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*the Jasmine of the family*

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I won't spoil anything. I'll just say I'm super depressed now T___T

I really need to commission someone before the creative juices flowing through my head cause my brain to explode because I'm having no luck getting it all doooone.

WHY IS NOTHING GOOD ENOUGH FOR YOU, CREATIVITY? WHY? AND WHY DO PENCILS HATE ME?

Oh, and I don't feel regretful, but I sure feel like doing what that icon is.

I figured I should write a deeper entry now that I've "calmed down" a bit...meaning I'm not crying hysterical constantly, but rather every five minutes.

I don't know how much I mentioned Christy or how much everybody knew her, so I figured I'd take this time to say some words. And look at that, five minutes, here comes the tears.

I got Christy when I was 4 years old (1993). It was sometime around Christmas. Every night for as long as I could walk and talk, I'd look out the window, find my first star, and make a wish. It was always always always for a dog. I wanted one more than anything and we'd go to the mall and browse the pet shop and look at all the dogs and just leave. I hated doing that--I still do so. By stepping in there, you give so many animals hope...to just leave is painful.

This time though, it was different. I saw an old lady carrying a black dog. As we stepped in the store, she put it in my arms and I was overjoyed. I fell in love and I actually got my parents let me and them play with her in one of those pen things. I quickly started calling her Christy--I don't know why, I'm not even sure where I got the name from, but it's what I called her and she instantly responded. So, we got out and I begged, pleaded, cried, to get the dog. My parents told me if the money came out of the "magical machine" (aka an ATM), we could get her. I sat there and prayed like heck for the money to pop out. To my parents' surprise and my glee, it did, and Christy came home with us. I still wish on stars since that day--maybe it was just a coincidence, but it meant a lot to me.

She was fairly well-trained for a dog. She'd jump on me and lick me, of course. Sit next to me... She was also quite perceptive. She'd dance with me. She'd "clean" (lick my legs and arms) me. We'd even share ice cream (she'd hold it inbetween her paws and we'd take turns licking the cone). I adored her so much. And when it was time for bed, my mom would just have to say the last word and Christy would bite onto my nightgown and drag me off to bed. Something, as annoying as it was then, I missed a lot as I got older. She at least ran with me to bed for the longest time. And whenever I was feeling sick or sad, she'd be at my bedroom door to keep me company because she could tell I needed it.

And one special thing we had was that she'd give me a high five. My dad taught her how to give paw and I guess I turned it a step further. It got to the point where I could just put my hand up and she knew exactly what it meant. And no matter how old she had gotten, she always knew and did it. Maybe not as much in a row, but she did it and it was our thing.

It was in the car when I noticed she wouldn't no matter how hard I tried that I really felt it was bad. And some words from family members didn't help. And I kept petting her the whole way until my wrist hurt from the position. And we got there and we waited...and waited... We got a bit better when they told us that everything seemed fine and they couldn't find anything so they were going to take a blood test.

And then it came back with "Kidney Failure". I think that was the icing to top the cake of disaster. Seeing how that's what my dad had when I was younger, it was hard. Christy was like my saving grace during that time so when Christina and Melissa couldn't visit or Tommy couldn't come and my mom was busy helping my dad, I had her. I had her there to keep me in check and make sure I was okay. And the first thing I said when I heard that was "Couldn't she get a kidney transplant? That's what Daddy did." and I kept repeating it, as tears streamed down my face. "But Daddy did. Why can't she?" And it hurt. It hurt like heck. After everything we went through, that still came back to bite us and take something precious away. And it sucks. And I don't know why they don't do Doggy transplants. And I'm so angry at everything--that they didn't notice, no matter what they say about her blood being fine during her surgery a month or so ago. And I'm pissed off at my mother for not taking her right away. And I'm upset with my parents who thought it was fine when I said she wasn't eating or coming over to me while I ate because she ate earlier.

And in the end, I know it's not their fault. Maybe they already knew it wasn't going to go well and that there was no choice, so they just stuck to it as long as she was moving and fine. And maybe it wasn't the stupid doctor's fault and it really did come on suddenly.

But all I can do is sit here and I want to scream and punch something and cry some more and I've been crying to the point where my entire face and head hurts. And I think of how I want to go and cuddle the dogs...and then it hits me that one isnt there and I suddenly feel destroyed again. Eating won't be the same, sitting there won't be the same, none of it will be the same.

And even though she's only been gone for a few hours, I feel so empty and alone. Sure, I'll have her ashes in "10-14 days", but it won't be the same to petting her. And I watched them put her to sleep and it hurt so badly. I knew she was gone as her eyes drooped forward, not even closed. She didn't look asleep at all which was the worst part. And she'd perk her head up, but that's it. And I had to sit there and watch her go, so I gave her a hug and a kiss and I just wish we could've been taking her home.

I love you Christy, I hope you're doing okay in Heaven and you'll still be waiting for me just like you did whenever I got home.