We knew that Mollie was old. We knew that she was edging towards fatal congestive heart failure. She took medicine every day for her heart and her joints. She was 14 years old, but such a part of the family. In fact, as the years passed, I often joked that she would live just long enough for the kids to get very much attached to her, and then she would pass away. Unfortunately, I was right. Mollie lived to the rip old age of 14 years and a few months, and then, sometime overnight between July 4th and 5th, she passed away quietly in her sleep. She happened to be curled up next to Dylan as they slept, which is where she slept 90% of the time. None of the children (who were all sleeping in the same room at the time) noticed any disturbance. So our hope is that she just passed away quietly in her sleep. The kids were still in their room, and I was still mostly asleep in my bed when suddenly the tone of their voices changed and Dylan came carrying Mollie across the hallway saying "Mom! I think Mollie died!" She was clearly in rigor and was cold. It was clear she had passed away several hours ago. There were a few drops of blood coming from her nose, so we grabbed a towel to lay her down on. The rigor and her positioning look exactly like she is sleeping.
Someone went and got her bed, to try to make her a little more comfortable.
And that was as far as we got. We never made it into a bedroom. We ended up just sitting at the top of the stairs for probably an hour while we cried and petted her.
She was such a good, loving, compassionate, caring part of the family. It was nice to sit around and mourn her together. I am sure it was a bit awkward for the rest of the Smith family downstairs, trying to figure out what to do. I appreciated that they gave us privacy, but also shared in our sorrow. Stacy was very helpful, and called around to give us options as far as burial or cremation.
We ended up deciding to cremate her. I think, in part, it was because I wanted to do something like a glass orb or something with her ashes. As of yet, I haven't gotten around to doing it, and I probably won't. But I think that was the original intent. Before the crematorium guy came to pick her up, I quietly took my camera up to do a little photo shoot.
It was in no way meant to be disrespectful. I just wanted to remember everything I could about all parts of her.
While we had been expecting it, we hadn't really been expecting it. And it came as a big shock to us all.
Her little hot dog tail.
Her poor nose had a dry spot on the tip that I can only imagine was pretty sore. It had been there for a few days and I had been putting Vaseline on it to keep it moisturized.
Each of us grieved her in our own ways. It was hard for Dylan, who doesn't do well with change and who was used to sleeping with her most nights. Hubby struggled not having her curl up in his lap, especially on Sundays when he would come home from church with a headache. I found myself randomly sinking in grief, doing normal things, but ending up crying. I couldn't tell anyone about her passing without tearing up. And, when I went to donate a practically full prescription back to the vet (because I couldn't return it) I started crying when they asked the reason. I may come back later and add how the girls dealt with it, but I don't remember much other than tears of love and grief.
We loved her dearly, and still do. We miss her often. And honestly, writing these blog posts where she reappeared after having 2 years of space has been both sad and happy at the same time. Her keepsake box full of ashes and her collar are in the room with all the remembrances of the things we love.
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