Max has been an important part of our family for over 11 years. He loves laying in the sunshine, walkies, sitting on my fluffy slippers, begging for scraps at my feet while I cook, eating the cat’s food, having his tummy tickled, watching movies with the family and he longs for Molly the cat to be his bestie, though Molly likes to pretend he doesn’t exist.
He’s annoying! He taps on the door to be let out and no sooner is he out than he wants to come back in. He hates the car, being left alone or having his feet touched. All of these will elicit the most annoying high pitched yelp from him.
He’s disgusting! His farts are enough to make your eyes water and he has a penchant for chewing the crutch out of knickers and eating the contents of the kitty litter tray.
He’s cute! He snores and walks like an old man but wags his tail and plays like a puppy.
He’s loyal and trusting and loving and full of personality.
And he’s gone.
It all happened so suddenly that my mind still hasn’t caught up with it all.
On Good Friday Max was walking stiffly and whimpering. By the early hours of Saturday morning, concern grew to fear as his condition rapidly deteriorated and no amount of painkillers could bring him comfort. Hubby asked me to consider the unthinkable. No! I snapped. He’s not a disposable commodity!
The vet made me see it differently. It was time to step into Max’s shoes and think about what he would want. So on Saturday night, after a plethora of tests revealed there was very little hope, I conceded. And we prepared our daughters for the morning.
Morning was Easter Sunday, normally the happiest day of the year for me. This is the day that I am reminded that death is not and never was a part of God’s plan. So it was very ironic that this year, on this very special day, death was not only the focus, it was to be brought about by our own hand.
It was becoming clear that my dream of Max slipping away peacefully in his sleep was not going to happen. Instead, we had to play God. I prayed, pleaded, with God. Please! Do your job, don’t make me do it, it’s your job!
There was that irony again. We never like to let God do His job. After all, we don’t need God, we are quite capable of being in control of our own lives. It was that attitude which first allowed death to enter into the garden. And it was humankind’s persistence in that attitude which necessitated the events of Easter. But of course, we don’t want to take the bad with the good. God I’m OK with these parts of my life, you can take care of those parts.
Saying Goodbye to Your Dog 🙁
It was time to say goodbye. The girls have grown up with Max. In their eyes he is both their little brother and their baby. First baby was determined that crying would not be the last thing he would hear, second baby agreed. Together they made a decision which saw them display a selfless strength that neither my husband nor myself could muster. We had to leave the room, but they sat with him and soothed him while the vet administered that final injection. Neither of them shed a tear until he was gone.
My heart broke for Max. It shattered for our girls. They’re both young adults now, but that morning they grew up in a way that I didn’t want for them. I wanted to rewind a few years and watch them hunting for Easter eggs in our garden. Instead I had watched them not only come to terms with the unthinkable, I had watched a beautiful strength and maturity unfold right before my eyes.
Over this past week I have grappled with feelings of helplessness and betrayal. Helpless at not being able to make things better for the girls, or for Max when he was crying to me for help. Betrayal because the best I could do for him was to agree to end his life. This is the hardest for me. I’m an optimist and I never give up, so I’m second guessing everything. Which means I’ve spent the better part of this week reliving the events of last weekend over and over because I feel like we gave up too soon. But I know that’s not the truth so I have to keep seeing his face, pleading with us for help, the vet, armed with the test results telling us that there was no more hope. I have to keep going over and over all that evidence until the optimist is satisfied that yes, we did do enough.
Through all the sadness and heartbreak over watching my girls, there is also a gentle encouragement. Because of the timing, I was reminded once again that it is right to be offended by death, because death is not part of the big picture. This is the promise of Easter, a balm for my soul over every loss, a reminder that life as we know it is not how it’s meant to be and all is certainly not as it seems.
And God will wipe away every tear from their eyes. Rev 7:17, 21: 1-7
About the Author
SARINA ELDER
Sarina is a Writer with a passion for Making A Difference (MAD).
As a first generation Australian who struggled with cultural identity as a child, Sarina understands the importance of Being, Belonging, and Becoming as a fundamental need in all of us, regardless of age.
As a misunderstood Creative, who was diagnosed with ADHD in her adult years, Sarina is particularly passionate about supporting others to identify and release their Creative, or the Creative in their children, and to embrace the Neurodiversity that accompanies Creativity.
Sarina believes the best way to embrace ourselves is through laughter, and is open to sharing her own stories with the hope of encouraging others.