Day before yesterday Charley looked at me differently. Intently, as he always did, but differently. I felt he was telling me that he is tired of the struggle to eat and the chronic pain.
Then yesterday he abruptly stopped eating and wanted to be alone, so, miraculously, he jumped up again to the top cabinet in the kitchen, and just looked down and watched us. He still had a lot of spunk left in him said the vet.
Today we gave him a quadruple does of the narcotic pain relief medication Bupronorphine, and another whose name I forgot a couple of hours before we took him to the vet
The vet was very kind as usual, and we talked to him about what he thought, and he was agreed there was no need to allow him to suffer anymore.
But Charley did not want to leave us. He was very affectionate, rubbing against our hands and legs and looking very intently into our eyes. There was no fear or anxiety of any sort in him. It was almost as if he knew what was going on or accented to it.
He was given an injection of an anesthetic that put him into a twilight sleep, and then a catheter was inserted because he had tiny veins. After the anesthetic took full effect, he was given the "pink juice," Pentabaratol (sp?) and he died in Kerima's arms with me holding his head. Kerima sobbed loudly and I more silently. We stayed with Charley's body for 10 minutes or so and left.
I feel grief, sadness, and powerless. If we had another $6,000 we could have given im surgery to partially remove the tumor and his eye, followed by precise radiation that could have given him an additional 7-9 months of life. But we didn't have it. So there is a sense of failure on our parts at not having been good-enough parents.
But the grief is always permeated with Emptiness, taking the sting of his death away, while yet the remaining grief moves freely through me like an old friend who comforts me with peace and rest, taking me deep inside.
Kerima is still in the other room crying.