The Last Goodbye to Your Pet Before the Rainbow Bridge
By Kris Kline
Yesterday, in a clinically bare room devoid of anything warm or comforting, I said my final goodbye to my beautiful, gentle Zeke.
It was so difficult for me to let him go ~ all the more because his life was in my hands. It is a terrible decision to have to make, but this wasn’t about me, it was about him.
How I wanted Zeke to live; how I couldn’t let him suffer.
Life and death is such a gut wrenching responsibility. Every morning I had thought: “Just one more day. Maybe he’ll be better tomorrow.” But that tomorrow never came, and so I made the agonizing phone call.
Upon our arrival, they led me into a private room and, after asking if I needed anything, left us. Zeke snuggled deeply into my lap and I spoke to him softly. The only other sound in the room was the tick of the clock, marking off the minutes of the short time Zeke had left.
I answered a tap at the door. A kind, young women who waited for my permission to enter explained what she was going to do, then gave Zeke an injection to relax him. While he appeared completely calm, he didn’t seem to mind.
Then we were alone again. I cried. I whispered. I held him as tightly as I dared, and I confided in him how he would be in my heart always.
It was time. For one of only a handful of days in my life, I was forced to stare into the face of death. At the last minute, Zeke looked up at me ~ our eyes locked ~ and then he was gone. I will carry the image of that little trusting face with me until we meet again at Rainbow Bridge.