I wasn't there. I don't think she wanted me to be

Last week, my beautiful 17 year old chihuahua Pandora left in the middle of the night, in my dad's lap. I had been out of the room for a while, pretending to relax before bed even though I knew I'd be awake all night again because of her. And then she slipped away.

I wanted to be with her. I wanted to be the one holding her when she left, or to at least be in the same room. I was the first one in our family to hold her. I wanted her to leave in my arms. And I wasn't even in the room again until after she was gone.

But every time I think about it, I get the strongest feeling that she didn't want me there for her last breath, that she waited until I'd been out of the room for a while on purpose. She always was fiercely independent and a loner like me, and she was so smart. She was there for me when depression was ruining my 20s, in her own standoffish way; I used to joke that she was a cat and not a dog. I wonder if she thought it would hurt me too much to be the one holding her in that very last moment. But I wanted to be there, and I wasn't there. I always regretted being out of the room when another of our dogs died and I vowed to myself that I would be there for the rest. And then I wasn't there when my soul dog left, and I think she might've wanted it that way. Did she really not want me to witness that, or...well, I guess I'll never know.

I just want her back. I can't believe I'm going to have to spend the rest of my life without her. I knew this was coming. I've been bracing myself since she turned 10 and even more since her little brother passed at 16 last year (I was there with him; why couldn't I be there with her?); this ain't my first trip to the grief rodeo. And I'm glad she was with my dad, who is one of the gentlest souls in the world. But mostly I just want her back. 17 is a hell of a run but I just want my baby back.

This sucks. All of it sucks. I hate it.