Author’s Note

It has been extremely hard to write a blog post this week because my family lost Cooper, my childhood dog. He had cancer that was spreading throughout his entire body, and he was in a lot of pain. His quality of life had significantly dropped, and my family had to make the difficult decision to say goodbye. Pain that is kept inside is like a wound that never heals. I hope that these letters help me express, understand, and process my pain.

I have always found writing as something therapeutic. I started writing these letters with the belief that I would not publish them. However, I am publishing them here in hopes that it helps another family out there when they are faced with both the impossible-possible decision of when to say goodbye to a family pet and the beginning of the grieving process.

Sunday, June 15, 2025

Dear Cooper,

This decision has felt like a thunderstorm. Six months ago, it was just the news sending preliminary warnings of a storm. Three months ago, it was that feeling that all Midwesterners experience when rain and electricity are on the horizon. Today, it was the beginning of the downpour, the light pitter-patter of rain on the roof that signaled to us that we should take cover. Tomorrow, it will be the sound of thunder that will be impossible to ignore. On Tuesday, it will be a full storm with sharp lightning and heavy rain.

My brain and my heart have been in a constant battle today. My heart wants to be selfish, to hold onto one more day with you, one more hour with you, one more minute with you. It wants to continue to push this decision further into the future and to believe that the future might never come. However much we try, just like a thunderstorm, there is no stopping nature. My brain knows that it is time, and I also know that I have been extremely lucky to not experience grief and death in this way until now. But even at 21 years old, it still feels too young to lose you. I have lost dogs before, but not a dog like you. While our other dogs will have a very special place in my heart, I consider you to be my childhood dog because you have seen me grow up over the past eleven years.

I You have been such a constant in our family, and it is hard for me to imagine that you will not be here in just two days.

Monday, June 16, 2025

Dear Cooper,

I am scared to go to bed because I know that when I wake up, I will have to prepare to say goodbye. I just want to sit on the floor with you for an eternity. I cannot think about tomorrow too much because it is simply too painful. I literally feel sick to my stomach, and I have no idea how I am going to eat anything at all tomorrow. It is hard to believe that this is the last night with you under our roof.

I keep telling myself that this is the right decision for you, but I just wish you could tell us if you were ready to say goodbye. I keep looking for a sign – a sign from you, a sign from God – that this is the right decision for you, not for me or the rest of the family, but for you. All the signs are there, and I want to ignore them and turn away from the hard parts of life. You have been such a selfless dog, and I know that you are trying to hold on for us. But it is time for you to be selfish because I know you are in pain and I know that your quality of life has drastically gone down in the past couple of months.

We will try to make tomorrow the best day for you. I just want you to be happy.

Tuesday, June 17, 2025

Dear Cooper,

It is hard to believe that you are gone. It was so hard to be there with you, but I knew I would regret it if I hadn’t stayed by your side. There is a silence in the house that wasn’t there before. There is a chill in the house that used to be filled with you. It is hard to just continue living life, making dinner, knowing that you are no longer here with us, begging for pieces of meat from our meals. I don’t really know what to do with myself now.

I keep telling myself that we had you for eleven years. We had you longer than your breed’s average life span. We had you longer than some of the other dogs that you knew. Those eleven, happy years had to lead to this moment. While this moment feels so overwhelming, I also know that I would not trade those eleven years for anything and that this moment does not eclipse those wonderful years.

You looked so peaceful. You have not looked that peaceful in a long time. I keep telling myself that this was the right decision, but it is hard to believe that right now.

Wednesday, June 18, 2025

Dear Cooper,

I feel lighter and heavier at the same time. I feel lighter knowing that you are no longer in pain. I feel heavier because I still hear you in the house, moving around and snoring. Somehow, I woke up today knowing that this was the right decision because we all got to spend the time with you that you deserved. The vet said that if a person is 100% ready to say goodbye to their dog, then it is usually too late. I did not want to do that to you because of my selfish desire to have you in my life for just a little while longer.

You were such an amazing dog. You were so loving, and you always knew when I needed you most. You were silly and playful. You were a bit of a troublemaker, but you made it up to us. I can look back on those moments and laugh. I hope that you know how much we all loved you. I think that you felt it through all the pork and McDonald’s cheeseburgers (without pickles since you would always spit them out, but I honestly cannot blame you!).

It will take me a little while longer to fully come to peace with losing you, but it helps to know that you are at peace. I love you always.