Real

Last Saturday I faced some real life.

On Friday night my dog started having trouble breathing. She was 13 years old and had a heart murmur that was progressing to congestive heart failure. I was alone in the house since dh and ds were still out of town on their climbing trip. I texted my daughter (who works for our vet) and she said to bring Yaya in first thing Saturday morning.

We arrived at the clinic and they took Yaya for x-rays. They gave her shots to help ease the situation. Then they started her on oxygen. As I sat holding the oxygen mask for Yaya I began to accept the situation for what is was. I would be going home without her. 

My first thought was, "I don't want this to happen!" But reality kicked in and I had to accept that this is real life. Real life includes loss. 

I began to talk to Yaya, telling it was going to be okay. I told her about the other dogs she would meet on the other side -- what I like to think of as the Elysian Fields. When the vet came in to check on her, I told him I didn't want her to suffer. This wasn't about me. It was all about what was in her best interest. 

We moved her to an exam room, and he gave her a sedative. As my daughter and I stood and loved on Yaya, her breathing relaxed and the panic in her eyes disappeared. We stroked her fur and whispered words of love and encouragement. She slipped away. And we cried. Not for her, but for the realness of her leaving. 

Real live is messy and tough, but it's also full of wonder and love and affection. 

RIP in Yaya.

linking up with Five Minute Friday

Night

The dark night of the soul is what St. John of the Cross called it. That difficulty in letting go of this world, and moving on to the next. In modern times the term has been used to describe a spiritual crisis caused by feeling separated from God. F. Scott Fitzgerald said, "In a real dark night of the soul it is always three o'clock in the morning".

Well, it's 3 o'clock in the morning for our family. My father-in-law is in his final days. As I sit here typing and sipping my tea, my husband sits at his father's bedside wondering how many more days or hours they have left together. As he slips away from us, we worry about him. His physical self -- is he in pain? His emotional self -- does he feel our presence and love? His spiritual self -- does he feel the peace of God?

But we are also consumed by the mundane aspects of dying. Scheduling, traveling for other family members, final exams for our son, starting a new semester for our daughter. 

My husband said the other night, "Can you just tell me when it will happen?" Of course he didn't expect an answer, but this not knowing, this waiting, is so hard.

So it's perpetually 3 AM for us. And it will get darker. But I'm focusing on the rising sun, and knowing it's all temporary anyway. This dark night of the soul will pass.

linking up with Writer's Workshop