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A Night of Darkness
My best friend’s dead. And I killed her. I wish it could have been different. I sit here with tears flowing down my cheeks and I reach for a square of toilet paper to blow my nose on. When my nose is stuffed up, I try to imagine how hard it was for her to breathe in the end.
We had almost fifteen years together. I wish we could have had another fifteen. I can’t even imagine what tomorrow’s going to be like without her. It’s been less than six hours since I last saw her, and I feel as though my tears will never stop. I don’t want them to. I feel as though I’ll never stop missing her. I need some more toilet paper.
How do I face going to work and letting people know that she’s gone? I know there will be some questions come Monday morning. I’m okay in public as long as I don’t have to talk about her. But if I have to say she’s gone, I’m just going to break down, just like all those years ago when she was sick.
I go to blow my nose and I smell her on my hands. I don’t want to wash them. I want to be able to smell her forever.
My eyes hurt from crying. My ears hurt. My throat is so tight, but not as tight as her poor stomach must have been in the end.
She couldn’t eat. Or at least it must have caused her too much pain to eat. I tried to give her some tuna just yesterday. She ate some from my hand. I gave her water. I put it to her lips and she licked my fingers.
I have a picture of her with her tongue touching her nose. I always said she was just sticking her tongue out at me. I which she was sitting here next to me again.
I went downstairs a little while ago.
God, it was so painful.
I was in the kitchen making a cup of Darjeeling, and I could feel my eyes well up with tears. Then I thought I should go get her and hug her and cry my tears onto her. And then I realized that she’s not here anymore. She can’t absorb my tears anymore. I’m alone.
So I finish making my tea and I go back upstairs. And I try to go to bed. I lay there for a couple of minutes and I think about waking up tomorrow and I remember how she used to wake me up, before she got too old to sleep in my room.
I’d lie there in my bed, trying to pretend I was asleep, but she knew the minute I was even half-awake. As soon as I moved, she’d start banging around the room and she’d come over and kiss my hand. I’d put her in bed with me and just lay there for a few minutes with her before I got up. I wish we could have had just one more morning.
But she was sick. And now she’s not here anymore.
She’s just down the road where her life was ended. Oh God. Was I right? Should I have said yes? My head tells me yes, it was the right thing to do, but my heart just feels so tight and heavy in my chest.
More tears wash down my cheeks, and I need more toilet paper.
I’m already planning on how to get rid of her things. I can’t bear the thought of seeing them here anymore.
I sort of feel like I want to pretend as though she never existed. But I can’t do that. I just miss her too much.
I’ve got her sheet next to my pillow. I don’t want to wash that sheet. It was hers. I just want to keep it.
My face even hurts. And I feel my skin, and I remember how her body felt. Where the big tumors were, but it wasn’t the ones on the outside, it was the ones on the inside that were the problem. She was too old, and they were too big. Why didn’t I see what was happening? Why didn’t I know?
I loved her. I should have seen.
Her eyes were beautiful before. They were warm and brown and full of intelligence and a sparkle. I feel like my sparkle’s gone, and I don’t know if it’s coming back.
More t.p.
I look at my bed and I’m not sure how I’m going to fall asleep, how I’m going to be able to face tomorrow without her?
I won’t have to worry about stepping on her in the front hall anymore. I won’t have to get up those extra few minutes each morning to look after her. I’d never go to sleep again if I could just have her back.
She used to like having her back rubbed with your foot.
She had the hairiest toes. It extended way past her toes, but I stopped cutting it long ago.
It seems like just yesterday that she came running up to me and begged me to take her home with me. And I did.
She was there through everything - high school, college. She kept me sane. She was there everyday when I came home. She may not have always been in the best moods, but I loved her, and now....
Now, I try to remember why I loved her. I don’t know why. I just did. I guess she loved me too, even if she didn’t always show it. I know she did. It was there in all our little actions.
I miss her so.
My eyes are almost dry. But my face hurts so much.
Maybe I’ll try to go to bed again.
- written by A. Krug on the night that Foxy was put to sleep.