Droplets of the green fluid are glistening in the syringe.
She is calm now. She is relaxed.
I am upset. I am crying. I am sad. I am suffering.
We've traded places almost.
Whitey is no longer stressed because the mass in her neck has suddenly got so large that it is restricting her breathing. But I am anguished.
And then I am not anguished and suffering.
I am still sad. I still look forward to coming home after work and catching up on the latest foreign detective/spy series on the mattress on the wee back deck with the big girl, Whitey the greyhound, before I remember that she is dead.
But I can get back into life, into action. And then I got that there is a clear distinction between sad and suffering.
I suffered for a long time after previous pets had died. Even though Whitey was the best dog I've had, as much as they've all been characters, I suffered the least.
Thank you, self, for taking on training & development.
And then I realised, I was sad after my husband left to live with another woman, but I suffered and unwittingly, all around me suffered. And I incapacitated myself with my suffering.
Wish I new then what I know now.
O well. I didn't. Forward march.
I have reconnected with my ex-husband and his wife for an empowering future with our granddaughter, and future grandchildren, and our amazing sons.