Confession number deux: I thought we had more time.
For whatever reason, I knew that Chico wouldn't be with me for very long after his diagnosis. Call it a mother's instinct, if you will.
Why I knew this still baffles me. Maybe it was the way the veterinarian spoke to me, constantly dodging my requests of a prognosis, or maybe it was the intensity of Chico's heart murmur and how I could feel it through his chest. Whatever the reason, I just had a bad feeling about the whole situation.
Upon initial diagnosis, I came home to learn more about the disease, only to find upsetting news: the prognosis for this disease was never great, six months to two years. In my heart, despite Chico's seemingly normal behaviour, I knew he wouldn't live past six months. I had prepared myself to let him go in March and was saddened at the thought that he wouldn't be around for his first Vancouver summer (after all, I moved out west for my boys, so they would never be cold again, and could go for walks all year).
This all being said, I never expected to lose him so quickly. For the first week post-diagnosis, I always feared I would come home and he would be gone. Every night after work, I would find comfort in hearing his bird like bark through the door before I opened it. I then started to come to terms with it and with support from a few great friends, we began living our normal lives again.
I created this blog for my family and friends, so I could keep them up to date on his condition, but I also created it for myself, in so that I had something to reflect on once Chico had passed on.
I dusted off my camera, put it in hand and started shooting again. I'd envisioned pages upon pages of photos and updates about my little guy and never imagined that I would find myself, not three weeks later, putting pen to paper, writing about how I miss my guy.
It's amazing what one tiny creature of no words can teach you. Love always and unconditionally and live in the moment, as there is nothing better than the present, even if it is currently full of tears.
For whatever reason, I knew that Chico wouldn't be with me for very long after his diagnosis. Call it a mother's instinct, if you will.
Why I knew this still baffles me. Maybe it was the way the veterinarian spoke to me, constantly dodging my requests of a prognosis, or maybe it was the intensity of Chico's heart murmur and how I could feel it through his chest. Whatever the reason, I just had a bad feeling about the whole situation.
Upon initial diagnosis, I came home to learn more about the disease, only to find upsetting news: the prognosis for this disease was never great, six months to two years. In my heart, despite Chico's seemingly normal behaviour, I knew he wouldn't live past six months. I had prepared myself to let him go in March and was saddened at the thought that he wouldn't be around for his first Vancouver summer (after all, I moved out west for my boys, so they would never be cold again, and could go for walks all year).
This all being said, I never expected to lose him so quickly. For the first week post-diagnosis, I always feared I would come home and he would be gone. Every night after work, I would find comfort in hearing his bird like bark through the door before I opened it. I then started to come to terms with it and with support from a few great friends, we began living our normal lives again.
I created this blog for my family and friends, so I could keep them up to date on his condition, but I also created it for myself, in so that I had something to reflect on once Chico had passed on.
I dusted off my camera, put it in hand and started shooting again. I'd envisioned pages upon pages of photos and updates about my little guy and never imagined that I would find myself, not three weeks later, putting pen to paper, writing about how I miss my guy.
It's amazing what one tiny creature of no words can teach you. Love always and unconditionally and live in the moment, as there is nothing better than the present, even if it is currently full of tears.