It’s been a year

My sunshine Frida,

It’s been a year since you left this world. We had such a hard time dealing with the reality that you were gone forever. The house was so sad without your noisy self. But we never second guessed the decisions we made, and we know that you are in a much better place, where cancer cannot hurt you anymore.

We were so happy that you sent a signal on Christmas day 2015! It made us feel that you were fine, and we felt your love. We want to thank you for
sending another cloud signal a few weeks ago. I didn’t have my phone handy, but we clearly saw it.

Life has been good here. Do you remember my PJ that had a moose? The one that Mark would joke that we were “The adventures of Moosey and the Grey  girl”? Well, I turned it into a cushion that now rests on the bay window, in our bedroom. Your memorial is on the shelf, I see your picture everyday and today there’s a candle. Your favourite toys (Monkey, the ball, and Lamby) are on a shelf in my office. And our family picture is on my desk, and on Mark’s screen saver.

You know it, I cannot hide it . We still cry for you. We miss you. We wonder why you had to leave us so soon. We still remember your loud barking, your beautiful eyes and your loving soul. We go places and we talk about you. There are memories everywhere. We always wish you could have stayed longer. We wanted so much to have you around us for a longer time.

After you left we were so sad. But you know what? You left a legacy of love and friends. We found support in so many great friends, and through your disease I met good people who today remain in my life.  You made our hearts bigger, so today there are two dogs in our house!! Can you believe it?  Maya and Bailey are with us now.  We will try to give them a good life. They weren’t as privileged as you were, but they are with us, safe, loved and happy.

My sunshine, a  year ago we were at the vet helping you to cross the Rainbow Bridge. Today we were there to get stuff for Bailey and Maya. I think that means that life goes on, that we will always remember you, but that we have to move forward and keep this roller coaster moving.

My beloved Frida, you are where you belong: in our hearts. We will never forget you. You will always be the bravest of the brave, the schnauzer that came to teach us about love, about courage. You were a small dog, but your spirit was so big that touched our lives in a way that you will never know!  We love you to the moon and back, words will never be enough to express how much you meant to Mark and me.  But we do know that one day, we will be together again.  Until that day comes, we will remember you.

With love,

Your human parents, Veronica & Mark

“What you have once enjoyed you can never lose…All that we love deeply becomes a part of us”~ Hellen Keller

Still grieving…

I just realized I haven’t posted anything in 4 months.  Are we OK now, and just decided to close this chapter/blog? The answer is NO.

It’s been 9 months since our little one left this world. And sometimes it seems it was so long ago. And so many days I can still feel that she’s here with us.  Maya arrived in March, and that little rascal brought a breeze of fresh air, and a ticket for another roller-coaster ride!!  That’s another story, but she has certainly kept us super busy, getting her health back on track.

I’m totally convinced that Frida came to our lives to teach us many things. I am so grateful for everything I have learned about taking care of a sick dog, because it has been very useful for us. And in the middle of our new challenges, Frida’s name always comes during our conversations. There are so many memories and so many years that we shared with her. Sometimes we call Maya “Frida”! Poor Maya, she must wonder who was that dog who is constantly mentioned by her humans.

Frida was robbed so many years from us, and I will always wonder:  Why? But I guess the answer would be: Why not?  But what it’s true is that a dog leaves a profound footprint in the heart. Their absence is hard to live with, and their memory is so cherished, that is hard to believe that an animal can provoke those feelings. And then is when you realize that they are not just an “animal”.  If you open your heart, you will discover the purest, most amazing friendship, an infinite loyalty, the most sincere forgiveness, and the most genuine love for life.

My Frida, your memory still brings tears to my eyes. We haven’t forgotten you. You are so alive in our hearts. We miss you so much at night, when the quiet moment finally arrives and we wonder how you are doing. We know that you are happy and healthy now, but we still miss you girl! You were my sunshine, my little darling, my companion, my little furry girl. We were blessed by having you in our lives, and we know that you must be pleased to see that those two inexperienced humans, who barely knew how to take care of a puppy, are giving Maya a chance to live the same life that you were so lucky to have.

Our first summer without you is coming to an end. Soon we will close the cycle of the first year. It will never be easy, but certainly time helps to heal.

