There's a Hole in My Soul

There's a hole in my soul. It's because he is gone.

Floyd in his cool camper, enjoying a Malibu breeze.

Floyd died on August 26, 2014. He was 17 years old.

It was the most difficult decision of my life. It was horrible. The day before he was put to sleep, I cried like I never cried before. Once we made the decision, I walked through my office with sunglasses on, made it to my car and sobbed. Really sobbed. That night, I came home and cried some more. Every time I looked at Floyd, I knew it would be the last time. His last dinner. His last bedtime snack. His last . . .

Tuesday morning was surreal. My husband woke up before me. He cleaned out the truck. Made Floyd a bed in the back seat. Punched the directions to the animal shelter into the GPS. And put the shovel in the bed of the truck.

I took Floyd out for his last morning potty. He ate his last egg for breakfast.

Then, we got into the truck for the ride to his resting place. He was born in St. Augustine and he would die in St. Augustine.

We discussed different options. I looked into in-home euthanasia but it just didn't feel right. This isn't Floyd's home - we've only been here for 8 months. So, we decided to do it in our truck. The truck that has been a part of Floyd's life for the last 12 years. The truck that he took on many adventures. The truck that felt like home.

The 90 minute ride went okay. I fed Floyd leftover salmon from the night before. I figured that his last meal should be a good one. For a brief time, he became really anxious. It was bad. It was an acknowledgment from God that it was time. I tried to comfort him. After a while, he became relaxed. He rested his head on his Winnie the Pooh bear.

Then, we arrived. I felt like I would vomit. My husband could not go inside without stopping to compose himself. That moment was awful.

They don't usually euthanize dogs in vehicles. They made an exception after my tear-filled call and my husband's pleading. The two ladies who did it were very compassionate. One of them actually crawled into the front seat of the truck in order to hold Floyd. It took about 15 seconds for the sedative to start working. He became very sleepy and just let go into my husband's arms.

We kissed him and told him how much we love him. I kissed his ears for the last time.

When the ladies came back to administer the last shot, I couldn't watch. I was afraid that Floyd would cry. So, I walked away. I didn't hear any cries. I turned around and saw the anguish on my husband's face. It was pure sadness. He touched Floyd and looked into his eyes when he died. Floyd was not alone. He was loved up until the last breath. He is still loved.

We're not saying loved. We're saying love.

My husband dug Floyd's grave. He is buried at our friend's farmhouse. Horses watch over Floyd. He is buried with Winnie the Pooh and his toy puppy, Charlie. He is wrapped in blankets. There is a cross placed on his back. God is responsible for Floyd. Floyd is with Him. I know this. I feel this.

The space on the living room floor is empty. It's as empty as my heart. It's as empty as my soul. I don't know what to do with his leash. I don't know what to do with the rest of his toys or the cans of Pedigree that are still in the cabinet.

All I know is that I miss Floyd more than I ever could have imagined. I am grateful for the last 17 years but I also would do anything to kiss him again.

This sucks. It sucks really bad. There's a hole in my soul and I'm not sure if it will ever be filled again.

Goodbye, sweet Floyd.