u/RevolutionaryPea7546

My Bruno passed today. I’ve become non functional because of grief.

He passed today via At home euthanasia. It wasn’t as peaceful as I had hoped to. He was 19 yo. There was nothing left to do to improve the quality of his life.

The grief and pain is unbearable. I have 2 other pets that I love dearly. The bond I have with this sassy boy that passed is just different. I don’t know why and it doesn’t really matter why. It’s there even after he passed.

I hope he waits for me at the rainbow bridge. With my grandpa.

So, this is the Bruno we should be talking about.
When he turned 14, he decided to rescue me. He gave me a full-time job with endless benefits, made me laugh, kept me in line, and became my only family on this planet.
We’ve navigated a lot together over the last five years. His declining health was a slow and gradual process. He’s an unusually resilient little creature—he was a stray abandoned by his previous I owner, he’s survived near liver failure, a stroke, almost got hit by a car four times, and my smothering. 😂
It started with arthritis, then dementia. He started wearing diapers. Walks became limited to grassy patches, then eventually indoors only. We transitioned to soft food. He became afraid of car rides, so there were no more grocery runs or road trips. He stopped barking at me when I slept in. And the list goes on.
But it was gradual, and every single time, with the right medication, training, or lifestyle change, he bounced back.
Not today.
He had a seizure, and the vets think there may be a lesion. There’s no new treatment to try and nothing left that is likely to turn this around. I brought him home from the ER so I can spend one last week with him, keeping him comfortable, and then help him pass peacefully at home in my kitchen by the fridge—his favorite spot. The vet agreed that this was a reasonable plan and sent us home with additional medication for comfort care.
So why do I feel so guilty?
I will love him and think about him until the day I die. I have done everything I possibly could to make his life safe, happy, and comfortable. Intellectually, I know he’s extraordinarily old—roughly 92–101 in human years. I know his body is telling me that we’ve reached a place we haven’t been able to bounce back from this time.
And yet I feel overwhelming guilt at the thought of being the person who decides when he dies. The fear of the grief and loss and having to continue living without him is making me want to keep him alive as long as I can. I’m shocked at how cruel that thought of mine is.
Please tell me how to survive this.