She trusted me to look out for her. She was my responsibility, and I accepted that 17 years ago when I adopted her. I feel like in those last few days, I didn't do right by her, and it hurts.
I don't ever want to experience anything like that again. All the death I'd seen previously had been peaceful. This horrified me. I can't stand seeing someone I love in pain, and when it's someone who has relied on me to look out for their best interests ... well, it's hard. I feel like I did this to her.
I try to comfort myself with the fact that I did hear her cries in the middle of the night, and I did go to her, and I did insistently wake Shannon up, and Shannon and I did hold her while she died, and maybe that did help her be less frightened in those last moments. I wish I could have prevented those terrible moments, but I hope our presence and our touch and our voices helped.
So I'm still crying a lot ... not about the fact that Munchkin is gone, because I knew that was going to happen soon, but about how she died and my role in causing it to happen that way.
So today I did some art, and I talked to some friends, and I went for a couple walks in the sunshine, and I bought some cheap-but-cool stuff at the Daiso store, and I took a bath in our new bathtub with some nice-smelling bath oil, and I'm feeling a bit better. I'm bouncing back. I'm still very sad, and I still feel very guilty, and I'm still crying sometimes, but I'm enjoying the good things. And I'm enjoying them for more than a half hour out of the day.