Too Many Goodbyes

Last week I said goodbye to my almost 15-year-old Silky Terrier, Sasha. She collapsed trying to get out of her doggy bed near my desk and died in my arms shortly thereafter. At 104 in doggy years, she experienced her share of age-related maladies: deafness, arthritis, cataracts, insomnia. She had mild epilepsy most of her life, controlled by phenobarb the past few years. But, she never lost her zest for life. She still jumped with enthusiasm to get a spoonful of wet dog food to make the pill go down easier. She never stopped jumping with anticipation when I cooked rice, her favorite food. I think there is a life lesson there. 

Sasha helping with her last project... recovering the chair.

Sasha's gift— and menace, at times— was her interest in whatever was going on. That included peeking into the dryer every time I did laundry. No repairmen ever came to my house without getting her charming assistance. Most of them fell in love with her. Of note was the man who put in my Marblecraft shower. He always worked alone, and she broke his isolation for three days.

RIP, Sasha

But, as is His way, God brings grace.  I am thankful that Sasha did not have a lingering or expensive exit from this world, even more thankful that I did not have to put her down. I made the difficult decision to put down Beau, my last Silky Terrier, a month shy of his 15^th birthday. It was the hardest thing I have ever done. God took Sasha a month shy of hers. And, because I was nearby, I did not have to find her after the fact and wonder what happened.

But, wait, there's more.


Last night, we met at John and Betty’s for Life Group for what may turn out to be the last time before Betty goes home to be with God. It is just getting to be too hard for us to be there. Betty remains her cheerful, if mostly bed-ridden & increasingly-confused, self. She wanted each of us to visit with her, one at a time. When I came into her bedroom, she said she had hoped I’d be last, so I could sing for her. I shared my Mango frozen dessert with her and talked a little. Later, I gathered everyone to sing, and she joined in with her alto voice. She requested songs about Heaven— “just one more” at a time until she really did mean this was the last one. Precious!

My very first “up close and personal” memory of Betty was when she accompanied John to the “warm-up” rehearsal just before a funeral. Even though she wasn’t one of our appointed group, she joined right in. If my last memory of Betty is of her lying in bed singing songs about Heaven without missing a beat, it will be a perfect bookend. Or, as she agreed about the memory we had just made, “the best.”
xxx