This morning my co-worker's father died. He had been ill with ALS for over a year and his health rapidly deteriorated over the last month. My colleague had moved back home to help his mom care for his dad. You can sympathize with his feelings of frustration, sadness, and, today, relief at the final letting go.
Our dog is getting nearer to her time to go, too. She's 13 yo, and they have been love-filled, furry years, indeed. We have some trips planned next year and I catch myself planning for her incarceration at my MILs but then...wait, will the dog still be with us in the spring? Will we make it through these winter holidays with her? My thoughts run along this vein for a little while before I pull myself up short and just appreciate her while she's still around. But, between you and me, I growing increasingly afraid of how much it's going to hurt. To be honest, I think that fear of the pain constitutes a large part of my anxiety around her death. There's no preparing for it, and I'm not ungrateful for it. I'll gladly take my medicine like every other doof who has fallen head over heels for her four-legged partner. But I've not much experience with such a loss and the unknown of its scope is unnerving.
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