I remember about a month ago, walking with Wanaka near the beach and putting it out there to the Universe, setting the intention, that she has a swift passing, whenever it is to be. It was a sincere hope and request that she doesn’t suffer. It didn’t seem like a clear omen of what was to come, although some part of me kind of knew her time was getting close, like a premonition I didn’t want to acknowledge. At nearly 15 years old, it seemed natural to believe it may happen soon-ish, for this canine friend of mine.
We got what I wished for. A month after that walk, we became aware of a tumour in her shoulder that grew fast, suddenly changing her ability to walk. She looked very uncomfortable, no longer able to walk far, not able to manage the stairs well. She’s been fairly healthy for an old dog, until the last week and a half. Her pain and discomfort is now managed with medicine wrapped in the most delicious peanut butter pill pockets. And even though she’s old, and uncomfortable, and medicated, she still stares at us with her loving, dark, caramel eyes, her eyebrows and forehead of fluffy, soft, blond hair, expressive and adorable. Her Spirit is still so alive and puppy-like, as it always has been. But she’s also not the same. I see her.
I took her to the forest today, likely the last of her off leash walks, in the sweet scent of the pine trees, and the expansive view of the emerald green lake off the cliff. Our spot. We didn’t go far. I didn’t want to push it. But I was so happy I brought her here today because as soon as I lifted her out of the truck, she ran, she trotted, and carried herself blissfully down the trail. She pretended she wasn’t also carrying a tumour in her sore shoulder. A blast of happiness, ears flapping, tail wagging. Her favourite place? It’s my favourite place to be with her.
I don’t know if she noticed I was crying. The bittersweetness of such pure happiness and joy and freedom woven with my own deep sadness. This is so hard.
Does she know what’s to come? Tomorrow, a veteranarian is coming to our house to release her from her body. I’ve asked her if she knows, if she cares, and the essence of what I get from her is that it’s all okay. It can happen tomorrow or the next day or early next week. It doesn’t matter. She’s not sad. I get the sense that she’s just alive and present, until she isn’t.
I thought my tears were done. That I’d shed most of them. But today, I realize it comes in waves. The rusty pipes have an opening not meant to close at this moment, and the closer we get to her end time, the more the rusty taps are open. It feels like my face is covered in rust marks, dried tears and new ones. Those tears drying, and then more.
I will admit there is a layer of doubt in my mind, wondering if this is the right choice for her. Is this really her time? Can she live on pain meds for… a while? How is it that we have to decide? This is so hard.
There’s another layer of logical certainty we are doing the right thing for her, given the guidance from our vet, and the possible repercussions for her if we wait too long.
Not surprisingly, there’s a level of spiritual certainty in the mix too. I keep asking Wanaka’s Spirit if it’s time for her to go. The answer I receive doesn’t seem to come from her, per se, but my Spirits gift me a heavy nod forward with my head, which means a strong yes. An acknowledgment of alignment in this decision. I’ve also been asking Spirit to show signs around me, to show me the way. They delivered. On my drive home, I had my music on random and the titles of the songs that played were all signs for me and Wanaka, in this order:
Let Go
Be Free
All My Love
I Had The Time Of My Life
(Of course, I cried.)
I also saw repeated numbers today, heaps more than I have in months: 1:11pm, 2:22pm, and the total of my bill at the local bike shop was $444.11. I don’t even know what these numbers mean, spiritually, but they all feel like sparks of recognition, signs that we are on the right path with this, with her.
Song titles and repeated numbers aside, I saw a red tailed hawk sitting strongly, and peacefully, on a wire just above me as I passed. Hawk is my main Spirit Animal Guide. It felt like a sign of strength, an earthly, grounded sign that we are all supported. A sign that Spirit is here for us. We aren’t alone. Maybe also that Spirit is sitting, patiently waiting for her.
These signs all feel so comforting.
I asked her to come with me when I venture into the forest, after she’s gone. She’s happy to join me, and to protect me like she has for years, letting me know when other animals are near. And then she asked me to take care of Brian, because she can’t take care of him the same way once she’s gone. I promised. More rusty tears.
This is so hard.
