Spontaneous Non-Fiction

She lay there, her little heart broken. Literally.

At fourteen years old, she had lived a good life, though it hadn't started out that way.
She was separated from her family when she was very young, fostered by a somewhat noncaring family.
Another stranger had empathy for her and asked to foster her. Her overbearing attitude and unwillingness to coexist forced him to look for another who could take her in. That's how she ended up in our home.

She would run and play, enjoying the freedom, the sunshine, the soft grass. It was nice to find a nice shady spot under the trees to rest in. To listen to the sounds of summer.

That day it was pain. She couldn't breathe. Her chest was pounding. She felt sick. All she wanted to do was lie down.
I sat down beside her and softly stroked her hair, talking softly, trying to comfort. She laid her head on my lap and brought her sad eyes to mine. I'll never forget the scared and pained look.

The doctor said she had coded on the table. Her heart had quit. There was nothing more we could have done, and they had done everything they could do. She was gone. The pain was gone, and she had lived a good life.


Every once in a while, I think of the look that damn dog gave me as she crawled over to put her head on my lap. Even though it has been over five years now, it sneaks up on me sometimes.