I'm watching the last 2 hours tick by slowly. It still feels surreal to me at times, like I don't fully comprehend the tidal wave of heart break und sorrow that is about to unravel over me. It didn't make it easier that Sparky perked up last night. For about an hour he was his old self, and then he passed out snoring in front of the TV. My first instinct was "Improvement!!!!!" but then reality set in: there is no improvement with this terminal disease. Throughout the night he slept restlessly. He would wake every hour, almost exactly to the minute. He was always good with time. I used to call him my canine alarm clock, because he would wake me every morning at exactly 8:11 am ... until he got sick.
Today he refused the chicken too. I tried other things, but no, nothing appealed to him. I dug out some more lunch meat and fed him sliced turkey and ham, a big hit! Surprisingly, he even refused his cookies. Another big sign that things were coming to an end. I sat on the floor sobbing when suddenly he perked up, got off the floor all by himself, and came over to nudge me and wag his tail. I was elated, I was excited and I cancelled the appointment. I ended up going to work, thinking that he must be well. But within 2 hours I had a really bad feeling of doom in my stomach and I went home. When I got here, he was asleep, didn't hear me, and when he finally did, he didn't rise. I helped him up and we went outside, very briefly. He peed, stumbled, and sat down in it. At that moment I saw my desperation, my drive to find 'anything' that would make me put this off. And again I needed to remind myself that this disease is not curable, that he will die, and probably very soon, within days. One of my friends said "What if his tail wag wasn't a "I wanna live", but instead a "It's okay mom, don't worry, it's time". I sobbed. He was right. Another friend asked me whether I really wanted to wait till the last minute to do this, when he was seriously suffering. Again, I sobbed. Of course not. I called to reschedule to 4:15 pm.
So I'm sitting here, still crying, with Sparky across the room from me, in front of the door, his favorite spot since getting sick. He's sleeping and thank god for his near-deafness, he can't hear me cry. I'm torn. I don't know whether I am doing the right thing. But everything taken together and looked at objectively shows me that he has no good days left. He's still a bit perky, and I doubt he has any idea what's about to happen, but I hope he will be okay with it.
There's a lovely woman here on Blogger. She reads Sparky's Blog because she has her own story of losing her canine soulmate. In her "About Me" section she wrote one word: BROKEN. And that is me now. I feel I'm stumbling on the rim of a really dark pit, and when Sparky leaves my side, I will fall. He has been my rock for the last 7 years, 1 month, and 3 days. I'm gonna miss my boy so much. No one has held my heart so intensely as he has. I am so scared.
You will indeed fall into a dark pit of despair. You'll keep falling until you somehow find that place inside yourself where Sparky resides. That takes time. Perhaps time for him to find it as well. I pray for you as you go through this experience. We look at them as children taken from us too soon, when in fact, they are old, and tired, and had long lives (usually)from their perspective. Trust me, in my opinion and experience, that last moment with the vet is not really as horrible as seeing a loved pet in such a condition that he/she is no longer who they used to be. Those are harder memories to harbor. Also - take off work tomorrow. You'll be no good to anyone and you'll need the time.
ReplyDeleteIt has been 11 months tomorrow that I lost my little Deucey and I miss her everyday. She found us just 6 months before our first beagle passed away at the age of 15. She was a gift, just like Sparky. I celebrate her life and her memory.
ReplyDeleteI spent the last 3 days of her life just cradling her, know that on Friday, it would be end. Like Sparky, she would rally to let me know she wa"alright". She would perk up at the sight of a new person at the vets office. THe vet said the right thing. It is a good thing she was aware enough to know that I and Chris were there with her, to say goodbye and let her know how much she was loved. The alternative would not have been a fitting goodbye. I still love her and Arizona, and your pain is mine as well. THis story was not to be about Deucey, but to let you know you are not alone. To let you know that one day things will be better. Please know you have friends who understand your grief.