Over the last several months I’ve been having a recurring dream. I used to have these types of things frequently, though when I was younger such “dream series” were often fantastical in nature; the stuff of a good story. This dream though, is my first that really means something and is indicative of suppressed guilt.

On January 16, we had to put down Cassie, our beloved ten year old standard poodle who had been diagnosed with lymphoma exactly a year prior. We did everything we could, including chemo. And she had even gone into recession and was just a few weeks shy of hitting the “magic 7 months” after which most dogs rarely went out of remission.

I loved Cassie with all of my heart. She was someone I could always count on. She was the quintessential childhood companion and there is nothing in the world I would have traded her for.

The last month was hard. Tumors began sprouting and hardening all over her body and over time, she stopped eating as much, stopping playing as much and her breathing became more and more labored.

We had brought a new puppy, Chelo, a miniature poodle, home with us in early December. I truly believe that Cassie was able to pull through Christmas because we brought him home. He kept her on her toes, kept her interested, gave her something to be responsible for.

But even Chelo’s exuberance couldn’t keep her fighting forever.

The last few nights were torturous. I counted down the hours in my head and each passing one killed me a little more. The thought of life without her was unbearable, unfathomable. I don’t remember if I was able to sleep next to her on the floor in the office the very last night. I tried. But I think I ended up going to my parents room and sobbing the night away up there as they listened to Elton John. My sisters understandably wanted to be with her too, but I needed to just be alone with her. But it wasn’t the time for selfishness.

The last day was absolutely surreal. I tried to ignore the fact that time was rapidly running out. And in the last hour, I collapsed next to her and held her as best I could, as if holding her tightly enough would keep her with me.

And then it was time to go. I tried to hold back the tears as I did my best to coax her to the back door. She couldn’t make it down the stairs, so I carried her to the van and placed her gingerly in the passenger side bucket seat. She slid off at the first stop sign and I gasped and reached out to catch her and bring her down carefully to the ground. I held her and buried my face in the curls atop her head and sang “you are my sunshine, my only sunshine, you make me happy when skies are grey, you’ll never know dear, how much I love you, please don’t take my sunshine away.” And I sobbed. As we neared the vet’s, I scratched her behind the ear one last time in the way that always made her head fall sideways into my hand.

Dad had to carry her in. He was crying, too. We all were. We waited to go to the room, Cassie on dad’s lap, my sisters crowded beside him, and her. As we walked back to the room, I felt my knees gumming up. The last walk…and she couldn’t even do it on her own.

I couldn’t stop crying.

I don’t know how long we were in there, crowding around her on the floor before the vet came in. When he walked in I lost it completely. We were down from hours to minutes and soon it would be seconds.

I clasped her tightly, felt her skin moving beneath my hands, felt the softness of her fur, looked into her eyes and saw her pain and cried harder.

It might not have been so bad if she hadn’t sat up in a moment of fear when the vet tightened the tourniquet around her front left arm. I felt torn between watching him drive the needle in and watching her face, and finally landed on her face and watched and listened in horror as she fell. I watched her eyes go glassy and felt her skin go cold. I vaguely heard the vet say “she’s gone. She was a good dog. She had a good home and she’ll be missed.” I only vaguely heard because I was sobbing so loudly, clutching at her now lifeless body. The others were crying too, but as far as I was concerned it was just me and Cassie.

My hands ran over her as I hugged her close and sobbed into her fur. One by one, the sobs of my family quieted as mom called for us to get up and leave. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t bring myself to leave her. She had never left us. She had never been unfaithful, her loyalty to us, to me, had never wavered, how could I possibly justify leaving her there, all alone?

Dad had to pull me up. But still, I stood, my eyes glued on her lying there, making moves to go back to her, but unable. I stood with my back against the wall next to the door, crying louder, my knees wobbly and uncertain beneath me. And then I was being pulled out the door, but I kept turning to go back, to see her… I couldn’t leave her. She didn’t deserve to be alone. She didn’t deserve to be left there. How could I go home without her?

And then I was being pulled towards the car, and still I tried to go back, still I sobbed.

And in the car, I was the only one sobbing, looking to the window, looking to the place between the seats where she had sat, wanting nothing more than to scratch her behind the ear again.

And then we were home. My sisters filed out and inside. Mom said that crying inside would be warmer. I cried harder. Dad opened the door and pulled me out and into a hug and we both cried together. I looked frantically across the yard, realizing I’d never see her bounding around it in laps so she could do her business. That I’d never see her run out to the edge of the yard to bark at a passerby. Realizing that she’d never be home again.

On uncertain legs I walked inside and straight to the office and under the desk where she had spent the majority of the day. And there I lay. Sobbing uncontrollably, inconsolably. I was lost. My heart was torn and irrevocably shattered. I had never felt so wretched, so empty, so earth-shatteringly sad. Grief overwhelmed me as I played “You are my sunshine”, “Keep on the Sunny Side”, “I’ll Fly Away”, “I am Weary (Let Me Rest)” and “Tiny Dancer” over and over again. And Dad, who was in the office, trying to go back to work, started sobbing too while my sisters were in the other room, less than three hours later, watching TV and giggling.

Chelo came in and tried to kiss the tears away and I sobbed harder, pushing him away. I only wanted her.

We watched a movie that night. Mom made popcorn. And as I sat with the bowl in my lap, my eyes darted around the room, looking for her, seeking her out, wanting more than anything for her to be standing two feet in front of me, waiting to be thrown popcorn.

But she would never be there again.

That night I dreamed that I was crouched in front of the freezer and that when I closed the door, Cassie was there. No one else could see her. I could reach out and pet her, touch her, feel her, talk to her. She would follow me around the house and into my room.

I suspect that was a reflection of my feeling (justified or not) that I had taken it the hardest, and that everyone else had already forgotten.

Lately, over the past few months, I have been dreaming that Cassie is still in the house. Lying upstairs in bed, most of the time. I usually go upstairs to find her and feel guilty because Chelo is downstairs with us and I am paying more attention to him than her.

I’d say that it’s a reflection of my own guilt that I bury in day to day life. Guilt for feeling I’ve forgotten her. Guilt for bonding with Chelo. Guilt for not crying about her at least once a week like I used to.

But all the same, I can’t help but feel like she is in the house still. There are certain times when I’ll be sitting in my room and hear someone exhale and think for a split second it’s her. Or I’ll be downstairs on the couch, thinking she’s just in the office.

I don’t know what I’ll do if we sell the house. She’s forever a part of it, and it’s all I have left.

Lyrics to “I Am Weary (Let me Rest)”