I love you Frida, and miss you to the moon and back!

Whistler, Rainbow Park, Summer 2011 & 2012

“It’s hard to forget someone who gave you so much to remember”~Unknown

5 and 2

It’s been five months.  It seems that it happened a long time ago, but we still feel a void in our hearts. We still cry. It’s amazing how  the memories come all the time.  I shouldn’t be surprised. I’m talking about 6 years of our life. Frida was with us since she was 7 weeks old, we raised her, we saw her grow, we were with her every moment of her canine life! So yes, our hearts are filled with memories of those years.

However, along this process, we realized that there was room in our heart and home for a new furry friend.  This time we decided to try with a rescue dog, actually, a Mexican rescue dog. Many people asked:  why? There are many local rescued dogs available. But honestly,  Mark and I are totally aware of the horrible life that many dogs have in countries like Mexico, where dogs are seen like working tools, disposable beings, or a living lab to try all kinds of cruelty.  We won’t be able to save all those dogs, but at least we decided to save one.  That’s how Maya entered the picture!  Maya is a stray dog, from Guayabitos, Jalisco. She’s around two years old and she’s a lovely furry girl! She has been with us for almost 2 months now.

Maya brought fresh air to our home, and along, her own health issues.  Maya has challenged our local vets with her very particular problems, and our financial, medical and nursing skills are being tested once again.

At some point I thought if we were a magnet of bad luck. But today I see things different: We have been given the dog we can take care of.  We have been given dogs that require lots of care, follow up, attention, compassion, love and we can share that. It’s a struggle, some days it’s not easy, especially when everything we went through with Frida is still so raw. But that experience has made us stronger, wiser, more sensitive. We know better now. And in return, we have been so lucky that for the second time we have at home a sweet, gentle soul, that has so much love to give, and that we are praying we will be able to help. So far there is lots of hope and optimism, and we are sure that after this bumpy start, we will have many years of happy doggy time to enjoy.

So once more I see that the question is not Why? but What for?  I’m finding that Frida paved the way so we could be strong for another dog, and I’m sure that she’s so pleased to know that a poor, stray, lonely dog is now with us. I’m not sure that Frida would have loved living with Maya, she was so used to be “only child” but what I feel is that she knew when it was time to cede her place in our home for a dog that was condemned to someday die alone in the streets of a small town.

There’s a new dog at home. And in a short time she has found a place in our heart. Who cannot love Maya? But certainly our love for Frida is, and will be forever one of a kind. My Frida, how much we miss you little girl, how much we think about you, how much you taught us. We were so lucky!  And honoring all that love we welcome Maya to our life.

 

“Dogs come into our lives to teach us about love, they depart to teach us about loss. A new dog never replaces an old dog, it merely expands the heart.” Erica Jong

“Saving one dog will not change the world, but surely for that one dog, the world will change forever.” ― Karen Davison

 

Reflecting on 90

It’s been 90 days since Frida crossed the Rainbow Bridge. Some days it seems that it was so long ago, yet I still catch myself feeling that I have to go back home to take her for a walk.  Some days we enjoy our “freedom” and many, many nights, when we are in bed, before turning off the lights, we start talking about her, and I end up sleeping teary eyed.  My after run showers continue to be the natural refuge to let a river of tears flow, that the warm, running water showers away.

After 365 days that this blog was born, I reflect how many words have been written and how many feelings have been expressed. How many tears have been shed, how many hearts have been touched, how many canine lives have been lost, and how we fall apart and rebuild our broken hearts.  And in the middle of our sorrow, our raw pain, the only force that matters is LOVE.

I want to honour the teachings of my furry one.  She taught me to live the moment, to be strong . Even in her worst moments there was never a time when she didn’t show us her love and gratitude. I know that she must have been afraid sometimes, but that never brought out the worst of her, it was just the opposite. Every hurdle along the way Frida showed us her best!

I have been reflecting for weeks how lucky I was to have met such a beautiful, gentle,sweet, and loving soul.  Time will help our healing process, and love will work its magic once again. We cannot let fear and sadness take control, we cannot be afraid of loving.  Because love is stronger than anything.  Love is the answer.

Frida, I will love you forever.

