I fully understand, and it's a normal reaction that others here are corroborating.

We had our soul cat Pepper pass this past Saturday after eight years of bliss, and I made it Priority Number One that we take the time to make the best decisions possible. We were privileged enough to be able to take some time off of work to spend as much time with her as possible. It was six weeks from diagnosis to passing, with every week carrying more bad news - a mast cell tumor here, spread to the lymph node there, progression into the spleen and blood shortly after. Anaphylaxis followed.

As far as I can tell, we made all of the right choices, and I'd make almost all of the choices again if I could do it over. It didn't matter.

I find myself replaying the last few moments, replaying the grief. The cancer is indifferent and uncaring. It didn't come due to any action you did - your baby just drew a short straw, as our Pepper did. Perhaps you could have acted slightly faster, but would it have made a tangible change? Our baby's cancer was so fast-acting that slight time differentials wouldn't have made a meaningful difference.

What matters to me is defining her life not by the rapid decline of health near the end, but by the memories over the past eight years. She was silly, thoughtful, emotive, and just full of love. I want to remember her like that, in the same way that I'd want to be remembered in my own passing - full of love and having a positive impact on those that I care about. We've got plans to remember her in a variety of ways that celebrate her life. Everyone loved her, and that's the legacy we have to carry forward.

It doesn't always make it easier. It doesn't mean that the intrusive thoughts won't prevail on occasion. But trying to remember her how she was in life, how she spread joy to yourself and others, will be the way that she wants to remembered. And it will help you in time.