Six Months

Six months and a day ago I called my sister to tell her the news that had, in an instant, transformed a day full of optimism into one of despair. I told her about Bailey’s unexpected diagnosis and the even worse prognosis. And, in an attempt to provide comfort, she reminded me that veterinary prognoses were nothing more then best guesses, and that Bailey could well make it longer. “After all,” she noted, “this is Bailey! She’ll live another 6 months.”

Six months and a day ago, and for several days following, others offered similar words of encouragement. “She is so energetic—she is bound to live longer.” “Everyone is dying, just at different speeds.” “She looks so healthy—she’ll beat this.” Her three different vets seemed certain in the their advice to plan for no more than 4-6 weeks and to hope for an outside chance of maybe 3 months. But everyone else seemed to think that Bailey would live much longer. Maybe they were just being kind and supportive. But they all generously offered such encouraging words—thoughts that I did appreciate even though I was not quite able to accept the words. But that is not really accurate.

Six months and a day ago I did not want to accept encouraging words. I know… that must sound harsh (I feel like an ass even writing this thought). But it is the truth. It is not that I did not appreciate the support offered--I really did and still do. And it is not that I was wallowing in my despair or getting into my grief. Just the opposite. Now knowing that in a very short time I would or even might lose my most faithful companion, I wanted to savor every minute. And seeing Bailey with a newfound energy following the introduction of a pain medicine, I wanted to take advantage of every opportunity for both of us to live fully and enjoy what would be or even might be our last days together.

Six months and a day ago I did not want to adopt any thoughts that risked leading me down a path of denial, or that I could (and likely would) use to minimize what I was feeling. I wanted to experience both the pain and the joy of the situation to the fullest. And I most adamantly resisted any thought that Bailey might live longer, lest I start putting things off with notions of “there will be time”.  Six months ago I wanted to live each day as if it could be Bailey’s last, and I wanted to make each “last day” the best it could be.

My last words to my mother were, “We’ll speak again tomorrow.” She had called at a time when I was busy with mundane things that I did not really care about. Even though I knew that she was dying, I put her off. I said, “We’ll speak again tomorrow” without a thought that there might not be a tomorrow. And there wasn’t.

Six months and a day ago I decided to live as if Bailey had no more than 4 weeks left to live. And I am very glad and very proud that we—Bailey and I—did just that. It was a remarkable four weeks. But, five months and a day ago I held on to hope that Bailey might be able to swim one more time in the Potomac River. And four months and a day ago she did just that. And nearly three months ago Bailey celebrated the birthday-that-was-never-supposed-to-be. And two months ago she greeted another season that I never dreamed she would see. And one month ago, with a newfound un-realism, I ordered a ridiculously large bag of dog food with the absurd hope that Bailey would live long enough to eat it all.

Six months and a day ago I greatly appreciated the support and comfort that you all gave so freely, but I did not accept any encouragement for a longer life than the vets so confidently predicted. But six months and a day have passed and Bailey is still very much alive, albeit six months older and somewhat weaker. Six months have passed and what had seemed like an absurdly large order of 900 poop bags now just seems like everyday over shopping. Six months have passed and that large bag of dog food is nearly gone. Six months have passed and I am now absurdly hopeful for another six months.

Six months and a day ago I needed to think only in terms of days and weeks. But six months have passed. Now I can truly thank you all for not only your words of support, but also your words of encouragement. I suspect that at the time you may not have fully believed them yourself, but I am very glad that your predictions were right.

Six months have passed, and Bailey has not. Well done, Bailey. Good girl, Bailey.