 

 

 

Signals

Today is two months since Frida got her wings.  Our grieving process continues. We are healing, and we will love her forever.

It’s today that I want to share a beautiful experience we had.  I totally believe that we receive signals from our departed ones. Once again, I don’t really think those signals have a harp playing on the background, and celestial creatures floating on a cloud.  Some people don’t believe in those signals simply because they don’t want to. That’s fine.  But I think that if God has always communicated with us and sent signals (dreams, rainbows, doves, etc) why it is impossible to get a message that will make us feel better?  In the Guarani culture the hummingbird is seen as a collector of souls, and it’s said that when they appear in our garden it’s a signal that our departed ones are OK.  Butterflies, birds, a song, a scent. I think that simple things that make our heart rejoice and bring an instant memory of the person, and a smile to our face, is a clear signal, that they are fine, close to us.  However, I wasn’t sure how would that work in the animal world.

Last December, on Christmas Day evening we were driving to meet the family for dinner. The evening was beautiful, and when we left home the sunset was starting to take place.  We had been just some minutes on the road and I decided to take a selfie, as I had my makeup and had done my hair.  I started the camera app, and held the phone to take the selfie, when I realized I had not switched it to the selfie mode, so the “lens” was not pointing at me.  And through the screen I saw a beautiful sunset, so I forgot about the selfie and just shot randomly some pictures of a beautiful sunset on a Christmas Day Evening.  After the second shot, I saw something on the screen and my heart stopped:  I looked at the sky, and yes, my eyes were not lying to me.  Mark was driving, he made a left turn and the horizon disappeared from our sight, but I had captured the image and I had to make Mark stop and look at the screen. We weren’t crazy, it was not imagination. It was there.

Do you see what I see? (Picture copyright Veronica Webster 2015)

As it is said, an image is worth a thousand words.  Keep your mind and heart open. We live in a world where Earth and Heaven are not that apart.  Let your eyes see through the love that lives in your heart.  Open up to receive, to fill your saddened heart with joy. Trust, don’t let anyone call you crazy or that you are being victim of your imagination.  Our loved ones live in our heart and the eyes of love are able to see beyond our limited, human sight.

Yes my Frida, we know that you are fine. We are OK too. We are happy. We are looking forward to the future, we already have plans and are excited about it.  We are full of love, and you inspire us.  Thank you for the Christmas present. Run free in Heaven, until we meet again!!

It’s been a week

Today is a week since our furry girl crossed the Rainbow Bridge.  Today I can’t hardly believe she’s not here anymore. In the morning I woke up and pushed my blankets away, carefully, as I would always do, because she would be sleeping by my side. And usually she would stay under those blankets, until she decided to join me downstairs “for coffee”.  It’s been sad to wake up and notice her absence in our bedroom.  The first days we cried so much all day. But we found lots of relief by watching her videos and looking at pictures. That brought lots of smiles to our face.  Being together over the weekend helped. Mark and I were able to cry, to laugh, and to cry again.  One of the new pieces in the living room is a box of Kleenex, secretly hidden next to the sofa, but very handy as our crying ritual starts.

We put all her stuff inside her kennel, with the idea of taking it to the storage right away. The kennel is still where it has always been, in our bedroom. It will take some time until we move it to the storage. Her mat with her three favourite toys is still in the living room, now under the Christmas tree.  Oh yes! The Christmas tree is up, and all the house decorated.  Frida’s stocking has a special spot in the Christmas tree, and I thought that this year the tree would be a tribute to her, so basically the tree was decorated with little figurines of animals, Christmas motives and little pinatas. It’s a tree that reflects her happiness.  On a shelf there’s now a corner just for her.  I placed there our favourite picture of the three of us, her collar and the Christmas mini schnauzer.  The little corner was complete on Tuesday night, after we picked up her remains. It’s just like with humans. It’s hard to think that a little box contains what once was a being full of life. We placed the urn with her picture on the shelf. Now she’s at home, back to the home full of love she always knew about.

