I just want to wake up. This is just a horrible nightmare.

He's gone. My baby is gone. I lost my fucking puppy.

He was doing better. That last post. He was starting to play again. He was taking more bites. Then he just stopped. We resorted to syringe-feeding him. It didn't help.

I have to believe in Heaven. I have to believe that someday, I will see him again. My baby boy. That dog was the world to me. Still is. I love my cats to all hell. I still need them. But I need my dog back. This wasn't supposed to happen this way. I was supposed to not have cancer, and he was supposed to get better. It was supposed to happen that way.

I don't have cancer. So why did he not get better?

I have always cried about this day. Having to say goodbye to any of my babies. Little Em, Princess, Cotton. But for this day to actually happen? It wasn't. They were all supposed to live forever. Why did that have to get fucked up? Why is my Cotton not here with me now??

I can't do this. I'm not strong enough. I need my baby back. My parents keep saying, "If there's anything you want, we'll give it to you." I want Cotton back. That's all I want. I want my puppy back. My baby boy. My world. I love him.

I promised him I would make him better. When I came home that first night because they told me he wasn't doing so well, and that I should come home and see him, I made a promise to him. I told him, "Mommy's here. Mommy will make it all better. I promise." I couldn't even do that. I tried so hard. I really did. But I just never believed it was this bad. I just thought, "Yeah, he'll get better." I was in denial. Complete denial. He looked horrible. All he did was lay on the couch. He didn't even give kisses anymore.

His heart was so frail. He didn't even survive the relaxer they gave him before the euthanasia. He passed in my arms. At least I got to hold him as he left. At least he got to spend his last moments in his mommy's arms. I hope I made him as comfortable as possible. I hope he wasn't panicked as he realized his heart was slowing down. I hope he is okay now. I hope he won't miss me too much until I get to see him again.

We buried him with his favorite toy. The one I bought at the dollar store, that I slept with for maybe a month before I gave it to him. I wanted it to smell like me, so that he wouldn't miss me as much when I was gone at college. Now what am I going to hold on to of his that he's gone? We buried him in his collar, too. One of them. His old black one is hanging up in the back next to his leash. I'm going to keep that one forever.

Five years. That's all that puppy got to see. He should have lasted five more. Ten more. Twenty more. I would have settled with one more. But one more year of him as himself, not the sick, frail puppy who stumbled after getting down off the couch. He was so weak. He was miserable. And his misery was worse than ours now. I have to believe we did the right thing. Even if I feel we made a mistake.

I feel we gave up on him. That there was more we could do. That, if we kept feeding him and nursing him back to health, he would have improved. Last night, he was wagging his tail. He was again this morning at the vet's. I don't know what that was about. Maybe he knew. Knew it was his time. And that was him telling us that he was ready. And this was the right thing to do.

But I just miss him so fucking much. This is going to be the hardest summer without him. I never even got to take pictures of him with my good camera I got for Christmas. There was so much I didn't get to do with him. Spend five more years with him, for example.

I just want him back. If there is anything I can do now to get him back, I would do it in a heartbeat. I would give my health for his. I would. My health is nothing without him. Without all three of my babies.

They were supposed to live forever. Princess, Little Em, Ginger. They weren't supposed to outlive Cotton. They were all supposed to live until my parents and I were gone. So that we could all be buried together. Because this pain of losing someone you love is just too hard to bear. I can't do it.

I just want to wake up. Please. I keep praying that as I was correcting my short story for my Thursday night class, I fell asleep, because it was so stressful. I had to actually read my story in class, so I was stressed that whole day about it. So I just passed out as I was revising it. I had just finished revising it when my dad texted me, telling me I had to go home that weekend. It was before that text that I passed out. Passed out from stress. I'm just sleeping now. That's all. And this is just some horrible nightmare. One that feels painfully real. But it's not. And I'm going to wake up. And my Cotton will be fine. All my babies will be fine.

I have to wake up. This can't be real. It just can't be. I won't accept it. I just won't.