2020 is Out to Kill Me
My sweet Sol is now gone. Today at 12:30 pm, we were ushered into The Room. He was given a tube to administer drugs through his leg. And we said our final goodbyes. Upon pushing a button, that rang like a doorbell, the doctor appeared, and administered the first of three substances to end Sol's life.
The first was a sedative, and when it hit his blood stream, Sol nuzzled his head into the crook of my neck, and there he lay for the sleeping medicine and the flush to push the drugs through. It was after the third that he took his last breath. He left us.
Nevi and I cried. A lot. Nevi wailed. Loudly. Without abandon. Her pain came from deep within her belly, and it echoed pain from every part of her being.
The drive home was hard. I tried to remember positives - it was peaceful, he was surrounded by love, he left before he was in too much pain. Nevi turned to me with hurt in her eyes. "Let me grieve my way!" she shouted. And then she listed every wrong she felt she had ever done to Sol, she lamented that he didn't know it was going to happen, she screamed out to G-d about how she hates life, and she begged G-d to let him meet up with our other dogs, Mordi and Motek, in the afterlife.
Her pain hit me doubly hard. I came home and slept for hours. Hard sleep. The kind you wish you had never woken up from. And then her dad called. His truck is broken down again. He can't finish the load he is driving. I can't expact child support for a while. There is no money. I'm just numb right now.
The dog. Money. Work. Children. Homeschooling prep. Changes. Life. It's too much. It feel like too much.
I'm going to sit. Cry a bit more. Take some deep breaths. And get up again, and move forward. What else can you do? There is nothing I can do but keep moving.