Dear Moby,
I miss you more than you can imagine.
What makes this so impossibly hard is that I didn’t get to
say goodbye.
Grandpop told me I had been saying goodbye for a long time.
Maybe he’s right. But it’s not the same as being there with you, eyes to eyes, holding
your paws, as you took your last breath. That’s how it was supposed to be. That
was our plan.
Grandma reminded me that everything happens for a reason.
She said I have to let go of my guilt. Maybe she’s right. But it feels so impossible
right now. I keep wishing and begging to go back in time so I could be there
with you.
John told me because you died at home, my essence was
everywhere, so you felt my love. Maybe he’s right. But it’s not the same as
physically being there with you. Not even close.
I didn’t get to say goodbye. Not how I wanted. Not how you
and I planned.
There was one moment, as tears dripped down my cheeks and
onto your cold nose, that I thought I felt you breathe again. For one brief,
hopeful moment I thought I saw your beautiful soul staring back at me from your
cloudy eyes. Maybe it was wishful thinking, or maybe it was you trying to give
me the final goodbye you knew I so desperately wanted and needed. One last
moment of you sending me love. But it’s not the same. Not enough to give me
closure or ease my guilt.
I’m so, so, incredibly and infinitely sorry that I wasn’t
there for you in the end.
When you were a puppy, I named you Moby after the incredible
musical artist. Our first few nights together, you’d cry because you didn’t
want to sleep alone in your crate. I’d play Moby’s Porcelain CD on repeat. The music would calm you, but you’d still
whine and whimper because you didn’t want to be alone. Those nights of
separation didn’t last long, because I let you sleep with me. I couldn’t stand
to hear you cry. I couldn’t stand the thought of you feeling lonely, even if I
was only in the other room.
Over fifteen years later, I’m sitting in my living room,
staring at your picture and the candle glowing beside the place on the floor
where you took your last breath. I have Moby’s music playing in your honor. But
now I’m the one who can’t stop crying. Because I hate that I wasn’t there for
you in your final moments. I hate that your final sleep wasn’t with me.
I keep asking Squishy to tell me what happened. I ask him if
you cried out in pain, or if you went quickly. But he can’t tell me what
happened. I’ll never know. And I can’t stop imagining you whining and
whimpering, looking for me to comfort you in your final moments, but never
finding me. I should have been there. You deserved that and more.
With all my heart and soul, I’m so, so incredibly and
infinitely sorry that I wasn’t there with you. You will always be with me.
Always. You were by my side for over fifteen years, but you will be part of me forever.
Please forgive me. Please know how much I love you. Please
know that I miss you more than I thought would ever be possible.
I hope you’re with Rooney and all the other animal friends
you’ve loved and lost throughout your life. I hope your legs are strong and
free from pain, so you can run and play and eat anything and everything you
desire. I hope your vision is perfect again and it allows you to see unimaginable
beauty in Heaven. I hope your hearing returned and its working so well
that you hear me every single time I tell you how much I love you and miss you.
Rest in peace, love, and happiness, sweet girl Moby.
Thank you for being the best dog in the world. I love you and miss you times infinity.
Your Mom
