A Eulogy for a Friend · 7:01pm Dec 24th, 2023
It's okay now.
You can close your eyes.
You're safe now.
No more pain.
No more pinpricks and needles to deliver cold shots of insulin, day after day.
No more half-blindly running into chairs.
No more needing to stay still and calm, unable to even play with the toys you once threw around.
Last night, you came to me in a dream, watching me silently as I relived your final moments, easing out your final gasps on the carpet upstairs.
And you were okay then.
You weren't blind anymore. And even though you stayed silent, watching me and your fragile old body from the side, I knew then that you were finally full of energy again.
No more being afraid of the grass you once bounded through, unsure if you would step on something sharp or trip over yourself.
You can go ride the swings in the park again, just like you used to when we first moved into this house.
You can run between the towering trees that surrounded us, playing hide and seek with me again, in our dreams.
In these last couple of years, as you steadily weakened and lost your voice, even then you still found joy in running all around the house, looking for me as I went from hiding behind trees to hiding behind doors.
I know you'll still be sleeping under my desk and on your bed, and in the closet and on the backdoor's mat and in all the sunny spots that kept you warm.
I know you'll still be there in spirit to curl up in my lap.
You can eat whatever you want now, boy.
No more need to eat nothing but boiled chicken and wet diabetic's prescription food.
You can eat beef, pork, and whatever else you might want, forever and ever onward.
Even if it was the last thing you did, I want to think that when you suddenly ran up the stairs before we could gate it off, you knew you were already going towards the light.
You wanted to get as close to the sky as you could that morning.
With your belly full with your final meal, and a burst of energy I hadn't seen in years, you ran past me as fast as your little feet could carry you.
Maybe it's for the best that it happened when it did.
You were able to go in silence and peace in my arms, rather than alone and cold in the night.
Or panicked and confused as my little brother's friends arrived for his birthday not an hour later.
I know it's still going to hurt.
And I know it's going to be hard to move on from this, when I've been there to watch you grow from a puppy into your old age.
But I'll try to be strong.
I know it's what you'd want for me.
Even if I won't be carrying you in my arms anymore around the house, I'll be carry you forever, wherever I go, in my heart.
I'll still see you in spirit.
I'll still hear your little footsteps following behind me in curiosity.
But you can rest now, Cody.
You can close your eyes now.
You're safe now.
Forever and ever on.
I'll always love you.
Our final full day together. One last ear scratch for the road.
I’m so sorry for your loss. I went through similar when we had to put our cat, Sheba, down back in 2011-2012. She was 20 years old. I still miss her to this day.
A beautiful eulogy for a fluffy friend. I hope he went easily. Once again, my deepest condolences for your loss.
It's tough to lose a friend...
Very heartfelt. At least he is no longer hurting.
I lost my own dog a few years back felt like something got torn out of me.
A wonderful eulogy for a glorious friend.
These amazing beings enter our lives and bring us such joy, but it's always so short. And the pain tears when they leave. But the pain eventually dulls and they leave us with one last precious gift: Our cherished memories of them. A way to feel that joy once more, even though far removed and with pain at the edges that reminds us of how much they meant.