Good morning…
I open my journal to read what I wrote as I took a long bath yesterday.
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Our precious dog Tate has been battling inoperable cancer. For several weeks her eyes have adopted Audrey DeShetler’s motto for living, “Just one more day. Give me just one more day.”
Until today.
Today her eyes are saying something different. “I’m tired. I’m ready. Will you release me to heaven?” How hard it is to listen to these eyes.
I am crying tears of sadness. Tears of gratitude. Tears of compassion. Tears of “how I wish loved ones lived forever on earth.”
My husband will tell you, I am not much of a cry-er. He, on the other hand, slips into tears more unexpectedly as he ages, much like his dad did. But my eyes are wet now, because in two hours we will say “goodbye” to the most calm, most gentle dog to ever bless our home. Tate has loved us so well. We, as her family, have loved her well too.
Our kids were teenagers when Tate, as an eight-week-old puppy, settled into our home. Now 24, 26, 28, and 30, our kids are up and off into their own lives, stopping by sometimes, to curl up with Tate and her smaller sister, Gracie, to relax into finger-to-fur time.
Last night, when Tate’s loud, labored breathing woke me from sleep, I knew that today might be her final day on earth. You’ve kept track of my every toss and turn through the sleepless nights (Psalm 56:8a, MSG).
In the morning, her silent behavior said all that I need to know. Her lethargy. Her laying in one place. Her lack of eating or drinking. And her eyes, her droopy eyes, said “Mommy, it’s time to let me go.”
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As we began her journey with cancer, I promised to follow Tate’s lead. I trusted I would know her needs.
Yesterday, I knew.
…Sue…
