Our sweet, beautiful JT ended his suffering today after 5 weeks of fighting a foot infection and the resultant complications (swelling of the back legs and severe loss of the use of his back legs). When we went to the vet today (who had kept him for the past week while we were out of town on a trip we could not revoke), he couldn't even lift his head. He was so weak, he could barely open one eye to look at us. Before we turned him over to the vet to euthanize him, we took him outside. Despite his weakness and illness, he rallied one final time. He tried to climb off the towel with the warm bag of IV fluid underneath to escape into the shrubbery in front of the vet's office. JT always loved to be outside, even until his last breaths on this earth. My husband and I are devastated that we lost our sweet T-monster. He is our first, and perhaps only, Jackson's. Prior to his demise, we spent close to two hours each day caring for him by providing medications/injections, meal replacements and at times supplemental fluids administered subcutaneously. I despised all of the interventions that were prescribed for him (and administered by us), yet I couldn't give up on him as long as he was fighting. When we saw him today, one week after we had to leave town, we knew immediately that his fight was over. His head was down on the towel and his body was shriveled and sunken. His eyes were slits as opposed to the bright eyed curious and inquisitive JT that he was just several weeks ago. I signed the form to euthanize him without reading it. I was so devastated that I could not even think. When the vet took him away to administer the anesthesia, it seemed that she was on the verge of tears, too. My faith has been rocky, though I have struggled to find something - anything - to hold onto. JT was absolute perfection. Kindness, gentleness, content just to be, greeting me when I came home from work, never displaying anger or lashing out at us, despite all of the interventions (forced feedings, injections of antibiotics and fluids, bad tasting medications squirted into his mouth). JT loved life. He loved his enclosure and circled his "High Five" vines repetitively when he was a little younger. He relished going outside. Even today, before the vet euthanized him, we took him outside one last time. He went from being listless and droopy to lifting his head off the towel and looking at the world around him. This is how we remember JT. Despite his profound weakness, he tried to walk off the towel onto the shrubbery. Eventually, we had to return to the vet for what we knew was our final goodbye. We were fortunate to have a compassionate vet who understood our grief and allowed us time to say goodbye, despite her busy schedule. I gently kissed JT goodbye on his back and the vet took him away. She said it would take a few hours to confirm the process was complete. We returned this evening and retrieved JT in a cardboard box, along with his footprints and tail imprint on a clay disc. My husband buried JT in our back yard a few hours ago. I keep looking at his large enclosure and I can't really believe he is gone. I never thought I would be a reptile person, but JT has touched my life in so many ways that no human or animal ever has. At this moment, I sob as I mourn JT and I think I will never get through this. I have cried for the better part of four weeks as I increasingly realized that JT was not getting better. Today, I have felt as though a part of me has died. I will never get "over" JT. JT has taught me about life and love and being in the moment - like no one else ever could. I see God in JT, and that is huge, because I have struggled with my faith in a higher power all of my life. JT has truly been a Godsend. I pray that JT will be peaceful in heaven, and if I am so fortunate, maybe one day I will be blessed to meet up with him again. Rest in peace, my sweet JT. When I die, I pray I will be with you, sweet boy. All my love always and forever. Love, mom.