Oh, Blue. Today was truly the hardest day I've ever lived. Deciding to allow you to return to the earth felt like the right thing to do, and then you'd smile that famous smile and breathe that hot breath and I would spin right back into the questions. Because of your type of cancer, we couldn't let you decide on your own. It would have been extremely confusing and painful for you.
I'm so sorry if you felt any confusion tonite at all. Lying under the sycamore tree with you and smelling your coat, I wanted to stop the world from going around just to make that moment last forever. And ever. And ever.
Your ceremony was lovely, the smell of sweetgrass lingering around us. Miles rubbed his hands in lavender and then petted you for a long time. I put a seashell in your travelling bundle, to remind you of the fun we've had at Rincon Beach and to encourage you to find water to cool you on your journey. Dad read Old Coyote, and it was helpful in the moments to follow for us to know that you were dreaming yourself into a whole new world.
In the garden, the doctor gave you the strong medicine we talked about. You crossed over, and our living room lights mysteriously came on in the house. I could feel that your spirit had left your body. I imagined you chasing a gray squirrel up a tall pine tree, running along trail with your dainty paws, and lying down in a creek somewhere, look of euphoria on your soft, dark grey lips. I could have kissed you for hours.
I'm so grateful for how protective you were of the cradle when Miles was born. You were so patient with all children and other dogs. You never had to growl or bite anyone to let them know you were queen. Ever the confident goddess, you've taught me so much.
We miss you deeply. I've already walked by your bed several times and it seems disorienting that you aren't in it. I'm lonesome for your hugs, your breath, your friendship. I'm so grateful we got to spend ten years together.
Thank you for your loyalty and love, beautiful creature. You will be in my heart forever.