Those Tough Calls

Day 30 (March 5, 2019)

Oh Lord,

            When I was home for my younger sister’s high school graduation, in early June 2018, my family noticed a lump on Maggie’s hip (our family dog’s hip). We thought it could just be a bite from something since the antihistamine we gave her seemed to reduce the swelling. But, the day after flying back into Canada, my dad called Dane and I to let us know it was not a bite but a fast-moving form of cancer. The vet gave her about a month, maybe, to live. I was an utter mess and requested to my family, since I was not able to be there, that they keep me informed on how she was doing and if there were any major changes. Selfishly, I prayed that Maggie would make it to Christmas so I could see her, and hug her, one last time, but I knew that was asking a lot.

            About five months later—on October 22, 2018—I got a text from my sister telling me to call her. When I called her, she started crying, so I was immediately handed off to my dad. (In my head, I was like s***.) My dad got on the phone and told me in the most loving, yet direct, way he could that he had concluded that it was time to put Miss Maggie May down. I’m sorry to say this but, immediately, anger flared up, and I asked him why?? The thing was I had not gotten any updates recently saying things were starting to go downhill. I was caught off guard and was so upset because I had started feeling hopeful that she would make it to Christmas. My dad explained to me that over the last couple days, Maggie had stopped eating and could hardly stand up on her own. The downhill spiral had come on so fast, and he had wanted to be sure before calling me with news he knew would hurt.

            Lord, I have experienced deaths in my life before, but can I be honest? I have never felt the type of heart ache like I did on that day, and the weeks following, ever before in my life. Lord, I had my family put me on video chat and leave me on the floor next to her. For hours, I just laid there virtually with her and told her over and over again how much I loved her and how deeply sorry I was that I could not be there in person. She may not have been able to see the 2D version of me, but I knew she heard me. Her eyebrows would raise up every time I would speak, and she would look towards the phone. Oh Lord, it hurt to the very depths of my soul to see my family members be able to hug her shakes away and kiss her sweet nose. Don’t get me wrong, Lord, I was so grateful that my family was there with her. But, Jesus, I couldn’t do that, and it tore my heart apart. All I could do was lie there with her and speak to her lovingly until my family took her to the vet. When the moment came, I will say Lord, I was thankful you gave my brother and sister the courage to go with my dad to the vet. (I did not want him to go alone. Maggie was his girl, Lord, and though he put on a brave face, I knew he was hurting deeply.) It was, thankfully, a peaceful transition, and what helps is to know you will be taking great care of her until I am able to be with her again and hug her endlessly.

            Jesus, I know you know why this memory is on my mind today. Nothing is a surprise to you. Especially not that phone call I got this morning. I knew, right away, that something was wrong because my mom does not call me on the landline to tell me she is going to video chat me. Normally she just straight up calls me on video chat. Instead of her calling me, I told her I would call her back in a few minutes and when I did, I was immediately handed off to my dad. Automatically my brain recognized the pattern of bad news and, as you can guess, in my head I was like s*** not again. I gave them a look that made them sigh and affirm that they were about to give me bad news.

            Before they could say anything, I dreadfully asked if it was our 13-year-old cat Bruiser, and they said no. Terror struck me for a split second as I asked them if it was a person. (I was so scared something happened to my brother on his drive to work.) Very quickly they calmed my fears and told me nothing had happened to anyone we knew. Before I could ask another question my mom, barely audible, asked what other pets do we have? Instantly, I just groaned out a long no and looked at my family through barely contained tears. (Lord, my heart just couldn’t take another death of a beloved family pet. It had only been four months since Maggie’s passing after all.)

            But, unfortunately, it was just that. My mom explained that Kringle (our sweet cockatiel) had passed this morning. It sent a pang of hurt through my heart when I learned that my mom had found him lying on the bottom of the cage breathing out labored breathes. There was nothing they could do except love him tenderly in his last moments. So, my mom petted his head until he fluttered his wings and took his final, soft, breath. (Lord, why did you take Kringle too? Did Maggie miss him terribly?) Oh Lord, my heart wishes so badly that I could have been there to love him in his final moments. That little guy was always there for me especially during those late homework nights. He would sit in the part of the cage closest to where I was sitting and listen any time I talked or cooed at him. Honestly, Lord, that little bundle of feathers was such a sweet little listener. How I wish he could have heard me say that I loved him one last time.

            The one thing that is helping me, in this moment, is the knowledge that Kringle was nearly 25 years old when he passed. So, honestly, Kringle lived an exceptionally long life. (He was ancient!) Lord, I hope he lived a happy one since we sure did love him so. I mean, any time he would start talking we would all run to the family room to chat with him. His favorite things to say were: “Kringle is a pretty bird” and “Good morning, Kringle.” Sometimes, if we were lucky, we could get him to look in his little mirror, and he would start wolf whistling. (We like to say his reflection was his girlfriend.) But I think the thing that Kringle will be remembered for most of all, and I think my family would agree, is how he would make his presence known every Christmas morning. Every time we would open gifts, next to him, Kringle would chirp incessantly and flap his wings like crazy until we were all covered in bird seed and feathers. (He did this EVERY Christmas morning—no exaggeration. I think he was just as excited as us for the holiday and had to join in the festivities.)

            Lord, though Kringle lived a long life, it has been really hard today knowing that I was not able to say goodbye, in person, to another family pet. It has made me re-hash old emotions about Maggie’s passing as well. (Honestly, Lord, if my parents call me to tell me about Bruiser passing, I swear my heart will not be liable for what it will do.) It is just so hard being so far away, sometimes, because I cannot be there for these moments. It hurts because those sweet souls have always been there for me, and I would have wanted to be there for them in return. So, please, be with them now, Lord. Enjoy that moment when Kringle and Maggie are reunited for me. But, most of all, just let each of them know I will see them in a little while to pet their heads and tell them I love them soooo much in person.

Always,

Your Daughter Kaitlan

P.S. Lord, I realize this journal does not have to do with OCD and Trichotillomania, but the reality is that unexpected things happen amidst the struggle, and it is during those moments that we need your loving comfort, and support, even more. So, will you help comfort those who are also mourning the death of a furry, feathery, scaly, slimy (all the adjectives) family member? Some say pets won’t be in Heaven, but I can’t believe that because pets have the purest souls. They are the ones that are truly too good for this world. So, with that in mind, will you please watch over our pets until we are reunited with them again in Heaven? Thank you from the bottom of our hearts.

Thank you for reading! If you are new, this is a chronological blog series. It is best read in order. CLICK HERE for the intro.