The House is Empty
This still isn’t the story I’ve been promising you. But it is the one that needs to be told first.
We planned to wait through the weekend before making any decisions. But it was clear as soon as we woke up on Saturday: Algie’s little body was all worn out, and all the things we had tried to bring him back from this latest round of IBD were only pushing him further away.
It rained all day on Saturday. Al must have drank four bowls of water. He made only a few trips out from the dark quiet under our spare bed.
He let us hold him, briefly. And with every passing minute, his spirit seemed to be fading further and further away.
So Trav and I drove him to the vet at 4 o’clock. I was sobbing before we even got into the room. And if I had known how fast it would all happen, I would have held him and kissed him one more time.
I wish that I had asked.
I thought there would have been a few moments to touch him and let him see us as he left. But his little tongue stuck out almost as soon as they pushed the plunger down, and I’ll never know if he even had the comfort of our voices as he died.
What I do know is that we were with him. That he always knew we loved him. That he was so very tired.
And that after he died, I didn’t want to leave him there. Alone. Without us.
Our boy is gone. And all his spaces are empty. The spot in the crook of my knees while we napped. His roost on the couch behind Travis’ head. The place in our hearts where he walked every day for the last fourteen years.
Algie is gone, and the house is so empty.