I said goodbye to Coco today.

I wasn’t ready.

I’ve spent quite a bit of time recently thinking about how she’s getting older, and how I really needed to pay attention to these days, these good times, and cherish them. And I did. I truly did soak it all up and enjoy it. But, what I didn’t anticipate was that would do nothing to prepare me for when she actually went.

All the times were good, you guys. Every single second. Coco was perfect. I built my entire life around her every day. I loved everything we did together, from feeding her, to giving her meds as she started to get older, to going on walks together, to having her watch me make lunch and them come get her so that she could spend it with me on the couch, so snuggling down with her every night up by my head and sleeping together.

The other night, just maybe a week ago, she slept on my shoulder. I think I wrote about it here. We slept like that together almost all night. Coco was everything because she was a part of everything. I literally built my days around her.

And now she’s gone.

I have no plan on how to deal with that. What will my days be like now? My nights? What am I going to do with this hole inside of me? It feels bottomless. No edges. It feels like everything, everywhere.

I’m sleeping tonight with her blanket on top of me because it still smells like her. The house is full of her, which makes my head hurt because she isn’t here.

I was everything to her, and she was everything to me. We were perfect.

Last night, after we went to sleep, we got a call from the hospital. Her vitals had taken a nosedive suddenly, and she was very, very sedated. They wanted us to come. We did. She was more awake when we arrived, and she recognized us. Wanted to come home. ER doc kinda clarified that what they’d see on the ultrasound earlier in the day was not good. It indicated something very serious was going on. Coco was in danger.

This morning the critical care doc told us she had doubts about whether or not Coco was going to improve, but there were a couple things they could try, so we decided to try them. But then later in the afternoon, we were told she’d taken another turn for the worse, and we should get to hospital as soon as we could.

We did. She was awake. She seemed to recognize us. But, she was in pain and asking to be let go. Too much pain to handle. So, we let her go and held her as she went. I didn’t think I was going to be able to handle that, but I did. I held her one last time and rubbed the little place on her shoulder with my thumb that I always did so she knew I had her safe and secure, and that I loved her. And then we let them take her away.

I vacillate between a feeling I’ve had in my gut ever since her back surgery that Coco’s end was coming soon, and the absolute conviction I had that she was going to be okay. She’d had a few health scares here and there, but she always bounced back with such a indomitable spirit, I’d never thought she’d ever leave me.

Both of those are true. I knew, and I didn’t. I tried to prepare, but I wasn’t. Still aren’t.

And now…

I’m lost.

I love you Coco. So much. You had my entire heart, truly one my the greatest joys in my entire life. You were everything to me, my love. Everything. I don’t know what I’m going to do without you.

My Dad wrote this poem for her tonight:

Coco you incredible girl
There’s so much you can do
In your new home where souls do love
Beautiful pups like you
Bark and play, frolic and run
There’s nothing you can’t do
But Love The Maker of your soul
we can’t wait to be with you.