh. Though, I guess you don’t need me to tell you that.

Love always,

C

Josh,

It’s always a beautiful sunny day on the anniversary of your death. It doesn’t match the occasion, but it makes me smile.

I’m thinking of you. Maybe we’ll talk soon.

C