It’s not easy.  As I read in a wonderful article “Why losing a Pet is so Hard– and how to get through it” losing a pet is hard because they represent a moment of your life that won’t come back.  Frida was a very important part of my life in Canada. She came to us when I had been living here for 11 months. Frida brought so much joy to those days when I hardly knew anyone here.  With her I discovered the joy of walking through the forest,  through my new neighbourhood.  Frida loved the snow, and a snow day was always fun with her.  She was by my side all the time, she usually slept under my chair the endless hours I studied for my Diploma.  She patiently learned to stay at home while I went for my runs, my volunteer job or job interviews, and she comforted me so many times when tears of frustration ran down my cheeks. Frida was my partner in crime when new decorations came to the house, when new indoor workouts were done and when I danced in the kitchen.  She would run there when I dropped something, or every time I yelled because I had burned a finger taking something out from the oven.  She waited patiently for hours while I prepared my classes for the very first time. I spent hours in the computer, creating material, squeezing my brain. She slept downstairs all that time, until she finally would show up at my office upstairs and give me a look of  “Are you done?” I would always stop, and take her for a walk. She made me go out and enjoy the fresh (or rainy) air.  Frida and I spent so many times on the roof deck. Even though she didn’t like the hot weather,  she would rather be panting on the deck than inside the house alone.  I always found a shaded spot for her because she didn’t like to be away from us.

 

Frida was our travelling buddy,  she went with us to Mexico City, the Oregon Coast,  many trips to Whistler BC, and just this September to Penticton BC.  She ran errands with us when the car was not hot like in summer. She always drove with Mark to drop me off to work and the two of us picked me up every night. Last Wednesday she picked me up for the last time.

Frida was a HUGE part of my life, of my life as a newcomer to this country. Frida was the dog I always dreamed about. Frida was a gentle soul with a very loud bark!  But mostly, she was my little friend, my companion, my creation. Frida had a beautiful temperament, that helped a novice trainer like me to minimize my wrongs and fully enjoy my rights. I didn’t do it so bad for being the first time I trained a dog, but I had a wonderful dog to work with.  We were both lucky in many ways.

Time won’t stop. And my memories of Frida will flow endlessly.  I’m sad, but at peace. I have shed many tears, but not bitter ones. Just sadness tears. I don’t have second thoughts, I haven’t second guessed our decisions, our actions.  I think that will help to make this process less painful.

It’s been a week.  I miss you Fida!

“If you miss someone, that means you’re lucky. It means you had someone special in your life, someone worth missing”

Run free Frida!

 

The last few days I could clearly see that Frida’s health was deteriorating quickly. On Wednesday she barely ate some pieces of scrambled eggs, I knew we were in trouble. That evening, when Mark came home, we talked about helping her to cross the Rainbow Bridge, and we agreed we would have to do it over the weekend. At this point, I still had some doubts about it being the right time. I had not seen the famous “look” that people talked about, or felt that it was the right moment. But that night, when Mark and Frida picked me up at work, when I opened the door to get into the car, she didn’t move from the seat, she didn’t jump back and forth, and she just sniffed my hands, she didn’t react to me!   I squeezed into the front seat with her, and she moved to my lap, something that she would never do, and she rested her head on my arms. She wasn’t feeling well, she was not herself.  We came home, Mark carried her, but we put her on the ground in case she wanted to pee. She did, and she started walking home, so slowly, she seemed an old, old dog.  She didn’t sleep well that night and the diarrhea kicked in at 1 am in the morning, and then again at 4 am.  Mark went to work, and at 8:15 I got a call back from the vet’s office, we tried to schedule something as our wished were to have it done at home. Frida spent all morning like in a kind of limbo, sleeping on the sofa. She wasn’t feeling well, she had stopped eating, drinking, and I knew that this was the time.

