Preparing for goodbye

The 4+ week-long roller coaster ride that is marking Maggie's final time with us, took a decidedly sharp dip down a steep slope Monday night. I thought the end of the ride was coming nearer than I could bear, but thankfully, by Tuesday afternoon she seemed happy to climb at least one more hill for us. Still, the sudden turn left me shaken.

Something happened Monday evening. We don't know what. I came home with Sydney after AJ's hockey practice and couldn't find Maggie. It's not unusual for us to walk in the door and catch our "watch dog" sleeping. But calling her name didn't result in the typical jingling sound of her collar. With fear smacking me in the gut I turned on the light in our bedroom and found her on our bed. She barely raised her head.

Suddenly the vet's warning about lethargy and depression was all too relevant. It looked like her front right leg (the cancerous one) was slightly wedged between the mattress and bed frame. I carefully shifted her and she let out a sigh. Finally she raised her head, and the expression on her face was at last more like the one I'm  used to seeing on the dog I love so much. Yet still she made no effort to get up or off the bed.

I cannot describe the sense of helplessness I felt. How I wanted to help her and take away her pain. All I could do was bury my face in the still puppy-soft fur of her neck and tell her how sorry I was for her hurting. After about a minute (it felt much longer, but I'm trying to be realistic) of petting and hugging, I asked her if she wanted to go outside. At last she stretched and sat up, then clumsily climbed jumped down to the floor. Limping badly, she headed outside.

By the time Jeff and AJ came home, Maggie was mobile, but still limping. We gave her more medicine and held our breathe, hoping it would kick in quickly and give her relief. It didn't seem to make a difference.

Tuesday morning she continued to lay around. It took much coaxing to get her to go outside. I called home late in the morning to see how she was doing and Jeff said she was sleeping. Then, about 1 p.m. Jeff called me. I answered the phone, fearing the worst. But instead it was the opposite. Jeff wanted to let me know Maggie was awake and happily playing outside with him and Sydney.

She's not as good as she's been, but still seems ready to fight a little longer. Still, the scare was enough for me to insist we finally tell the kids the reality of Maggie's situation.

It was horrible. Sydney didn't understand, but AJ immediately dissolved into heart-wrenching sobs. "But I'll miss her. She's the best dog in the whole world!"

His grief was intense, and he cried loudly for at least 15 minutes. Reminders that Maggie is still here and promises of getting a new puppy did little to console. In other words, now I have a dog and a child with incredible pain that I would do anything to relieve. But all I can do is offer hugs and soft words.

At bedtime, AJ's tears started again. I'd been holding off on suggesting we pray. I assumed I would hear, "Dear Jesus, please don't let Maggie die," and - on top of everything else we were dealing with - I wasn't ready to have the conversation that God doesn't always answer prayers in the way that we'd like.

And that's when my compassionate little boy amazed me. His prayer was to please watch over Maggie and protect her, and please help her find Maddie and other good pets to play with in Heaven. He repeated how much he was going to miss her, but never once asked that she be allowed to stay with us.

This morning, Maggie is doing okay. Still not as good as she was. She may never be again. But at least the ride seems destined to last a little longer. And that is an answer to my prayer.