It's hard for me to write this, but the worst has happened. While it seemed like he was going to get well, just two hours ago he went into some seizure, with howl-like barking, blood vomit, and shallow breathing. It's not clear what exactly happened, but... There's no saying it lightly - he's dead. Bene vale, et lux perpetua luceat eis.
Nothing they could have predicted, nothing that we could have predicted.
We tried to get him to the clinic, and we did, only he passed minutes after arrival. The vets did all they could, we did all that we could. But when you've done what you could, and there's nothing more that could have been done, I suppose that any question that we may ever direct at ourselves - one related to whether there actually was something that we could do - will always have just one answer, that being nothing.
When I got back home from today's 12h shift, he was OK. He was still walking, still welcomed me as he used to. After his time at the clinic he wouldn't want to get inside, just wanting to stay on open air, so while it was raining, I stayed with him as long as I could, in spite of having a debilitating infection that has me coughing to the point of the muscles just hurting.
I don't know how will the next few days go. It isn't easy to get over losing one of the very few living things I've ever trusted. Well, I'm not a trusting kind of person, so when one of the few exceptions from the rule is gone, this hits hard.
Feeling like I need a drink, only I guess I can't even get myself to do that.
Someone once said, that caring is not an advantage. At times like that, I'm inclined to agree. Because when all we've done just fails, we're kicking ourselves, because we cared. Caring tends to hurt. But it also reminds us that we have a heart.
Not sure what I'm going to do now. Take a rest from the forums? That'll just have me dwell on what happened, in absence of a distraction. Hang around, and do the usual thing to forget? That's just running away. Then again, I suppose I've always been running. I've been running from my depression, and I did so by getting into what has us all here - watches. I did research to forget, I did all the investigative work to help others, just so that I could forget. Guess the moment I'd stop running, I'd lose the sense of purpose, and one loss is already one too many.
Not sure why I'm writing it all. Guess that at this point, there's so very little else I can think of doing, and so, I'm doing one of the few things I'm good at - trusting my thoughts to writing. Feels like...it helps. Not much, but it gives just a little of that one, much needed bit of relief.
Suppose I'll just have a tea, take a xanax, and try to sleep through what's left of the night. And try to get my mind, well, somehow patched up in the days to come. If "patching up the mind" is even a thing.
Completum est quod dixi de operatione Solis.
You cannot explain away a wantonly immoral act, because you think that it is connected to some higher purpose.
Captain Jean-Luc Picard, Star Trek: The Next Generation