They give so much, yet ask so little. Food and water, kindness and companionship. And it's returned with unconditional love and constant devotion. But it isn't free.
This love and devotion comes with a price. That price is this - the hole, the emptiness, the guilt and the sadness that remain. Bit's gone, and nothing can change that. Nothing can take his place. And I am having a very hard time. Did I do enough? Did I make the decision too soon?
Everyone said he was sick. They acknowledged that it was time. But I second guess everything. And I'm going to second-guess this for a long while. I can't sleep, because all I can think of is "what if?"
I could have done the drastic measures. I could have brought him home. But he was dying. Would it have been a week? A month? In what kind of pain, what kind of life? All I hope is that he was ready - he looked like he was - and that he understood, at least a little. And that he realized that I was heartbroken as I held him, and that a piece of me died when he died in my arms.
In the end, I know with my head that it was the right thing. But my heart, my heart is broken. And the heart doesn't listen to the head.
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