Amidst heartache and sorrow, We find strength and purpose.

These last two weeks have been some of the hardest that I have yet to face. I moved out of my apartment to a new one closer to the university where I can further delve into finding more about myself. I faced one of the hardest sick days I have had in a long while, and then today, one of the most heartbreaking days I have ever had.
Tonight at 8 pm, one of the the loves of my life, my faithful dog Mocha, passed on, surrounded by her family. She had a wonderful full life, over 12 years living, and came up just a month shy of her thirteenth birthday. She was one of my loves, my girl. I grew up with her, slept on her, was comforted by her, awed by her, inspired by her.
I got a call today from my mother saying that she was not doing well. This was nothing new. Mocha had been a severe epileptic for over a decade. She was not expected to live past 8 years of age, and yet she proved all of them wrong. She had survived a bout with skin cancer, and in her old age had had a number of health problems, from infections to losing her hair. Yet, she lived on. watching over the house, barking at strangers, always trying to get the damn cats that the neighbors had, that played right in front of her know that she couldn't catch them. But today, she had lost control of her movements, had been falling over. It was serious this time. I arrived home, spent an hour with her. She wagged her tail and tried to stand when I walked in the door, which apparently was the most movement she had managed all day. I felt special. :)
My dad and brother took her down to the vet, our neighbor, at 630. I was helping my mom in the kitchen when the phone rang. I answered, and my dad was in tears, we are bringing her home, he gave us permission to do it there. At that moment, for me and mom, the reality set in. This was our last night, nay our last hours with a being that had become as much a part of the family as any of my brothers and sisters had been. Mom broke down almost immediately. I tried to remain composed, but inside i was tearing apart.
Something to understand at this point is that Mocha was not a normal dog. Every family has stories about things their dogs did, and here are mine. She was incredibly intelligent, She spoke to us, my mother especially. They tow understood each other in a way that was mother to child, person to person. She learned such varied communication in her life, that we always knew what she was thinking and what she wanted. Whether she was talking at you, kicking you or a piece of furniture, or just nuzzling you, she was an active part of the family. She was loyal, never far away from any member of the family at all times. She could sense when you were upset, and she was a comfort to me on many difficult occasion where the stroking of her fur was the most calming thing in the world. you could talk to her, and she would listen, fart, and move on. suddenly, your problems weren't so bad. She had some food allergies, so she ate well, better than me at points in my college career. and she was a joy to watch as she saw someone in her family come home after not seen them for a while. I loved coming home to visit when I moved out to see her, walk with her, see her ears flatten, her tail start wagging, and she try to lick me. There is something about the pure love of a dog that makes problems go away, that give hope, that give assurance and upliftment to your life. That was a small part of what made Mocha family. more than a dog, but a person.
She cam e back home with my dad and brother carrying her in. Later, mom and me reminisced about how ironic this was. When we first got mocha, She was picked up by my dad and brother. I also was recovering from a bout of strep throat as well. This time was no different, just a lifetime in between. She had an iv in her leg, and was very quiet. We laid her on a towel next the fireplace upstairs. My dad and brother went outside, to dig a spot for her in the backyard, near the canyon. Mom, Lisi, and I spent the next 45 minutes just petting her. I cried for the first time, and she seemed to sense that the end was close. She never made a fuss, never tried to get away, but sat and was with us. She talked at me for a bit while i was crying, and then she made moves to go outside. She loved it out there, always had. So i took her on our final walk, from Front room to Back stoop. She had a favorite spot, just in front of the back door, on the dirt, where she could sleep, get snowed on, and was a straight shot to get inside should the need arise. We sat outside with her on the chilly night, she looked so peaceful. he was in heaven, the cool air hitting her fur, cooling her form the heat of inside. My dad and brother came back. We all said our goodbyes, last pets, and then dad injected the solution into the iv that would bring her to a peaceful end. I never even really knew when it actually happened, she just looked like she had fallen asleep. Dad, Mom, and me were all bawling, crying and mourning at the loss of a child, a special child that made more of an impact on our lives that had any other pet before. She had transcended that boundary, and had become family. She passed peacefully, freed form the painful life that she had led. We wrapped her in one of my bedsheets, and Dad, Conner, and I carried her to the grave they had prepared. My Dad was emotional, and made it as far as the grave, and put her inside, before breaking down again. My brother and I filled in her grave, giving her a view of the garden, the canyon, and the house, all places she used to roam.
I digress for a second to enter this side note. Regardless of how strained or hard or non existent my relationship with my father can be, he is the strongest man that i know. His chosen career, working with kids who have very small survival rates, is inspiring. Tonight she showed the largest and hardest degree of compassion that I have ever seen. Like Abraham of old, he did what no father should have to do. He helped end the life of his child, so that the child would no longer suffer. I say this because to my parents, Mocha was their child. They raised her, talked to her. My Father spent many late nights meticulously brushing her, bathing her, walking her, and doing the dirty work so she looked beautiful. She meant more to my parents than even to me, and tonight was like a death in the family. For a while there, we walked, not know what to do, asking questions like where do we go from here? How do we fill this hole in our lives? I asked myself the same questions. As I walked in the house, my shoes caked with the mud from her grave, I out of habit almost called to her, seeking her comfort from the heartbreaking chore I had just performed.
Now that she is gone, I look back on her life, and what she meant to me. She was part of my heart, she was my girl, my Babe. She saw me at all my major crossroads in life, and now she is gone. i mourn that loss, and will for a time. My family and I are not the only ones that will miss her. She was a icon in the neighborhood, in our extended family, and that will be missed. She was a presence in every decision that we made as a family, especially about going on vacation. Medicine schedules, feeding, walking. Our lives revolved around her, our need for her our love for her.
I am trying find peace that she was able to leave this world at home, surrounded by those who loved her with all their hearts. I try to take strength for myself, looking at how difficult her life was, and yet she enjoyed every minute of it, regardless of what problem health-wise she was having. Can I be like that? Can i find that within myself?