Saying Goodbye to Blue

Yesterday, August 10 2024, was the hardest day of my life.

If you’ve been following me or know my story, you’ll know that Blue was my world. For over 15 years, he was by my side through thick and thin, through every trial and every triumph. Blue wasn’t just a dog; he was my shadow, my confidant, my reason to keep going when everything else seemed too much.

The last few months had been hard. There were signs—little things that I chose to overlook because I wasn’t ready to face what they meant. He was reluctant to walk, hesitant to eat, and no longer the energetic, feisty dog who had always been so full of life. I saw these signs, but I just wasn’t ready to accept them. I think deep down, I knew what they meant, but the thought of losing him was too much to bear.

Then came Friday, the day before. Blue didn’t want to eat, not even the treats that had always made him "talk" and wag his tail. I found myself spoon-feeding him, trying to coax him to take just a few bites. He looked at me with those eyes—those beautiful heterochromia eyes that had always seemed to look right into my soul—and I felt this ache deep inside, this overwhelming sadness that I couldn’t quite shake.

Saturday morning was worse. We went outside for our usual walk, but Blue didn’t want to go anywhere. He just stood there, looking up at me, as if to say, “I’m tired, I can't go on.” We spent 20 minutes outside, but we didn’t really go anywhere. I ended up carrying him home. I knew, in that moment, that it was time. My heart broke into a million pieces, and I felt physically sick. How could it be time? How could I say goodbye to the one being who had been my everything for so long?

For three hours, Blue lay in his bed, barely moving. I sat with him, my mind racing, my heart breaking. I finally called the vet. I couldn’t stop crying. My hands were shaking as I tapped the number, and I barely managed to get the words out. The vet was kind, understanding, and patient. We talked about everything—about how Blue had been struggling, about how his once boundless energy had dwindled, about how he hadn’t eaten much, about how he was over 15 years old and that these things wouldn’t improve.

My Mum stayed on the phone with me most of the way to the vet’s office. I needed her voice to steady me, to remind me that I wasn’t alone in this. But it didn’t stop the tears, and it didn’t stop the pain.

When we arrived at the vet, something unexpected happened—Blue seemed more alert. I think it was the adrenaline. For a moment, I had second thoughts. Maybe this wasn’t the right decision. Maybe he was getting better. But the vet, who had seen Blue through so many stages of his life, was gentle but firm. He reminded me of the reality—his deterioration, his struggles to walk, his lack of appetite. He said that my hope for the occasional good moment was clouding the harsh truth. Those rare moments didn’t outweigh the pain and discomfort he was living with every day.

So, the decision was made.

They took Blue back to place a catheter, and when they brought him back into the consultation room, he lay on a bed of towels. I got down on the floor with him, holding him close. The vet said something that broke my heart even more—he said that in the past, Blue had always been feisty, making sure everyone knew he wasn’t pleased to be there. But today, he didn’t put up any resistance. He was tired. He was ready.

The sedative knocked him out in seconds. One moment he was there, and the next, he was gone. The whole procedure was over within a couple of minutes. The vet said he was so weak, he just didn’t have the fight in him anymore. And I knew, deep down, that this was the kindest thing I could do for him, but it didn’t stop the pain. It didn’t stop the ache that settled deep in my chest, making it hard to breathe.

After the vet left, I stayed with Blue. I held him, I whispered all the things I needed to say. I thanked him for being my best friend, for rescuing me when I needed it most, for being my everything. I kissed him goodbye, and then I drove home. Alone.

I cried the entire way home. I couldn’t stop. My friends called, they messaged me, they asked how they could help, but the truth is, nothing could help. All I wanted was Blue. I forced myself to eat something, I drank some water, but it felt like I was just going through the motions. I kept looking over at his bed, expecting to see him there, but it was empty. I barely slept last night. I spent hours looking at his photos, his videos, reliving every moment we had shared, every memory that now felt like it was slipping away.

This grief—it’s overwhelming. It feels like a part of me is missing, like there’s this gaping hole in my heart that will never heal. I’ve helped so many others come to terms with the pain of losing a pet, but now, as I sit here in my own grief, I realize just how unbearable it truly is.

I know that time will dull the sharp edges of this pain, that eventually, the memories will bring more smiles than tears. But right now, I’m heartbroken. I’m devastated. And I know that’s okay. I know that grieving for Blue is the most natural thing in the world because he wasn’t just a pet—he was my family, my best friend, my everything.

I’m sharing this because I know I’m not alone in this experience. I know so many of you have gone through this, or will go through it, and it’s one of the hardest things we’ll ever have to do. But it’s also one of the most loving things we can do. To let them go when they’re ready, to put their needs before our own, even when it breaks our hearts—that’s what love is.

For those of you who are going through this, or who have gone through it, please know that it’s okay to grieve. It’s okay to cry, to feel lost, to miss them with every fiber of your being. And it’s okay to reach out for support. I’ve spent years helping others navigate this pain, and now I’m in the thick of it myself. I’m here to tell you that you’re not alone, that your grief is valid, and that there’s no right or wrong way to mourn the loss of a beloved pet.

Blue will always be a part of me. His memory will live on in everything I do, in every decision I make, in every step I take. He gave me 15 years of unconditional love, of unwavering companionship, and for that, I will always be grateful. I will carry him with me, in my heart, for the rest of my life.

Goodbye, Blue. I love you more than words can ever express. You were my everything, and I will miss you every single day. But I know that you’re at peace now, that you’re running free, with no pain, no struggle—just the joy and freedom you always deserved.

Thank you for rescuing me, Blue. I’ll carry you with me, always. 💔