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I am so sorry

Last Saturday, Pippin, 10 years old, was put to sleep. And here I am now this Wednesday early, long before the sun will come up and in possession of a heart that aches and a sense of thick despair. It’s weird taking my shower in the morning and then not getting his food ready. Even if he wasn’t eating much, he would still come out when he would hear me getting his breakfast ready. Or in the evening when when it was time for his supper, he would come out.

He would purr usually while waiting for me to put his food bowl down. At the end, I also had taken to putting out some treats. He liked the taste of those enough he would often eat them even when he was feeling too ill to eat much of his regular meals or the special diet food that was used for the last week of his life. Was he ever much aware that he was dying? I don’t know. But I wanted him at least to enjoy some of what he was eating, so I put those treats out with his meals so he could have at least a tiny portion that he enjoyed.

I am tired. I feel broken. Well I’ve always felt broken some, somehow, not very much part of this world. But yet more broken now. I think strong arguments could be made that happiness is often only a temporary illusion, it is an illusion we hunt desperately for and get those brief interludes where it feels real. But it won’t last. It breaks. That’s the way this world is. It breaks things. Snaps things. Crushes things.

We don’t like to think about that. I don’t. I wish I didn’t think about it. But it’s there, it’s always there, always the thoughts about what has broken, what will be broken.

While I waited with Pippin in the room at the vet’s on Saturday, I held him and he purred while I petted him. The vet came in and everything was gone over about what was going to be done. Then we put him up on the examination table on top of a small blanket, and the vet’s assistant held him to keep him still while the vet administered the shot that would plunge him into unconsciousness. The vet and assistant left while that would take place and I put my hands on him. I stroked him and said, “I am so sorry.” It seemed to take so long and his eyes wouldn’t close while the drug put him under. But finally his last conscious awareness vanished and his head tilted to the side and the left side of his face sank down to the table surface.

Some time after that, the vet came in and checked to see if he had gone under. I said I was good and ready, so she and the assistant took Pippin to the next room over and finished everything. The office also has a cardboard coffin for small animals and the vet returned some minutes later with Pippin inside of it, warapped up in the towel.

And so Pippin had died.

Was he happy towards the end? I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know much of anything really. None of us do. I’m very tired of hurting. I tired of this world and how so much of it breaks.

I’ve watched the Phillies win their games these past few days and inch closer to clinching another division title and a spot in the playoffs again. But it’s, I don’t know, futile. Oh, yay, they won. Fuck that. I don’t know.

So much has crumbled into nothing. So much is empty. What isn’t empty is broken. What isn’t broken will break.

I try not to think about it. But it’s always there somehow. It’s always been there, really, even in those brief periods that I have felt happy or nearly happy. It’s always there and I’m profoundly tired of it right now. I do what I have to do mechanically. I’m also still working on learning French and I suppose I enjoy some the discovery that’s made while the learning takes place with it, but it does nothing to alleviate the heaviness that pulls on my heart. It’s more like distraction, I  guess. As with the running. Still running although last weekend I didn’t feel like running much and based upon what my physiological condition was showing, I elected not to to do a long run last weekend and give the legs more recovery time.

I will run 13.1 miles for a long run this coming weekend. Running is tough sometimes too because of how much I think, so much of what I think about while running. The process of running brings back the physiological state of what it was like when I’ve run before and often I think of some runs I took last year. Not that all of those runs were happy runs, but they were meaningful.

But the meaningfulness is broken now.

And Pippin is dead.

And here I am, just desperate and needing to use again this place for a tiny, mostly unknown place of confessional. But that’s all here, I think. It’s better probably for me not to persist in any delusion that anything worthwhile ever got communicated here. I’m not really communicating anything here either. It’s just anguish, that’s all. Nothing more. Just some anguish and tiredness and pain and hurt.

The world will go on breaking things. And eventually it will break me completely one day as well.

  1. staci
    September 23, 2010 at 2:22 pm

    “There are two means of refuge from the misery of life – music and cats.” – Albert Schweitzer

    i’m so sorry, matt.

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