I sit ahead of the change and contemplate how different life will be. They say you have to know when. I say it is what I signed up for when I opened my heart and home to them. Though I can’t imagine the wrenching pain, I try to envision the absence of their presence. Will I go to the door and look out, expecting her to be slowly climbing the hill from a jaunt around her beloved yard?
Will I seek him in his favorite spots, only to be reminded he is no more?
Will I hear the ghostly echoes of her purring me to sleep at night?
I rise from my cosy chair by the fire and step back so she can climb up and warm her ancient bones. She seems confused and agitated; didn’t eat her dinner or breakfast, except for the bit of meat hiding her pain pills that I managed to coaxed into her. Perhaps small strokes are racking her brain, she starts awake and struggles to move to another spot.
Once the call is made and the plans are in place, I weep. Knowing something is for the best doesn’t make it any easier. Every pat on a head is special as I know we are now limited by a few days or hours before the end. I am more patient with their infirmities, more kind and forgiving of the “accidents.” I go about my day, sometimes forgetting what lies ahead. There are moments when my heavy heart is allowed to just rest, as my head focuses on other matters at hand. As our time grows shorter, those moments are fewer.
The hours are now gone. Once it was me plus five, now it is me plus two. No more pain, no more not knowing what they are going through. Only my aching heart.
The threads of my life are ripped apart…