Bailey

I will never forget that day in June 2003.

I remember it being the longest day ever. I remember passing the time with Friends episode after Friends episode. I remember feeling so anxious.

What if something happens to the plane? What if the trip stresses him out and he doesn't make it? What if this sweet puppy's life is cut short because of me? I'm the only reason he's on that plane.

This worrying, of course, would only intensify with time. His first trip to the groomer. His first vet appointment. His first stay with a dog sitter. Our bond only got stronger with time - and the stakes higher.

He is my everything, and I cannot lose him.

He was the last of his litter, and you could tell the breeder was over it. When we expressed interest, she sent this half-assed picture and threw him on a plane before we had even sent payment. Some people just can't handle a pup with a little spunk.

I remember someone bringing him off the plane in a little red pet carrier. I pulled him out and hugged him close. Someone asked what his name was, and I just blurted out Bailey.

I was 11 - nearly 12 - when I met him, which means I was at peak middle school awkwardness. But he loved me anyway.

He was there for me at every stage of my life. The good. The bad. The ugly.

2005 was a tough year. I lost my aunt and my grandpa, and I was also going through some health issues of my own. It was the closest I've ever come to depression (and for that, I am very lucky). Getting out of bed in the morning was a chore, and I think it would have been a lot harder if I didn't have Bailey.

I remember one particularly rough day, I was in bed, and he came in with a treat. I helped him up in bed, and he dropped the treat at my pillow. It felt like he was offering it to me because he knew I needed it.

That was Bailey. Always giving. Always putting my well-being before his own. Always knowing when to go the extra mile.'

That was evident in his last months as well. He was on multiple medications just to be comfortable and worked his hardest to power through the old age. At 16, he was still putting up with my cuddles and love because he knew I needed it.

I've known for a few months now that his time was coming and that he had given me all he had. Every vet appointment was met with stress because I knew the conversation was on its way. I thought there would be some bit of relief when it was over because there would no longer be that giant question mark looming, but I have yet to feel anything positive.

I'm not relieved.

I'm sad. I'm heartbroken. I feel like a huge piece of me is missing. I'm angry that everyone is going about their lives acting like everything is normal. Like the world hasn't lost the giant beam of light that was Bailey. I feel guilty. I can't help but wonder what April 11th would have been like. Would he have felt better? Would he still be here today? Did I make the call too soon?

I did this for him. For the dog who had given me so much. It was time I gave him something in return. I hope he feels relief. I hope he feels peace. I hope there really is a rainbow bridge that led him to a wonderful reunion with Max and Percy. I hope he got to meet Eliot.

I don't know how long it will take for me to stop looking for him in the house. To stop awaking in a panic because he's not in the bed. To stop feeling angry and sad and lonely and guilty.

I've known Bailey longer than I haven't, and learning to live without him is not going to be easy. As hard as this is, I do know one thing: I am so incredibly lucky that I got to be his mom.