July is sweet, with flowers freshly blooming, veggies growing, and singing birds chasing butterflies through the yard. Glorious summer is here with her bears and blueberries, cookouts and swimming.
Some summers, however, bring a different sensation when the essence of celebration is in the air, but you feel anything but happy.
Those of us graced with the friendship of a pet know they come with a deli number (or lotto ticket – whatever you wish – just like we do), and though we live in our worlds of wanting this to be untrue, we’ve owned many a furry friend to know the reality, and when our dear friends age or become ill, intuitive owners pause.
How will this end up? Will it get any better or easier? Question after question, we have found ourselves in this tender spot the last two weeks, and now as we sit and allow a fresh breeze to waft through the doors, we consider how long, how much, how many more days, weeks, or gifts from our most wonderful pup.
Taking pause is rarely on purpose, knowing how situations can land us in this open zone of weirdness. It’s weird to stop everything and wait for what you may not know will come or what you do not understand. It forces us to look around, perhaps seeing things for the first time in a long time, yet this time becomes a gift.
It is a gift of giving yourself and your loved ones moments to sit in company of one another, your beloved pets, and within the nature around you. You look at every flower, hear every neighborhood kid laugh in the sprinkler, every dog bark, bird sing, and so much more missed without knowing until you stop.
This pause grants us time together and demands teamwork to help our beloved friend to face her biggest challenge that we know of (she came with a malformed jaw from a previous break, so she has seen some stuff). A cry, we jump! Meds, we’re there! Snuggles, you got it! And every single minute of it is hard, yet full of absolute love.
The pause forces us to reckon with the reality of our lives at each and every moment. Will I spend ten minutes sitting in our butterfly garden with our girl or do I have to check my email? Does the laundry need folding right now or can I lie on the floor nose to nose for a few more minutes?
Can we haul the tv into another room so she can be there with us? Is every night on the couch too big of a sacrifice to let her know she is not alone?
And every person you talk to says the same, it’s so hard. And I agree, it is. And I also agree that anything forcing a pause has two sides – the force and the tenderness. Though this illness came on abruptly, our family rallies to work together as a team to help our beloved friend feel that love, even through the pee pads, the accidents, the lifting of a 50 pound baby, the room to room visits – we do it all together, and we do so because it is all we can do.
Reality is hard, but we make it softer when we share the love through helping – this is tenderness. The whole situation is tender, delicate, painful, and sad. It is also inviting awakening, realizations, experiences in those quiet moments to say “I’m here. We’re here.”
What a gift, the pause. What a gift that we are here for each other and for her, blessed to be surrounded by what is still growing, flourishing life around us as we witness another fade, but she is not powerless. Instead, her power of stillness ripples to each of us, inviting in meaningful time to be with one another, to do this hard thing together.
What beauty there is in my knowing, my belief, that this togetherness will survive within us through the remainder of our days. Thank you, dear friend, for allowing this pause to teach us more about how love is all that matters.
With loveđź’•
