Today, after returning from our trip to California, we had a package from the Texas A&M School of Veterinary Science, which is where we took Molly when she died. Inside was a round clay imprint of Molly's paw that was decorated and had her name on it. The vet had asked us if we wanted them to send this to us the day we took Molly there, but I wasn't entirely sure what it was. It's beautiful and became instantly precious to me.
When I first opened it, I spent a few minutes looking over it, running my finger through the print and feeling the grooves and the shape of her little paw print. It was heartbreaking and heartwarming at the same time. It hurt knowing I would never feel her warm, delicate little paw again, but I am thankful to have this memento of her.
The vet school did not charge us for this special gift, and I can't say enough good things about our experience with them. Through one of the worst days of our lives, the people at the vet school did everything they could to help us cope and to find answers, and treated us with the utmost compassion and respect. They never made Jon or I feel like our pain was unwarranted or excessive. I'm not sure we can thank them enough.
That's what I call those times when something causes me to have an unexpected emotional reaction because of Molly. It could be anything; this time it was a video of a puppy on a rescue site. I've been looking into getting a new puppy because the desire is still there to have a puppy, but I know that we're not ready yet, both financially and emotionally. Today was proof of the emotional part.
I have seen several pictures of puppies in the last few days, none of which bothered me too much other than just tugging at my heartstrings. But today I was looking at a yellow lab puppy's profile and the foster owners included a video of him playing. I clicked on the video without ever thinking it might be a problem. After all, I've watched videos of her recently and didn't break down. But somehow this particular video just struck me, both because the puppy looked similar to Molly and did a lot of the same things Molly did. They aren't necessarily unique things (shaking her head back and forth when she had a toy in her mouth, jumping around, rolling on the ground), but it was enough to make me cry.
From that point it was like the floodgate had been opened again, although not as wide as a few weeks ago. My mind began playing through all the memories of Molly, like a video compilation in my head.
As hard as it is to bear sometimes, I actually appreciate these moments. I don't think about her much anymore, even though it's only been two weeks, but these moments force me to remember her and the things I loved about her. And although thinking of her may hurt, I am so thankful for the time I had with her that I am willing to endure the pain if it means I have those memories with her.
Below is a video of Molly and Bella playing in the living room. It's not much of a video, but I'm glad I have it.
It's been almost 2 weeks since we lost Molly, and Jon and I have healed quite a bit. On the outside, we look nearly identical to our former selves, but I know we, or at least I, am still a bit heavier inside than before. I don't think about her as much, and that's probably why it has gotten easier. The other day I allowed myself to really think about her, and it was like opening a floodgate that was difficult to close.
I think one of the most helpful things for us was hearing from the vet about the preliminary results of the necropsy last Friday. She basically told us that they couldn't determine a cause of death yet, but that they had ruled out quite a few things, including a reaction to the vaccine, heart attack, choking, swallowing of a foreign object and heat stroke. She said she believes it was probably something underlying and that we may never actually find out exactly what caused her death. She suggested it could have been an arrhythmia, stroke, blood clot or virus, among other things. While they still have some microscopic tests to do, basically everything that we could have been responsible for has been ruled out. I think knowing that we didn't cause her death, even indirectly, helps ease our pain considerably. A lot of my grief stemmed from the guilt I felt, thinking that there was something I could have done or shouldn't have done to save her.
I still miss her like crazy, but I want to share as many of the memories I have with her as I can so that I will never forget. In the grand scheme of my life she really was just a blip of time, but she was a much larger part of my heart and I want to pay tribute to that.
One of my favorite memories of her, but also one of the saddest for me to recall, is the way she would greet me when I came home from work or anywhere else. Most dogs come running to happily meet their owners when they return home, but Molly's way was particularly precious to me. Not because of anything she did necessarily, but just because of how she was. If she was upstairs, I could hear her and Bella racing down, Molly always lagging behind. They would come around the corner and, as soon as she saw me, her little ears would press back against her head, her mouth would open into a smile and her lanky tail, much too long for her small body, would wag as fast as she could manage. I would kneel down to greet her and she would jump up with her paws on my thigh and lick my face as Bella pushed in to get in on the action.
Sometimes when I get home, I walk up to the door thinking about how much I wish I could open the door and see that whole scenario play out just like it had several times before. Even though I know she's gone, it's still disappointing to open the door and not see her in the living room or hear her come stumbling down the stairs.
Which reminds me of another memory: Molly and the stairs.
Molly was always more timid than Bella was as a puppy, and the stairs just scared her to death the first few days we had her. We would go up or down the stairs, and she would sit at the top or bottom and just cry the most horrid cry I've ever heard. But she was instantly attached to Bella, and she trusted and looked up to Bella, so we used the connection to help get her over her fear. We would send Bella up or down the stairs to a few feet away from Molly and have her wait until Molly came to her. Then we would call Bella a little closer to us and wait for Molly to follow. It wasn't easy for her, nor was it easy for me to listen to her crying, but it worked pretty quickly.
After a day or two, we started going up or down the stairs and leaving Molly to do it on her own. She was still scared, especially without Bella there, but she wanted to be with us badly enough that she braved through it. By the end of her first week with us, she was traversing the stairs like a pro, with or without Bella.
She wasn't with us for very long, but there are so many little things like these that she left us with.
