Ginger passed away last night. The vet saw her the day before and thought she was doing better, but warned me she was fragile. She threw up last evening, but I was able to get food and water into her later. She rested in my lap, leaning against me so she could sleep listening to my heartbeat like she liked to do. About an hour after that, she coughed quietly a few times. Then she was gone. Her smart brain ran out of resources. Her big valiant heart was done.
For the last month, since she was put on Phenobarbital for seizures and the medicine made her sleep too much, I have been seeing to her every need 24/7. I am exhausted and of course heartbroken. My face keeps leaking.
So I will be gone for a while.
Oh, and eff 2020. Its only saving grace is that 2021 will be different.
UPDATE: I don’t have the energy to respond individually, but know that I am reading when not sleeping, and all your condolences, comments and photos are greatly appreciated. Thank you! I feel supported and less alone. It’s odd how physical such loss feels — my whole body aches as if battered and bruised. Now I need to be here for Oreo, who has been mostly hiding underneath the furniture. He did sleep with me for a little while last night, so he doesn’t seem to be holding it against me. But he is a natural scaredy-cat and never happy with any change in his world, and he is another very senior pootie. Sigh.