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Description
In loving memory of Samantha Spainhower, who passed away on April 11, 2017.

Alright. So I've given myself a long while to think this over in my head. And though I doubt I'll ever truly wrap my brain and emotions around this, I've managed to bring myself to a conclusion that I am happy with for now.

Words can't even begin to describe what Samantha meant to me. She and my other dogs were some of my only life preservers in a time when the waves were constantly beating me under and the salt washed right into my eyes. They never hurt me, always loved me, and were the only things I was certain would be there for me. They were my only permanent symbol of hope and love when all else seemed either hopeless or impossible to achieve. They slept with me when I was crying, and always came when I called. It was their mission to make sure I was safe and happy with my life, to find some way to stop me from being in that terrible state of depression. They were more motherly to me than my biological mother could ever dream of being. We took care of each other, and if we suffered, we all suffered together. And Samantha was no exception.

I still remember the first time I got to visit the dogs after so many years of being away. I remember being in shock from how… grey they were. It broke my heart to see them like that. Old, and pushing through life. I remember the limp Samantha had because of her cancer, how fragile she was. That broke my heart too. And I can only imagine how odd I must've seen to them. I could feel it. They were so confused when I first walked in. They didn't recognize me at first. How can I blame them? In those three years, so much had changed. I didn't have my depression anymore. That was long gone. I lost the bags under my eyes and the slow tired walk and the consistent frown and the pale complexion and everything. I was happy. I had crawled my way out of hell and healed up my burns. I had gained friends and family that loved me to the core and I had learned to be forever grateful to have those things. I was cured. So no, I don't blame them for not recognizing me at first. I'm just glad they finally did realize it was me.

And that was the last time I got to see Samantha. She was old and frail but she tried. She tried so hard to push on through her struggles just like she had wanted me to do. God knows I wanted to be there for her. I wanted to stay there and hold her paw as the doctors stopped her pain for good. I wanted to say I was sorry for not being there all those years, for leaving her in that place while I went on to find a happy life. I wanted to say goodbye. I wanted to say thank you. But I knew that would never happen. I knew my mother wouldn't let me. Heck, I tried asking if I could visit one last time the night before, but she wouldn't agree to my terms. She sent me back a paragraph telling me that she cared more about her boyfriend being there for the dog than me. She used my dog's death as an excuse to bully me again. And quite frankly that's why I'm done with her. That's just low. That's pathetic. She doesn't deserve another chance to be appeased.

But that's not what this is about. This is about my baby girl. I won't lie, I cried for days. I knew when the execution was happening, and I had to leave my Latin class because I knew I was going to break down when the clock hit eleven. And I did. And I was broken and isolative for days afterwards. Everyone was so worried about me, and I did what I could to force myself out of my shell for their sakes. But I won't lie, there's still part of me that feels terrible. And I don't doubt it'll always be there, somewhere, no matter how long I ignore it or bury it away. It's just the nature of loss.

But now my conclusion.

Samantha represented everything hopeful in my life, that small little part of life that said things will get better, things will go good eventually, there's always hope. And quite frankly, me sitting around moping and crying because of her is a betrayal to everything she stood for, everything she fought for. She would never want to be the cause of me being in pain. She would never want me to cry because of her. Especially since her goal was achieved. I finally did reach a happy life, a life free of endless suffering and depression. It took five years, but here I am. I had given her everything that she wanted. After soldiering on for so long, she can rest easily knowing she can be relieved of duty.

I am only human, and I know I'll always have moments when I look back on all the amazing times we had together and cry over how those days can only be left to memory now. But I refuse to dishonor her. I will do what she always wanted me to do: carry on. Fight. I will live this life of mine to its fullest. I will go out there and make friends, accomplish my dreams, reach for the stars. Smile. I will go on.

So that means I'm back. I'm gonna start up my usual schedule starting now. On my 18th birthday. A day celebrating making it to adulthood and looking forward to what the future holds. The places I can go, the people I can meet, the things Samantha would want me to experience.

