When I was younger, I worked as a grave digger. I naively thought it would be cool, then I thought eh, it’s just a job. Then I ended up having to help dig a grave for a kid and I quit that day. I couldn’t do it. I never wanted to dig a grave again in my life.
I dug a grave today.
My sweet little dog Amelia was hit by a car, she died as I put my hand on her chest. She was a member of the family only for a bit over a year. She was probably about nine months when we adopted her, they said. We adopted her on February 7, 2015, and she passed away today, July 16, 2016.
She was across the street and I called to her to get her to come home. She came running toward me. I’ll never forget that image, and I’ll never feel like it wasn’t my fault. I ran to her. I watched her take her last few breaths, her tongue hanging out of her mouth. I touched her and she stopped moving. I picked her up and cradled her, my sweet puppy.
The car had stopped and the guy got out and he was saying something about thinking she was a branch. I have to admit I didn’t really listen. I told him it was ok, it wasn’t his fault. He stood there for a while saying something or other and I told him it was fine, it was an accident. He kept saying he was sorry and I told him it was ok and told him he could go and he did. A neighbor was by, I don’t know who it was, but he stood there with his hand on my shoulder as I stood in the middle of the street and cried and cradled my poor Amelia to my chest.
The kids were outside. I don’t know if they saw it happen. I hope so much that they didn’t. They are only four and six, they don’t need that. They stood on the sidewalk watching me, Ian didn’t quite get it. Henry did. He cried and puked. Amber took them inside.
The neighbor offered to grab the hose from the side of the house and spray off the puke, I thanked him as best as I could. I wish I knew who it was, but I was still in shock. Thank you again, whoever you are.
I took her into the garage and I held her and I cried. I put her down and I dug a hole in the back yard, and there she is now, feet away from where I type this.
Ian still doesn’t get it, I guess that’s a good thing about his developmental delays, even though I know that sounds incredibly fucking shitty of me to actually say. He loved that dog more than anyone in the family, I bet. He was always with her. When I would take him places, he would tell strangers out of the blue, “guess what? I have a pet, and her name is Amelia!” I don’t even know what else to say about Ian to be honest. I feel like Amelia getting hit was my fault. And because of this, I took his friend away. I don’t know how I’ll forgive myself for it.
Henry does get it, though. He’s taking it better than I expected on the surface, but I know him. And I know his last image of her was her in my arms. I know him, and I know that is going to stick with him. I only hope he doesn’t blame me, but I’m too terrified of it to ask. It’s funny how much he loved her, especially because when we first got her he was so afraid of her.
He made her a card. His words mean more than mine ever will.
I dug a grave today.
My sweet little dog Amelia was hit by a car, she died as I put my hand on her chest. She was a member of the family only for a bit over a year. She was probably about nine months when we adopted her, they said. We adopted her on February 7, 2015, and she passed away today, July 16, 2016.
She was across the street and I called to her to get her to come home. She came running toward me. I’ll never forget that image, and I’ll never feel like it wasn’t my fault. I ran to her. I watched her take her last few breaths, her tongue hanging out of her mouth. I touched her and she stopped moving. I picked her up and cradled her, my sweet puppy.
The car had stopped and the guy got out and he was saying something about thinking she was a branch. I have to admit I didn’t really listen. I told him it was ok, it wasn’t his fault. He stood there for a while saying something or other and I told him it was fine, it was an accident. He kept saying he was sorry and I told him it was ok and told him he could go and he did. A neighbor was by, I don’t know who it was, but he stood there with his hand on my shoulder as I stood in the middle of the street and cried and cradled my poor Amelia to my chest.
The kids were outside. I don’t know if they saw it happen. I hope so much that they didn’t. They are only four and six, they don’t need that. They stood on the sidewalk watching me, Ian didn’t quite get it. Henry did. He cried and puked. Amber took them inside.
The neighbor offered to grab the hose from the side of the house and spray off the puke, I thanked him as best as I could. I wish I knew who it was, but I was still in shock. Thank you again, whoever you are.
I took her into the garage and I held her and I cried. I put her down and I dug a hole in the back yard, and there she is now, feet away from where I type this.
Ian still doesn’t get it, I guess that’s a good thing about his developmental delays, even though I know that sounds incredibly fucking shitty of me to actually say. He loved that dog more than anyone in the family, I bet. He was always with her. When I would take him places, he would tell strangers out of the blue, “guess what? I have a pet, and her name is Amelia!” I don’t even know what else to say about Ian to be honest. I feel like Amelia getting hit was my fault. And because of this, I took his friend away. I don’t know how I’ll forgive myself for it.
Henry does get it, though. He’s taking it better than I expected on the surface, but I know him. And I know his last image of her was her in my arms. I know him, and I know that is going to stick with him. I only hope he doesn’t blame me, but I’m too terrified of it to ask. It’s funny how much he loved her, especially because when we first got her he was so afraid of her.
He made her a card. His words mean more than mine ever will.
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