Day 289 - Collisions of Happy and Sad

What do you do when life puts happy moments on a crash course with disasters? How are you suppose to feel? Like our wedding in one month and a cancer diagnosis the next. Like getting the news from your oncologist at your 3 month follow up appointment that you can now say you're "cancer free" - and you're so happy and overwhelmed by this new "status" - like you've accomplished such a tremendous feat and can truly put it behind you for now and go forward with a lighter heart, that you cry tears of joy as you exit the hospital - and then you catch a plane to your hometown to celebrate your 30th birthday weekend and the second morning you're there - you get a phone call that your beloved dog was hit by car and didn't survive.

I miss my dog so much.

So many highs and so many lows - all colliding with each other. I don't know what I did or who I pissed off - but I'm really, really sorry. I'm sorry for whatever it was that I did to justify all this sadness. I try to only do good things - to help people whenever I can. I volunteer with charities, I give when I can give. I don't stand for people being mean to other people and I speak up about it. I try to be a good person, wife, friend, family member -- I always try to make the right decision with the best intentions behind it, and nothing else.

I just don't get it. And it hurts.

We celebrated my 30th birthday with a heavy heart ... and said goodbye to 29 with a heavy pour.

As soon as we landed on Monday we went to the vet to see Tomo, and say our goodbyes. They had kept him in the freezer so he was cold when we touched him on the exam table. They had him covered in blankets, but you could still see that he was in a black bag. His normally pointed ear was folded over a bit from being inside the bag and it froze that way. I wanted so bad to straighten it out. I kept waiting for him to open his eyes and give me a dirty look for disturbing his nap - and stretch out his legs - like he used to do when I'd mess with him when he was sleeping. The other side of his little face had wrinkles frozen in place. There were little ice bits around his feet. He looked like he was asleep - he looked peaceful --- but he's never going to wake up from this nap. They're going to take his paw prints and have him cremated. We're suppose to have his ashes by the end of this week.

I woke up this morning - the first morning without Tomo in the house - and reached for his blanket -- his place on our bed. Throughout the night I would catch myself sticking my feet under his blanket -- and realizing how not warm it was. He would always sleep on my feet -- and he would groan whenever I moved too much, and kept him up. He'd always sleep in while we were getting ready in the morning. He'd turn his head toward the bathroom so he could see us, but he wasn't about to get up until he absolutely had to.

Our house is just too quiet now. I keep expecting to see him pop around the corner with something in his mouth he isn't suppose to have and his tail wagging - waiting for us to chase him. I expect to see him when I walk in from the garage after getting home from work. He would wrap himself around your leg as you scratch him hello. And that fur ... he was so soft. I'm really going to miss that. When Nic picked him up the morning we were leaving, I grabbed Tomo's face in my hands, kissed him on his face and said "bye baby" and stroked the sides of his face with my thumbs.

When we saw him at the vet - all I could do was apologize for not being there - and telling him that I loved him. He was only 4 years old. He was still a baby. He was our baby.