As usual, I had everything organized beforehand, and in my mind I had created what I thought was best for us to manage her departure from this world. I wanted her ashes returned to us on the same day, and I didn’t want her to be kept in any freezer, bag, or anything like that.  And it was possible, as I had already inquired about all this, but I never counted on the timing.   It happened that to match Frida’s current situation, the in-home service with our vet, the crematorium services and transporting Frida by ourselves to their facility, became a nightmare. Every phone call was just a hurdle along the way. Finally everything seemed to be as I had thought, and everything was scheduled for Friday morning.  Then I took Frida for a short walk, and she didn’t pee and the diarrhea was worst. I knew that we were not going to make it through the night, or we would, but with Frida in very poor conditions, or maybe having to end up in an emergency clinic.  I didn’t want that for her, she deserved to go with dignity, surrounded by the people she loved, as the wonderful dog she had been.  I went home, and at that moment I realized that I had to let go my plans, and just take everything as it was coming. It was so hard for me to subjugate my original, ideal plan, to the reality we were facing at that moment. But I had to, and I realized once again, that I had to let it go.  I realized that it was easier in terms of time to have it done at the vet office, where they have a beautiful room for that purpose, and use the cremation services company that they usually work with. They would pick her up there on Friday, but she wouldn’t be left in a bag, or freezer. They have a cold room, where she would “sleep”.   So I called Mark, he agreed totally and came back home. I made the eleventh call to the vet, and they made all the arrangements for the evening.

After that everything went smoothly. Mark came home, we spent time with Frida, we talked, we cried, we told her how much we loved her.  We left home. It was so hard to leave knowing that she wasn’t coming back with us.  We were already in the car when our good friend Doug was just stepping outside, and he was able to say goodbye to her. She jumped to him, and licked his face through the window. More tears. On the way she started shivering, but I prayed and sang, asking God to bring peace, to take away our fear. And it worked. When we arrived to the vet the three of us were all calmed, at peace.  I made arrangements to arrive by the back door, so Frida wouldn’t recognize the place and get nervous. She was OK; she walked confidently, following us.  They walked us in, to the cozy “living room” they have for these moments. It was warm, nice. I put her favourite, red blanket on the sofa, and she was ready to join me there. We helped her as she couldn’t jump.  All the staff was so warm, compassionate, accommodating, loving, and so professional. They did all the right things for us, they explained everything, and they granted all our wishes.  Inserting the catheter was the hard part, especially because of my needle phobia. But Frida didn’t move, or even looked. She was looking at Mark’s eyes, just in front of him. She was surrounded by me, and by some of her favourite people at the vet: Jen and Allison.  They administered a sedative, and Frida started to relax in my arms. She still wanted to keep her head up, but I managed to gently push her towards me, and she finally gave up, and rested her head on my arms. We were left with her for some time, and then dear Doctor Kates came. She was going to perform the procedure. We were ready. The medication went in, and petting her, telling her how much we loved her, and singing to her “You are my sunshine” she slipped into an eternal sleep.  The doctor checked her heart, it had stopped.  The doctor held my hand, she cried with me, she told us how good we had been with her, and how this had been the perfect decision, the perfect moment. She was genuinely crying with us.  We stayed there with Frida in my arms, for around an hour. My dear friend Edith showed up to support us, and to say her goodbyes to her beloved Frida. Heinz her husband arrived too.  Around 6:30 we were ready to go.  We left Frida there, on the sofa. I had brought a blouse of mine so she would feel my scent and be calmed. I covered her body with it, she would spend the night there, but her body would have something that came from her home, from her humans.  Her ashes will be returned to us hopefully by Monday.  We shared again hugs and tears with the staff.  I will never be able to thank them enough for what they did for us.

We left, it was already dark outside, without our Frida, but at peace.  And we weren’t alone. We went home with our friends, and Frida’s friends: Doug, Chris, Edith and Heinz. When I arrived home I displayed an improvised memorial over the fireplace mantel, with the professional pictures we had taken some months ago. Her collar, some candles. We had wine, pizza, we talked about her, we cried.  Chris played for us the flute, a special tune in honour of Frida.  We made several toasts for her, for us, and for the great gift that Frida had been in our lives.

Today the house feels so quiet. Mark is here, we are crying, and talking, and laughing; and then we cry again.  Her stuff is all around. It will take time. We will have our good and bad days. Frida is happy, running free. She was always a loving, gentle soul, full of life and energy. She couldn’t be trapped anymore in that sick body.  I gave her instructions upon arrival to Heaven: look for my mom, she will take care of you, she knows who you are, just don’t lick her face, she doesn’t like that. Juan my brother, he will throw the ball so you can play your favourite game. We will be fine. And please, come and visit me sometime.

Until we meet again my Frida!

