And then I lost it....

I'm doing a Monday Mournings Guest-Interview over on the death writer blog today with my friend Pamela. I do hope you'll go over and check it out by clicking here.

During the interview process Pamela and I traded a few e-mails and I shared a story with her. I told her I was considering putting it on my blog and we agreed that we'd try to coordinate my story with her blog subject/guest for Wednesday. She's having a guest who is a veterinarian who is also a thanatologist. (They study death and dying, especially in the psychological and social aspects.) Don't forget to check that out as well here on Wed  8/15.

What does my story have to do with that? Go ahead and read it and you'll see.

This is a true story about what happened some short weeks after the accident that took the life of my daughter Gretchen and son Eric. It portrays a picture of my emotional state resulting in some behavior I'm was not to proud of.

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I looked at my cat Egypt laying on the floor. He was obviously in pain. I told myself all the usual things he had a good life, after all he was 19. But I knew today was going to be his last day and that made me terribly sad.

I breathed deeply thinking to myself "my life is a nightmare." It had only been a few short weeks since the kids deaths. I hadn't slept for more than a few hours at a stretch and I was exhausted down to my very bones. I was so afraid and I didn't even know what I was afraid but it was my new constant companion. And now I had to leave the house. The thought of doing that was so frightening to me that I started to seriously consider that I needed help. Damn you death, I thought! It seemed that death was rearing its ugly head again. Ugh! Why me? I seemed to be asking myself that question a lot lately.

So I put him in his cat carrier, he cried obviously in pain and I cried along with him.

We arrived at the vets office just the two of us and they took us right away. They're very good that way with long standing patients. I was shocked when the older male country doctor didn't walk through the door but instead a young thirty something veterinarian who was about six months pregnant entered. I told her that I would like to have him put to sleep and take his body home to bury in our pet cemetery. She examined him and agreed it was his time.

Then trying to help she started to address with me how hard it would be for me to loose a pet. At this point I stopped her and told her, thanked her and told her I was an experience pet owner and had done this before and there was no need, but she continued. Again I said there really was no need to address my needs that if she could just.... and she just kept on about how difficult it could be.

And I lost it.

All I can say is it was like a slow motion movie playing out some horrible scene and these hateful words were coming out of someone else's mouth but it was actually my mouth and I was saying them.

I remember saying. "How many times do I have to tell you I don't need you to explain to me about how this is going to be a painful experience?"

Then I went on to say. " I just buried my two kids a few weeks ago so you don't have to tell me a fu...ing thing about what I'm gonna go thru."  

And if that wasn't enough. "Now take that fu.....ing needle stick it in the G-damn cat and kill him and do it now!"

And I can say with certainty that's pretty much word for word what I said. Why do I remember? I can't say but I do. I can hardly remember putting him in his carrier after the shot or paying the bill but I know I did. But I do remember laying him out in the living room at home so our other pets would know he was gone before we buried him.

To be perfectly honest I never apologized to the lady vet. and I suspect she avoided treating my cats for years afterward. And really who could blame her? My behavior was awful, shameful.

Then, five years later our cat Daisy was attacked by a pack of dogs. They hurt her terribly and we knew she would have to be put to sleep. When we went to the vets she came in to treat my dying 12 yr old cat. Her internal injuries were so severe she agreed the was no hope. After five years she looked me square in the eye and touched my hand and said and it was very brief " are you ready" and I said " yes thank you."

 Maybe a little peace and understanding was reached there or at least I'd like to think so.

But I didn't offer an apology and it still bothers me.
So what do you think dear readers?
Is it ever to late to offer an apology?
Any other thoughts or comments?