I plan to use this space to share some of the stories I have written.
The first one I will share is:
Saying Good-bye
She lay in my arms, limp, lifeless, still warm, heart no longer beating. What had I done? How could I have been the instrument of this destruction of life?
“Put her out of her misery.” Well-meaning family and friends had advised me. “She’s suffering, you don’t want her to suffer.” She was completely deaf, almost blind, and her arthritis had advanced to such a degree that I had to carry her outside many times a day to do her ‘business’. Even so, there were many ‘accidents’ in the house. She would look at me, as if to say, “I’m sorry, I couldn’t help it!” I didn’t scold her, how could I?
No, I didn’t want her to suffer. Of course not. I loved this dog, this friend, this companion, this surrogate child. I made an appointment with our family vet, and then called back a few days later to cancel. “I’m not ready yet, Steve.” He understood, “It’s up to you, Sharon. Just let me know when you’re ready.”
When Steve entered the room, she looked up at him with trusting eyes. She knew this man. He didn’t say anything, just rubbed her head gently, then patted my arm. He was so kind, and understood the depth of my love for this wonderful little dog. His assistant placed a box of tissues on the examining table within my reach. I silently thanked her with a nod.
“There will be two injections, Sharon.” Steve explained. “The first will relax her, the second will stop her heart. She won’t feel any pain.” He had gone over this on the phone with me, but I appreciated hearing it again. He patted Bridget’s head again then silently began the process that would take this wonderful little friend from me forever.
****
It’s been twenty-one years since my father passed away. We have lived next-door to him and Mom ever since my husband retired from the Navy twenty-seven years ago. We became Mom’s support system soon after. She depended on my son and daughter to take care of so many things for her. “Could Colin re-set my VCR?” “Have Stacy hippety-hop over and empty my mouse traps.” “My car needs washing. Is Colin available?” “Can Stacy help do the windows this spring?” “Can Colin carry my groceries in?” There was the weekly mowing of her three-acre yard. Before arthritis reared its ugly head, I was able to keep in excellent shape by mowing two hours a day, every day, all summer long, with a push mower. I would start at her place, and five or six days later, end at our also huge yard. Then it would begin all over again. Finally, I had to admit that I couldn’t do it anymore and my husband took over with his John Deere riding mower. It took him all weekend to do both yards.
I became Mom’s chauffeur. There were trips to the airport so she could visit family in Texas, Alaska, Colorado, Missouri, and Iowa. And then there were the many trips to doctors and hospitals and the helicopter that flew her to a hospital in Fargo. As the years went by, I began to lose count of her surgeries, and the late-night ambulance calls, “Sharon, I’m having chest pains!” Each hospital stay was followed by a recuperative time in the local nursing home. More trips. “Can you bring me my mail?” “Stop and get my People magazine and the Enquirer.” “I need my blue slippers.”
I was still teaching full-time, trying to take care of my family and home. I used all my sick days and more, taking care of her. My principal cautioned me several times about my many absences. After twenty-one years at the school, they eliminated my position. Teaching had been my life’s passion…I was totally and utterly devastated.
I applied for unemployment compensation. How could they compensate for this loss I felt? I tried to discuss it with Mom during her last stay at the Home. “Well, it was your decision.” Then she asked me to bring her some fresh fruit.
Her last two years were strange to say the least. First, a rest home in our hometown, then my uncle brought her home. Bad move. She fell and broke some ribs, another hospital stay, and then the Home again. Finally my sister came from Alaska and moved her into an assisted living apartment in town.
She didn’t seem to want to talk to me. Stacy was in the Navy, Colin busy with school and work. No yard to worry about anymore. Her groceries were delivered as well as her medications and oxygen. Meals on Wheels came every noon. When I called or visited her, she seemed distracted and uninterested. I called and visited less often. She never called me.
She passed away in May. I was able to visit her in the hospital and tell her I loved her. “I love you, too, Sharon.” Those five words meant so much to me. I hadn’t heard them for over two years.
****
Bridget looked up at me briefly, and then put her head on my arm. As Steve carefully inserted the syringe, she didn’t even twitch. Her body relaxed, I bent my head and whispered in her ear, “Go see Grandma.” Then the second needle – she went completely limp.
I continued to hold her warmth to me, rubbing her back, pressing my cheek to her head, my tears wetting her beautiful red hair. Steve put his arm around my shoulder, silently patting my arm. His assistant placed a cardboard box on the table and I placed Bridget inside, arranging her afghan around her, and placing her favorite toy next to her. Steve closed the lid. With a wad of tissue in my hand I opened the door and said to my husband. “We can take her home now.”
