Saying Goodbye to Mieze 16. December 2024
On Friday, December 13th, Mieze died.
I was with her at the vet, and in that moment I knew: this is it. There was no hope left. He told me calmly, but clearly—and I felt it myself. She wouldn't have recovered. It would have only been more suffering for her.
I held her in my arms when she got the final injection. We let her go together.
It was terrible. And it still hurts.
She was so much more than just a pet. She was comfort, closeness, soul. In these last weeks, she showed me how strong she was—and how much she needed us. And we needed her.
The pain runs deep, and even though I know it was the right thing, it just feels empty. But I'm infinitely grateful for the time I had with her. Infinitely grateful.
Today was another module test at school. And honestly—I struggled incredibly hard. Mieze has only been gone a few days, and my head just wasn't clear. I tried to concentrate, to push through, but it barely worked.
I don't think I passed the test. Maybe the grammar section was okay—I'm actually fairly confident about that. But with the essay, I was completely blocked. My thoughts wouldn't come together, the words wouldn't flow. There was just emptiness.
Since yesterday I've also had severe toothache. And now I'm realizing how much all of this has weighed on me. These last weeks I've been functioning, holding on, being strong—for Mieze, for everything else. But now she's gone. And with her death, everything is falling away from me.
I can't lock away the pain anymore. Not the emotional, not the physical. I feel like I'm failing at everything right now. At school, in daily life, within myself.
It's just too much. I could only cry.
