I hear screams from my parents' bedroom and glance over at my phone to check the time. My room is pitch black and my mind feels fuzzy, half asleep. My phone reads 3:13 AM, and it takes me a solid minute to pull myself out of the hazy mist of dreaming I remain stuck in. Then, I hear my mom sobbing, uttering a wail so frightening it shakes me awake like a lightning bolt to the heart. I force myself out from under the covers, sending an icy shiver through my body. My glasses are resting on the nightstand, and I swiftly slip them on before opening my dresser and grabbing the first clothes I find to put on over my boxer briefs.

I almost trip as I maneuver my foot into a pair of jeans and pull a sweatshirt over my head, grabbing onto the stairway before stumbling over to the master bedroom. The door is ajar, my mom crushed like a wilted flower on the floor, her face knotted, trying to control the tears that refuse to stop. There, right beside her, is Tessa's limp body, her glassy eyes staring lifelessly into the petrified night.

My dad rushes in a second later, cell phone in hand. He is still in his pajamas, his hair a tangled mess.

My Dad runs out of the bathroom a moment later, cell phone in hand. He's still in his pajamas, his hair a tangled mess.

"I called the vet. They told us to bring her right away," he says.

Without hesitation, I pick up my baby girl, the same dog I've known my entire life, and carry her with all the strength in my body down the stairs. I assure her everything's going to be okay, assure her she'll be alright. My Dad follows hurriedly behind me, still in his fluffy pajama pants and t-shirt. He opens the front door for me and we run out to my truck. I lay Tessa down in the bench seat beside me, and my Mom comes out a moment later, wearing sweatpants and a tank top, barely managing to keep it together as my Dad leads her over to the van, while I drive off in the truck.

I'm speeding out of our cul-de-sac, barely able to focus on the road, too busy looking down at Tessa's lifeless figure resting on the bench seat. I pray to the Universe or God or some holy being to save her, to turn her back into the healthy, bubbly Australian Shepherd that greets me the moment I enter the house and sleeps beside me every night. The same Australian Shepherd who let me pull her tail when I was a baby and would lick me like I was her little puppy whenever I had food on my face. The same Australian Shepherd who I fought to take with us to California, the same Australian Shepherd who stuck her head out the window and smiled the entire drive here. The same Australian Shepherd that's supposed to be our forever dog, our Angel in disguise.

By the time I make it to the main road, I finally realize I have no clue where the fuck this vet is. Then, all the sadness in me, all the tears building up come out in anger, and I'm screaming, just screaming, hitting my arms against the steering wheel and pounding my fist into the horn, not even stopping when the lights in bedroom windows turn on and I hear the neighbors complaining. Eventually, the tears come, and my anger subsides for something even worse, sadness. I feel broken inside, like everything I've known my whole life is falling apart. Tessa is my Guardian Angel. She's supposed to be with me forever. She's not supposed to die, and she's not going to die. Not if I have anything to say about it.

Finally, my parents make their way onto the main road, and I hastily follow them across the freeway and into the local marketplace, where a neon sign blinks to alert us of where we need to go. Immediately we pull in and get the parking spot closest to the establishment. I shut the truck off and grab the keys before carefully picking up Tessa and leading her to the door. My parents come and grab the door for me, and we rush inside, where a nurse leads us to one of the patient rooms. She tells us to wait outside, and my parents grab hold of my arms and pull me back as I scream for them to let me inside so I can be there for my Tessa, tears falling from my eyes, sweat dripping down my body, and disgusting snot pouring from my nose. I'm falling apart, and I have no idea how to handle it.

***

The nurse comes back a few minutes later. She frowns the moment she sees our depressingly hopeful faces, and the moment she says, "We did everything we could, but," I drown her voice out from my mind. Everything she says next sounds muffled like I'm underwater and the current is too strong for me to hear a single thing. I don't care about what she has to say anyway, knowing it's only a bunch of bullshit about how it's not their fault she's dead.

I can't believe Tessa's dead.

It takes me a minute to even register the thought. Death was never an option for Tessa. She was never supposed to go away, and definitely not like this, her final moments spent watching me beat up my steering wheel after suffering a seizure on an otherwise quiet Wednesday morning. The last thing I saw was her blank eyes staring off into space and white bubbly drool spilling from her mouth. That was not the Tessa I knew, not the Tessa I loved.

I wonder how many times this nurse has told somebody their dog or cat or whatever has died. Does she even feel sorry at this point, or has she accepted death as just a fact of life? Has she grown desensitized to the loss of a family member, even if that family member was a pet? I hope not. What a shame that would be to live your life like that, not even caring when death comes into focus.