Goodbye, Blossom

Margo made sure Blossom had an afternoon outdoors yesterday. Though her poor body has been withering away from cancer, our dog's mind has been as alert as ever. Even though she had to hobble about, she enjoyed being outside on a gorgeous Autumn day. She followed Margo around as they planted a couple of dogwoods out front. She sniffed under bushes. She wagged her tail with excitement when the birds flew into view. And when I pulled into the driveway at the end of the workday, she was there to greet me.

But as everyone came in for the evening, it was obvious that our poor dog was weary and aching. She had such a wonderful last day, but spent most of the evening nursing her swollen leg and belly. Blossom spent last night in our bedroom, curled up on a big pillow on the floor by Margo's side.

We both woke up early today; sleep eluded us. Margo gently lifted Blossom onto our bed, and she curled up in between us and continued to sleep as we stroked her fur. In the past, she would have been eagerly jumping about, pressing us to get up and get going. But this morning she didn't stir from the bed, even after we both left the room.

I found myself watching the clock all morning, trying not to think about the dreaded appointment yet very aware of how much time was left. At some point, my mind began thinking in terms of "Blossom only has three hours to live." "Ninety minutes." "Fifteen minutes." It was eerie and macabre, but my grief couldn't be avoided.

The Lord gave me one great blessing in all this, however. Seeing our dog's weariness and discomfort made it easier to cope with the decision to put her to sleep today. Things would only get worse, and she had already begun spending more time in pain management than enjoying life.

Finally, the time had come. The dog hopped into the car and sat on Margo's lap as we headed to the vet. I rolled down the window, and she enjoyed the air rushing into her face one last time. Carol Zoebel had made some home-made biscuits for her, and Margo and I each saved one to offer her once we arrived at the vet.

Our vet is terrific, and allowed us to remain outside with Blossom for a few final minutes in the sunshine. It was obvious that Blossom was hurting, but she still wagged her tail and took interest in the world around her. Eventually, the vet and an assistant came to us, bringing a large blanket. The vet embraced Margo, and our tears began to flow.

Margo and I sat under a large tree, spread the blanket out on Margo's lap, and Blossom came and laid down. Together we stroked her fur and whispered in her ear as the doctor gave her the injection which would allow her to fall asleep and eventually stop her heart. It was very beautiful and peaceful.

On the way home, we wept. When we pulled the car in the garage, we wept some more. Our family stood in the kitchen, and we shared the story with our kids. Together our entire family embraced and just shared the grief.

I feel so very sad today. It's going to be difficult to get anything meaningful done. Yet I also feel this odd mix of haunting and peace. We loved our dog deeply, and she will be missed. But she had a good, full life and her final moments ended well. I'm also warmed by the thought that Margo and I were able to share this moment together. As we stood holding each other, weeping softly, sharing memories of great moments with Blossom, I don't think I've ever felt closer to her. Margo is such an amazing gift from the Lord.

Thanks to everyone who has sent quick e-mails and words of encouragement. It's such a wonderful thing to go through life's adventure together with the people that you love.