Rest in peace, sweetheart. Thank you for helping make 18 years worth living

Description
In loving memory of Samantha Spainhower, who passed away on April 11, 2017.

Alright. So I've given myself a long while to think this over in my head. And though I doubt I'll ever truly wrap my brain and emotions around this, I've managed to bring myself to a conclusion that I am happy with for now.

Words can't even begin to describe what Samantha meant to me. She and my other dogs were some of my only life preservers in a time when the waves were constantly beating me under and the salt washed right into my eyes. They never hurt me, always loved me, and were the only things I was certain would be there for me. They were my only permanent symbol of hope and love when all else seemed either hopeless or impossible to achieve. They slept with me when I was crying, and always came when I called. It was their mission to make sure I was safe and happy with my life, to find some way to stop me from being in that terrible state of depression. They were more motherly to me than my biological mother could ever dream of being. We took care of each other, and if we suffered, we all suffered together. And Samantha was no exception.

I still remember the first time I got to visit the dogs after so many years of being away. I remember being in shock from how… grey they were. It broke my heart to see them like that. Old, and pushing through life. I remember the limp Samantha had because of her cancer, how fragile she was. That broke my heart too. And I can only imagine how odd I must've seen to them. I could feel it. They were so confused when I first walked in. They didn't recognize me at first. How can I blame them? In those three years, so much had changed. I didn't have my depression anymore. That was long gone. I lost the bags under my eyes and the slow tired walk and the consistent frown and the pale complexion and everything. I was happy. I had crawled my way out of hell and healed up my burns. I had gained friends and family that loved me to the core and I had learned to be forever grateful to have those things. I was cured. So no, I don't blame them for not recognizing me at first. I'm just glad they finally did realize it was me.

And that was the last time I got to see Samantha. She was old and frail but she tried. She tried so hard to push on through her struggles just like she had wanted me to do. God knows I wanted to be there for her. I wanted to stay there and hold her paw as the doctors stopped her pain for good. I wanted to say I was sorry for not being there all those years, for leaving her in that place while I went on to find a happy life. I wanted to say goodbye. I wanted to say thank you. But I knew that would never happen. I knew my mother wouldn't let me. Heck, I tried asking if I could visit one last time the night before, but she wouldn't agree to my terms. She sent me back a paragraph telling me that she cared more about her boyfriend being there for the dog than me. She used my dog's death as an excuse to bully me again. And quite frankly that's why I'm done with her. That's just low. That's pathetic. She doesn't deserve another chance to be appeased.

But that's not what this is about. This is about my baby girl. I won't lie, I cried for days. I knew when the execution was happening, and I had to leave my Latin class because I knew I was going to break down when the clock hit eleven. And I did. And I was broken and isolative for days afterwards. Everyone was so worried about me, and I did what I could to force myself out of my shell for their sakes. But I won't lie, there's still part of me that feels terrible. And I don't doubt it'll always be there, somewhere, no matter how long I ignore it or bury it away. It's just the nature of loss.

But now my conclusion.

Samantha represented everything hopeful in my life, that small little part of life that said things will get better, things will go good eventually, there's always hope. And quite frankly, me sitting around moping and crying because of her is a betrayal to everything she stood for, everything she fought for. She would never want to be the cause of me being in pain. She would never want me to cry because of her. Especially since her goal was achieved. I finally did reach a happy life, a life free of endless suffering and depression. It took five years, but here I am. I had given her everything that she wanted. After soldiering on for so long, she can rest easily knowing she can be relieved of duty.

I am only human, and I know I'll always have moments when I look back on all the amazing times we had together and cry over how those days can only be left to memory now. But I refuse to dishonor her. I will do what she always wanted me to do: carry on. Fight. I will live this life of mine to its fullest. I will go out there and make friends, accomplish my dreams, reach for the stars. Smile. I will go on.

So that means I'm back. I'm gonna start up my usual schedule starting now. On my 18th birthday. A day celebrating making it to adulthood and looking forward to what the future holds. The places I can go, the people I can meet, the things Samantha would want me to experience.

Rest in peace, sweetheart. Thank you for helping make 18 years worth living