“Thank you for fixing me. Again,”
That’s what I told my husband few days ago, after I recovered from the aftermath.
It was probably the worst week I have experienced in my life time. And, I wasn’t exaggerating. Even, I could say that having a bad week, or experiencing a bad mood would be an understatement for describing my situation.
Losing Chika was probably not the first heartbreaking experience I have ever had, but I could safely say that it might be one of the most traumatic of all. I have lost people and pets that I loved in the past. My first experience of dealing with death was when my puppy died when I was 8 or 9 years old (an idiot bastard ran on her with a car). Not long after that, my grandfather died, I was probably 10 or 11 years old.
However in that age, I was probably too young to comprehend death. I knew and I could describe the experience. I can define the word itself, and probably understand what it means. But I probably haven’t got enough maturity to develop the kind of emotions to react to that. At least, the kind of emotion I felt when I lost Chika.
Other times, I just had terrible break ups, with Unyee or with the last boyfriend I had before I met Mr. Fix-It. But, break ups has never blind sided me. I was the one who decided that it was time to call it off. I was ready and well prepared. I saw the first sign, the one I had seen before — and I knew what I was going to do about it. I knew what I had to do about it. With what happened to Chika, it was just a tragedy.
I still cannot talk or discuss the detail about what happened to her, not without having a burst of strong emotion. But, this is how much I can tell you: Chika was killed in a vet malpractice. I am not sure about the law in Indonesia, but I am pretty sure if Chika was here with me in the UK, I would have sued the shit of the veterinarian, and made the vet not only lost their permit to practice, but also to lose their business, money, property, and people that they love.
Yes. I am still very angry about it. In case you haven’t noticed.
What I was going to say was…
I am so glad that I wasn’t alone when it happened. I am glad that I had Mr. Fix-It with me when I had to go through so much emotion last week. I understand that there are so many people who wouldn’t be able to understand why I shed so much tears and spend so much energy mourning a dog. But Mr. Fix-It hasn’t only been very supportive, but also been very understanding.
He understood that I might want to just curl up in the sofa, and cry, while he would just bring me a cup of tea and leave me alone. He buffered all the information coming from my sister, so I wouldn’t have to be able to deal with the aftershock. But I think what helped me the most is that he never told me what I should feel or do.
One thing I could remember the most from so many things that he said to make me feel less shitty was about embracing the grief. He told me to take the time, to do whatever I need to do, to embrace the moment, and just feeling sad — just because I was sad. He said that I don’t need to worry, or hurry. I could take it slow, without worrying that it would make him feel upset. Or fast, without feeling guilty for moving on. And for whatever I do, he would be there, and get my back.
So the day when I could walk up to him without crumbling in tears, I told him that.
“Thank you for fixing me. Again…”
He sighed and smiled. Probably he thought it was a little bit silly. But then he said:
“I wasn’t fixing you. You weren’t broken. Just slightly damaged.”