Blood On My Hands

We did it. We all did it. We made the unanimous decision to put E.D. to sleep.

She had been ill, kidney disease. She had developed incontinence (not that she was ever truly continent), had lost her voice, most of her teeth, and basically her will to live. We would find her at the end of the day, lying on our bed, not moving and barely making a squeak when she would see someone.

So, we decided that it would be better to let her rest than continue to live like this.

But it's hard. So hard.

I agreed. I voted. I spoke for what I believed in. And I did believe in it.

But I didn't want to be the one to pull the trigger. So I stayed home, ostensibly to dig the grave and take care of the little kids who couldn't go to see the execution, but really it was just me hiding out because I didn't want to watch it. I wussed out.

We'd had her for 15 years. Before Pamela, before we were even married. She came from an abusive household and we adopted her, but she was never quite right. She suffered from anxiety. Which helped her to fit right in here.

But now she's gone.

We'll always love you, E.D.