R.I.P. Jacques, Best Frenchie Ever: Sept 28, 2010 - Nov 10, 2020

 It had been so long since he'd had a seizure--more than a month, and we had just been to the neurologist and she said he was doing well. So at first, I wasn't quite sure what was wrong with him, I thought maybe he was just struggling to get up. This happened a lot these days since the prednisone had weakened his muscles and tendons. But then I saw the wild eyes and the foaming at the mouth and I knew we were in full-on seizure territory.

After a few minutes, it became clear this one was worse than the others. It wasn't stopping, and there was more foaming than usual. D ran to get our friend's truck, the one they have so generously to loaned us for Jacques' periodic doctor appointments. 

The seizure just kept going, and now there was a pink tinge to the foam.

We got him to the emergency vet, and they took him in straight away, got him sedated, and got the seizure to stop, but it was too late. His heart was too stressed, and he went into cardiac arrest. They got him back, but his heart rate was way too slow, and the vet said he didn't have much time. 

So we went into the little room, with our baby lying on a little pillow with a love-worn quilt, looking so peaceful but already not really there anymore. The vet asked us if we were ready, and then one little syringe-full and that was it. I rubbed his head and told him he was a good boy. The best boy. My baby. 

We were in that little room for I don't know how long. Minutes, I guess, but it seemed like both forever and not enough time at all. It was so not how I imagined he would go. This was wrong! He was supposed to be here with us longer! He should be coming home.

Instead, I'm sitting here, tears streaming down my face, missing him so, so much. The house is so quiet. He was a symphony of breathing noises--sighs, snorts, snores. Just background noise, providing the soundtrack to our lives, and now it's just... not there.

Yesterday I distracted myself with busy work--doing the dishes, laundry, taking out the garbage and recycling, pulling up the floor covers we had put down everywhere so he had traction and could walk easily and safely in his home. I vacuumed, I mopped. Anything but sitting on that couch without him. 

But today is another day, and the grief didn't leave--it's still sitting with me on this couch. Waiting for me to acknowledge it.