 

Scrambled eggs along the way

Eating a home baked doggy treat! November 16th 2015

Those of you who have known my Frida for a long time, know that she’s a food lover. Frida loves food, and she would eat anything at anytime. One of the most difficult things these days has been to see pieces of food left intact. I cannot believe a cookie has been sleeping for 24 hours on her mat, and Frida couldn’t care less about it.  She seems to be hungry, but her sense of taste and smell seem to be highly affected by the disease.  I just assume all this based on the experience with my late mother. When she was in the last stages of cancer, she was reluctant to eat lots of things, even her favourite ones. She would say the food tasted bad, or at least that was her perception.  She would eat limited things. At least she could verbalize what was going on. With my Frida it’s a game of guessing, assuming, trying and failing.

We haven’t been sleeping well the last few… weeks? I’m always on alert mode, checking on her or listening to every noise. She also is moving a lot, she seems to be uncomfortable. Right now she’s beside me, sleeping deeply. But at night  it is different. She cannot find a good position to rest. She kicks with her back legs, or moves endlessly.  I am sleep deprived, however I’m trying to keep my running days going,  even when I feel very tired I try to sneak in a short run. That makes me feel good, and I need to give my body a good reason to be tired, not just the lack of sleep. Fortunately my classes are coming to an end so I will be able to get rid of that responsibility for some weeks.

The experience of having a doggy on the last stages of cancer is not very different from my experience with humans.  It must be even closer to the terrible experience of having a sick child who cannot express himself.  I cannot even think how painful that must be.  That makes the tasks even more difficult. But also makes you gather big amounts  of love, patience and compassion. It’s so sad to see how the will to live is slowly taken over by an undermined body. This morning I felt so sad when she seemed reluctant to eat her scrambled egg, one of the few thing she likes lately. But patiently I interested her in the food. I had to hand feed her a little, and then hold the bowl closer to her mouth, and she ate everything! She even cleaned her bowl for me 😉

Every day brings new challenges. Some days I feel I crumble apart, because it’s sad to watch how a disease is taking a life, right in front of you. Some days I feel hopeless, some others I lose my patience. And then I  realize that Frida is still fighting, that she’s still showing affection and excitement when she sees us,  and we are the only ones who can help her to fight, by taking care of her.  When we decided to fight cancer 9 months ago,  somehow we altered the course of nature for an animal. In the wild Frida would have been dead many months ago.  So now we have to continue what we started. I cannot give up on her now, because she’s not giving up yet.

Creativity come to me! Let me find ways to feed this furry girl, that has given so much love to us.  Wisdom stay by my side to be able to see when there’s not more to be done. Love keep alive your magic. And Lord, please continue holding our hand  and sending Your light to guide our steps through this journey.

Dearest God, Heavenly Father
maker of all living creatures,
we ask you to bless Frida,
who brings so much joy into our lives.
By the power of Your love,
enable her to live according to your plan.
May we always praise You for all Your beauty in creation.
who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit,
Blessed are You, God, in all Your creatures!
( from http://www.moodycatholic.com/prayer_animals)

 

The boy who cried wolf

Seriously, I’m not the boy who cried wolf.  Yesterday when we went to the vet I started to second guess my sanity. This was the 4th time in a a week that we were there, besides regular phone calls.  But our wonderful vets and technicians and receptionists reassured us. We were doing the right thing. And the vet carefully checked Frida once again.  I was not nuts, the new lump that I felt in her abdomen is real, but not important. It was a subcutaneous lump, not threatening.  They took X rays and the tumour didn’t grow significantly.  She listened to me, to Mark.  She gave Frida treats, that she accepted happily! (we have discovered new treats that she likes!) And she comforted us: You are doing the right thing. Sometimes you can’t see the forest for the trees.  This is your new normal. There will be bad days and good days. When she’s having a bad day, you will be having a bad day too! Try to look the other way, and maybe the following day will be better. When the bad days are more than the good days, or a dramatic change comes, then it will be time.  And you will know.

