'95 Fat Boy Harley Aug. 16, 1995 - Dec. 9, 2008
Monday he was panting heavily. I worked. Went home. We walked. We went to bed. He came to the head of the bed and laid down on my arm. I told him “baby, when you need to give up, just go. Don’t worry about Mommy and Sophie. We will miss you. But we’ll be OK. But don’t you ever doubt Harley, you have been the joy of mommy’s life for 13 years. I will love you for the rest of my life.”
Tuesday morning he got up and went outside like always around 8 a.m. He always came back in the house and walked back up his ramp to get back in bed until I got up around 9 to get ready for work. He came back in the house and instead of coming up his ramp, he sat at the end of it, as if waiting for me, pleading for me to understand what he was trying to convey.
I know now he was telling me it was time to give up. That he couldn’t fight anymore. That he couldn't come back to bed.
I took him to Dr. Wallis at 2 p.m. He did xrays of Harley’s lungs. He showed them to me, first the ones he took a month ago. He showed me the lungs and how clear they were. Then he put the new xrays under the light. It was as if a cloud had formed over my baby’s lungs. Cancer had invaded his body and was threatening to either suffocate him or give him a heart attack from laboring so hard to breathe.
I had prayed that God would give me the answer, the peace of mind to KNOW what was right for Harley. There was no doubt when I saw those xrays that Harley was going to fight until his heart gave out. He was still eating, still taking walks, his lymph nodes were still fine. All outward signs showed he was OK. While internally, cancer was taking over his body.
Dr. Wallis said Harley wasn’t in pain, but that he was frustrated, it was aggravating him that he couldn't catch his breath. And that he wouldn’t make it until Christmas to see my mom, dad and Jared again. Oh how I wanted him to take a walk with his Grandpa one more time. But I knew Harley could take pain better than aggravation. And I couldn’t let him worry about me and struggle to breathe.
I called my boyfriend, Bob. He went with me to say goodbye.
Harley died in my arms. Dr. Wallis warned us he might jerk, fight the anestesia. He might die with his eyes open. He didn’t struggle in fear when the shot was administered. He just went to sleep. When Dr. Wallis asked him to lie down, he obeyed and never lifted his head again.
Dr. Wallis started the shot. Harley's breathing lessened and I told him to go find my Uncle Scotty, my dear uncle who died of a heart attack after being diagnosed with cancer, that he would give him walks in Heaven until I could get there.
And Harley stopped breathing.
Bob and I stayed with him in the room for several more minutes. I went to kiss Harley one last time and his nose was still wet, a sign, I’ve always been told, he was happy.
This is a letter I wrote to Harley back in April when he developed that mass on his toe. I wrote it when I was awaiting the results of that biopsy. That didn't turn out to be cancer, but was a sign, I know, from God that I needed to prepare and up the ante on spoiling him. And I did. Boy did I.
My beloved Harley man....
I am writing this now because in the near future, I might not be able to.
Words can’t express what you’ve meant to me since we met in Texas in 1995.
Through ups, downs, new jobs, moves, my kidney stones and your kidney infection, hurricanes... you’ve been the constant companion God knew I needed in my life.
I will never forget how you picked me, and not the other way around, and I will always be grateful I listened when you looked at me with eyes that said “Lady, it’s me you want. You don’t want a white, female chow. You want me.” I can’t believe I talked the lady down in price because I thought $100 was too much to pay for you. Little did I know, in a mere week, no amount of money would be too much.
Letting you go is going to be the most difficult decision I’ve ever made. But I owe you a graceful departure from the life we’ve shared to one where you will not be in pain. Where there will be no cats. Where there will always be grated cheese on your canned food, dry food combo and where it won’t matter if that food is weight management. Never again will I make you get your ears cleaned, have drops put in your eyes, your nails trimmed. You can have ice cream every day, not just on your birthday.
Sophie and I will miss you terribly. You’ve put yourself between us and what you thought might have been danger. You’ve checked out each and every visitor to the front door to make sure they met your approval. You stuck up for her when she got in over her head with the neighbor’s dog. You’ve been our fierce protector and loyal friend. Our house will not be the same without you in it. Your smells will linger, there will be traces of your fur. I’ll come home and find your toy basket full of toys you played with long enough to get them slobbery. I’ll find your ramp your dad made for you to make it easier for you to get into bed. Even if I were to rid the house of all these things, Harley man, I will never, and would never, want to rid it of the memories.
I will take a snip of your fur to keep with me forever. And I will hold you and watch you slip away because you know I could never let you go anywhere without me. And you will be free to run, Harley, with no limp, no more pain pills. And no leash. And you’ll be able to hear again. So I will tell you before I leave just how very much I love you.
And your ashes will be returned to me, and they will be put with my ashes when it’s time for us to meet again.
I will try so hard not to cry Harley. Because I know you hate it when I’m sad.
Every day I’ve had you in my life has been a blessing. You are taking a part of my heart to heaven with you. It will never be replaced. And there will never be another Harley man. No dog, no friend, could ever mean as much to me.
Love,
Mommy
No comments:
Post a Comment