Four Weeks

It has now been four weeks since her fortune was foretold.  Four weeks since the forecast of “most likely no more than four-to-six weeks.” Four weeks since being forewarned of her forthcoming doom.

It has been four weeks since learning her prognosis, but it has been four wonderful weeks.  Four joyous weeks.  Four buoyant weeks.   Four weeks filled with friends and playmates, packed with favorite activities and foods and treats and more treats and more treats.  Four weeks to recall nearly thirteen years of memories, to relive nearly thirteen years of experiences, and to rejoice in nearly thirteen years of life. 

Of course there have been a few scary moments. Times when I would look and wait… and wait… and wait. Listening for any sound to fill the silence. Watching for any motion to break the stillness. And for a fraction of a moment that seemed like many minutes, feeling the dread of the thought that it might not come… until her chest finally would swell and recede, and swell and recede again, as she breathed life and I breathed a sigh of relief. 

February 2013

It has been four weeks since being told to make the most of what could well be no more than four weeks--and we did. During those four weeks, I was able to accomplish nearly all that I had hoped. I was able to give Bailey most of the things that I knew brought her joy, and far more treats than likely should have been provided.  I was able to bring her together with many of her favorite canine and human friends, and at least talk to many others.  In those four weeks, and aided by some freakish weather, I was able to provide her the opportunities to enjoy her most favored activities—frolicking in snow, swimming in a creek, and rolling in mud. In those four weeks I was able to ease what little pain she felt, and provide comfort on the very few bad days she had. 

It has now been four weeks since the diagnosis, and we have entered the period of “most likely no more than four-to-six weeks.”  I could take comfort in the implied hope that is left by most likely, or I could wallow in self-pity as we await the inevitable.  But, most of the time, I feel neither hope nor forlorn.  What will come will come, and my hope or fear can have no sway on that.  I am thankful for each new day that is added to Bailey’s life, however many days may come, but not even that is really significant any longer.  More important to me now is that we had those four weeks.  More important is that we lived—fully lived—in those four weeks.  And most important is that we were fully conscious of living in those four weeks.

It has now been four weeks since her fate was foretold, and I feel fortunate for four weeks that I will never forget.

Well done, Bailey. Well lived, Bailey.