And she told us again something that I knew in my heart, but it’s so great to hear:  “You have been so lucky with Frida, for a schnauzer she has a fantastic temperament.  She will live a short life because she’s sweet. The schnauzers that live long lives are the ones who have bitten me! And I’m not saying it to make you feel better, it’s true”   And I know that God let us find this wonderful dog, with this great personality and temperament, because her life was going to be short, and full of challenges, and she was going to need lots of care. Taking care of Frida is so easy, she let’s us do anything without complaining, growling or biting.  She’s so sweet. And she’s so brave.

Today it’s clear for us that Frida won’t leave this world without a fight. She’s a little warrior. She’s leading the pace. She’s showing us that she’s still embracing life. I had forgotten that cancer is like this.  Now I know that this horrible disease is the same in humans and animals. It’s a fortune that Frida doesn’t know that she’s sick and terminal. And it’s great, because she won’t give up. She will fight until Mother Nature with all her wisdom, will let her know that it’s time. I just pray we will be able to understand her message.

“And yet she moves” said Galileo.  Well, Frida is still moving. She’s slower, she needs to rest and sleep. But she still has energy to love us. To wag her tail when she sees me. To go like crazy to the door and perform the “doggy dance” every evening for her beloved Mark. Who are we to take that happiness from her?  She’s fighting, we fight with her.

Picture by Off-Leash Photograpy

“How lucky I am to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard.” ~A.A. Milne, Winnie the Pooh

The Last Part of the Ride

If you have been following my blog, you will remember that I have always said that dealing with a patient with cancer, human or animal, is like a roller coaster. The best roller coasters of the world save the most intense emotions for the last part and then end up with a smooth rolling stop.

Yesterday we entered the last part of our ride, we are running the last kilometres.  Frida was almost due for her every 5 weeks check up, but on Monday she started throwing up.  Yesterday early morning, I discovered a big mass in her stomach. I could clearly feel something there, and I knew immediately it meant trouble.  So we took her to the vet and our dear doggy has a tumour of considerable size in the liver.  The one in the lung hasn’t really changed. We all followed up on the lungs, without knowing that the final stage would be in the liver.

There’s nothing else that can be done. Her cancer was a death sentence since day one, her cancer is very aggressive, a very nasty one, as Dr. Graveling said when she first delivered the news back in February. I really consider ourselves very fortunate, as she has lived 8 wonderful months after her surgery.

We are facing now the terrible decision of saying when. She’s not in pain, she’s still in control of her functions, she’s eating, however we needed to modify her diet to something easier to digest, and she’s looking good.  I don’t have the heart to say “Stop” at this moment.  How far shall we go?  It’s clear we won’t let her suffer, but how much is too much suffering for her?  I have never had to put a dog down, neither Mark. I know this will be done from the point of view of love, but it goes against me to take life from any living creature, especially a creature that I have taken care of since she was 7 weeks old, and that  the last 6 years has been my friend, my companion, my joy, my dog. This is really a hard time.

We are determined to enjoy whatever time we have left.  A few days ago we could see ourselves reaching one year of survival, next February. Right now, I think it will be a miracle is we make it to Christmas. We are hitting the statistics of life expectancy for histiocytic sarcoma: 9-12 months.

So there’s not much we can do now. Once again, I’m reminded that there’s only so much I can do or control. God is in charge, and honestly, I don’t want to be in charge of this. It’s up to him. We are praying for light, guidance and strength. If you are reading this, Can you please pray for us? and if you are not religious, at least keep us in your thoughts and send light our way?

This is certainly a hard time, as we know the end is near. Some months ago I decided to stop fighting against death, I felt it was so agonizing for me, trying to fight as if death was pulling Frida to one side and I pulled her back to mine, almost like pulling a rope! I decided that given the moment, I would let Frida go, let her go to the Rainbow Bridge, straight to the arms of God. That’s how I see it in my mind. She deserves it. She has been so brave, so loyal, so loving.

One hour at a time, and hours might become days. That’s how we go from here. I’m so at peace because I know we have done everything, however that doesn’t mean that this is not painful. I know that we have given her the best life she could have, the best care, and so much love. And we have gotten in return a fantastic dog, that in  her short 6 years has taught us so much, and loved us as we never imagined.

Picture by Off-Leash photography, Angie Wojciechowska.

“God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,

The courage to change the things I can,

And the wisdom to know the difference.”