Bipha. . . I love you
Well, folks. It's been 2 months - specifically, it has been ten weeks. For ten weeks, I have labored long and hard over how to address this. And the answer, of course, is. . . I don't know how. As someone who always knows what to say and has an answer for everything. . . I'm pretty much speechless right now. August 19th, 2025. That was the day my soul died. Something wasn't right. She wasn't right. So, we went to the vet. This dog has never lazed on a couch in the mornings or turned down snacks. And yet all of those things happened in close succession. At the vet, things progressed faster than I could keep up at times. But the diagnosis was clear as day. Not only did my girl develop tumors seemingly overnight, but a tumor had burst. It had burst and she was struggling to breathe from the internal bleeding. I needed to know one thing. Could she handle a 2-hour drive? The answer was yes. If I left immediately. So, I carried her to the car and broke every traffic law on the way there. I took her to one of the best hospitals in the area. I panicked, and so I did what most people do when they panic - I called my Mom. I don't remember the call. I don't remember what we said. All I remember was my Mom begging me to pull over and collect myself - and what I told her in return. "I can't. I can't stop and I can't slow down," I told her while sobbing the hardest I ever have, "If I stop, she dies." We made it, and we were both scared. A lot of diagnostics later, we confirmed my worst nightmare - she had developed Hermangiosarcoma. My little girl had an incurable cancer, and nothing I could do would be able to protect her from this. The oncology team came by and spoke to us. She explained that they could operate, but it would only give her another 6 months at best. They wouldn't be Bipha months, they would be couch-dog months. That's when I realized that the surgery wasn't for her - it was to give closure to the people she loves. It does nothing for her but prolong pain - pain that she is in now, and surely will be in again. I made Boof a promise a long, long time ago. I would never force her to stay. If she was ready, I'd fight her corner and let her go with the dignity that she deserved. All I had to do was look at her to know that the time was already here. Physically, she was ready, but she had more to give. And that made it worse. So, we made a blanket fort for her and made sure she was somewhere comfortable. And we stayed like that until she couldn't stand it anymore - until she collapsed in my lap. That's how I knew she'd had enough. When she couldn't eat rotisserie chicken, her favorite, which she was incredibly allergic to? Those were the little signs she gave me that it was time. She fought every bit of sedation until she couldn't anymore. And it was then that I realized something that I thought was hyperbole. I would have given half of my time on earth away if it meant that her lifespan would match mine. She passed away in my lap, with one hand cradling her head, and the other on her heart. -- To anyone that knew us, who knew her, or anyone who watched/participated in our journey together: Thank you. Thank you for being here. She couldn't say it, but she's glad you were there with us, and so am I.
