Wembley Wednesday

I never stop thinking about Wembley. It has been nearly five months since she passed, and contrary to the "time heals all wounds" and "it will get better with time" cliches, it is not getting better. Alan and I talk about Wembley, cry about Wembley, and just plain miss Wembley. It seems everything we see reminds us of her. Sometimes, almost always regretfully, we pull out the Wembley box and see her collars and toys, the cards we were sent after she left us and during her treatment, her cute little cheerleader outfit and her pretty, pink princess shirts. Then there's the ceramic heart with her paw print on it, given to us by our vet on that horrible, horrible day. Her rhinestone collar bearing her name still smells like her. They're all painful reminders of the fact that she was here, and she wasn't "just a dog."

Now, we're still here, wondering how it all happened, still wondering if we did everything right. I can't help but blame myself. What if I read into her dog food sooner? What if I got a blood test when she got her yearly vaccination, and found the cancer earlier? What if we didn't live in an apartment with disgusting water and the constant, lingering scent of cigarettes from the smokers below and next to us?

This is certainly not the way I want to remember Wembley- full of cancer and medication. Most of the time, it isn't how I remember her. Mostly I remember how beautiful she was, how kind and snuggly, and how she was truly my very best friend. Despite all of the horrible things in the world, the kindness of Wembley always gave me a reason to calm down and deal with it.

I saw this quote the other day that is fitting for our loss:

"Dogs possess an indomitable spirit for life that teaches right up to their last day."

If only all of us were so noble.