I looked up at my mom, tears blurring my vision. This couldn’t be goodbye. I didn’t want it to be. My mom hugged me tightly as we stood at my best friend’s hospital bedside. She was there through it all. The good times and the bad times – it didn’t matter to her. She’d be there for me, always. She was my baby girl. She was my best friend. She was Gertie.
Gertie and I grew up together. We met when we were both two and completely hit it off. As we grew up, we spent most of our time playing with each other, making snow forts, lying in the summer sun, and getting in trouble together. We did everything together. But, as little kids often do, I didn’t really appreciate her friendship until I was older – that was when I really got to know my best friend. I started seeing her true self and, when I did, a whole new world opened up for me. She taught me how to enjoy the simpler things in life. She taught me how to lose myself to another reality. A reality without hate, aggression or fear. Our reality. That place became a home for me through the troubles that life had planned for me. Gertie made the troubles okay.
Gertie would often push herself too hard and have to stay bedridden for days at a time. I stayed with her and slept at her bedside on the nights that I could until she was better again. She always got better. All I’d have to do was stay by her side and wait, and she never made me wait long.
On the days that spring and fall brought warmth, we would lie on the hammock in my backyard and read and fall asleep side by side. My mom was often amazed at how we never got sick of each other. Of course Gertie and I had other friends, but they weren’t as important. It almost seemed like fate that our paths crossed. A good fate.
I wanted to believe that our reality could protect us forever. That Gertie and I would never get tired of each other, never leave each other, and never let each other down. It was like that for a long time. So long that I forgot that time continued. Sadly, time didn’t stop.
Gertie started to get sick again, but her body was weaker than usual. I wasn’t worried. She always got better. Always. My parents started to worry about my friend, but I wasn’t fazed. I would stay by Gertie’s side and then she would get better. That’s how it had always worked. At least, almost always.
I was getting ready for my first year of high school. I had so many fears about going to this unknown place. I needed Gertie to help me. I was so focused on wanting help from her that I forgot to give her some in return.
Gertie wasn’t getting better. At the end of my eighth grade year, I was told that I probably had until the end of that summer with Gertie before her time was up. We still had so much to do, and she had so much to help me with. But it was okay. I’d make the best of the summer and give Gertie the time of her life. My own fears became unimportant as I started planning out the season for us, making sure we had something to do every day. There was nothing to worry about. I didn’t need to be sad just yet. I needed to be thankful that I had this ability to say goodbye through the happiness I would create for her. It would be great.
Until Gertie’s health worsened.
They gave her until the end of the weekend. What I thought was three months turned into three days in a blink of an eye. That couldn’t be. This couldn’t happen. It wasn’t supposed to happen. But I didn’t have time to be greedy. I’d still make those few days the best days of her life. Everything was going to be okay. I was going to get time with her. Sweet, precious time.
The next morning, she was too sick. It wasn’t fair. Fate had cheated. But, no matter, Gertie’s time had come to an end. My mom and I went to the hospital and stayed in her room with her. The nurse gave us a moment alone. Just a moment. It was so short I couldn’t think of anything to say. I wasted that moment, and the nurse came back to signify that it was time.
I watched from her bedside as I did so many times before, but this time her breath was shallow and her eyes were full of fear. In our reality we didn’t know fear. There was no fear. Yet there it was, on her face as well as mine. Our reality was gone.
The doctors said it would be any moment now. I took a breath, and she took a breath. I took another, and she took another. I took yet another, and she didn’t. She was supposed to, and she didn’t. Just like that, she didn’t. The doctor checked for a pulse. No pulse. But she was still there, right in front of me. All I needed was to stay by her side, and she would be better; she would come back. But I knew she wasn’t coming back. She was stolen from me. My best friend – along with all the time I had left with her – was taken from me.
I went to her funeral. I watched her as she was lowered into the ground, the same ground that we played on together for thirteen years. I watched as my best friend was buried. Why didn’t she wait for me? I never got to say goodbye.
Time was easier to count after that, and a couple years passed. I had friends, but I was lonely. I didn’t like the reality that I was living. I wanted our reality back.
My family was tired of me being sad all the time. They tried to tell me that it already happened. That she died a long time ago. That it was time to move on. But they didn’t know Gertie like I did. No one ever would.
Some experiences, like being Gertie’s best friend, will be mine alone to appreciate. The reality I created with her is a place I always visit. But the day my best friend died, I went into our reality, and I lost myself. And I don’t ever want to be found.
Others don’t understand that. They didn’t share secrets with her. They didn’t grow up with her. They never were able to live our reality. They never saw the little girl past the dachshund’s face. That doesn’t matter. She never was just a dog to me. She was my baby girl. She was my best friend. She was Gertie.