It is looking more and more probable that we will have our dog, Princess, humanely euthanized in the next day or two. She doesn't seem to be responding sufficiently to the prednisone and even our vet has stated the time may be near. So, needless to say, there is a saddness that pervades our household.
As I am certain each of you reading this knows and has experienced yourself, watching someone you care about suffer is an agonizing process. You want so much to minimize their pain, but you don't have the ability to do so. You want to reassure them that everything will be alright, but you don't want to be dishonest either. You want to make them as comfortable as possible, yet you know the process of dying often is very UNcomfortable.
In many ways, the process is more difficult when dealing with an animal that doesn't understand human language. When my mother was dying, we talked about the end of her life and her hopes for the future of my life and my brother's. We talked about her fears and the uncertainty of what, if anything, lay beyond this life.
You can't genuinely have this kind of conversation with your dog, cat, iguana, gerbil or parakeet. I am sure my soothing voice and gentle strokes of her head brings Princess some degree of comfort, but the bewildered look in her eyes tells me she doesn't know why her world has slowed to a crawl. And I'm certain she doesn't understand our deliberations as to when we will decide humanely to bring her suffering to an end.
Experiences such as these -- the microcosm of one household -- help to explain why I periodically get down. There is great suffering in the world, at large, and it can be agonizing to think about it. Just as with our little doggy, it pains me that I am impotent to do much of anything about it.
The best I can do is write about the injustices and try to live my singular life in a way that values all other life forms. But the long reach of suffering affects us all -- even when we are not aware of it.
As I am certain each of you reading this knows and has experienced yourself, watching someone you care about suffer is an agonizing process. You want so much to minimize their pain, but you don't have the ability to do so. You want to reassure them that everything will be alright, but you don't want to be dishonest either. You want to make them as comfortable as possible, yet you know the process of dying often is very UNcomfortable.
In many ways, the process is more difficult when dealing with an animal that doesn't understand human language. When my mother was dying, we talked about the end of her life and her hopes for the future of my life and my brother's. We talked about her fears and the uncertainty of what, if anything, lay beyond this life.
You can't genuinely have this kind of conversation with your dog, cat, iguana, gerbil or parakeet. I am sure my soothing voice and gentle strokes of her head brings Princess some degree of comfort, but the bewildered look in her eyes tells me she doesn't know why her world has slowed to a crawl. And I'm certain she doesn't understand our deliberations as to when we will decide humanely to bring her suffering to an end.
Experiences such as these -- the microcosm of one household -- help to explain why I periodically get down. There is great suffering in the world, at large, and it can be agonizing to think about it. Just as with our little doggy, it pains me that I am impotent to do much of anything about it.
The best I can do is write about the injustices and try to live my singular life in a way that values all other life forms. But the long reach of suffering affects us all -- even when we are not aware of it.
I'm so sorry.
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