My baby boy passed away

5 years, 7 months, and 5 days since I brought you home. You were so tiny and sick. The first week I had you, your vet visit was over $1000, and boy, you taught me how to budget well.

You fought cancer like a champ and held on until Monday, when your favorite vet tech would be there to help you pass. You told me when it was time, and I listened reluctantly. I know you were done with the hospitalization. I know you were done with the needles, and the bruising, and the blood glucose tests, and the seizures. I know you were done with the increased pred doses... you always hated how it tasted and would try spitting it out. You’ll never need that icky steroid again.

I wish there was more modern medicine could offer you than euthanasia.

Thank you for being there through my high school graduation, and college acceptance, horrible breakups, and the assaults. Thank you for giving me so much laughter, and sense of responsibility. Thank you for giving me time to cope with your passing, despite feeling tired. I miss you so much and would do anything to walk you through the Redwood forest one last time— you know, the time you got so pooped, I had to carry you the whole way back? That was my favorite part. The way you looked up at me, nestled in my arms. 

I love you; Rest In Peace.

For those who didn't hear, Monday was my baby boy's last day. A week ago, Little Foot had heart complications and couldn't regulate his blood glucose levels on his own. He was hospitalized for three days before the vets decided they did all that they could and it'd be best to do hospice and humanely euthanize within the days after.

After taking him home from the clinic, I cuddled him for days. I couldn't imagine my life without him-- I still can't. When I brought him in, the vet was confident they could save him. I accumulated well over $1000 of medical bills for him to need euthanasia. I can't say it wasn't worth every penny; those extra days with him really helped me grieve. 

Hug your fur-babies for me tonight.