In the days leading up to our Lily’s passing, we were already grieving. It felt as though the light was going out in our lives, like something had torn our hearts out and was stomping repeatedly. The weight of the pain so strong, so real, so deep. I questioned many things. How this could be? Why wasn’t I able to stop what was happening to her? It was out of my control. The end was near, yet I didn’t want to let go. She was drifting further away, to somewhere unknown, and all I wanted was to keep her here.
This feeling was foreign. Our lives had been so, so good for so many years. All life’s struggles over the past years in sobriety were no match to the grief of losing our girl. We did all we could do. It was her time and we had to face reality, but when the vet came to help her on her way, I held on for dear life. I was holding so tightly to hope that it was just a dream and I would wake up at any moment. But it wasn’t a dream, it was real life. This was a time of suffering for us, but it would mean freedom for her. Freedom from the body that carried her throughout her life but could not sustain her any longer.
The vet walked in with the medicine that would stop her heart. She wouldn’t feel pain anymore when it was all over. I didn’t want to say ok. It wasn’t ok. As I looked into the eyes of the vet, seeking an answer, seeking a sign, something to help me accept that this was how it had to be, something beautiful happened. It was as if the Lord reached out to me. In that moment, the face prayer that I learned in my confirmation classes came over me. The prayer asked that I not look at another without first seeing Jesus’s face in the other. At the same moment, I saw the eyes of the Lord come through that vet, and he said, “You’re making the right decision.” I looked at him as long as I could, wanting more, but knowing it was a gift that I could not keep. The Lord knew it was what I needed at the time, because the guilt of euthanasia would have destroyed me otherwise. I said, “Ok.” I knew I had to let go of my sweet little love. It was time.
It is at the hardest moments in our lives, when all feels hopeless, when we are completely and utterly empty that he reaches out to us. Maybe not in the way we want him to. Maybe the answer is not the one we prayed for, but he will come. He will give us what we need. He came to tell me that it was our Lily’s time, that ending the suffering meant giving her a new life, a new body, in a place where pain no longer exists. Where the sun shines bright, the grass is always green, and the animals run free. A place where there is no fighting or fear of death. For animals in heaven, I believe that the waiting for their humans is just a second, because the painful reality of time is no more.
The days following her passing were a struggle with unbounding sadness, anger, guilt, and hopelessness. Grief after pet loss is real. Every corner of the house where she used to be, was empty. It hardly felt like home anymore. Our sweet Lily was more than just a dog. She was a part of our family, a rock in the middle of all the craziness. Such a simple being, full of love, always there, and for such a short time this blessing was ours. We will miss her dearly. But I know that after the stages of our grief pass, the memories of her will live on in the space in our hearts that she was always meant to be.
This experience has challenged my faith, as I’ve asked the famous question, “Why must we suffer this way?” In that, I’ve realized that my faith exists for such times as this, because without faith, all hope is lost. If God is love, then Lily was created by God as a gift of love. What better teacher than a dog to teach unconditional love within our sinful human existence. We are not worthy of a dog’s love, yet it is given to us in abundance.
We need to appreciate our gifts, because nothing in this life on earth is permanent. The only permanence is that God loves every one of us, even when we turn away. He wants every one of us to know him. To rest in him. In him, is where peace exists. No matter what we’ve done, if we ask him, he forgives. If we find stillness, he will speak. Somewhere in our deepest pain, he is there to heal. We don’t have to understand it, we just need to believe it, and more will be revealed.
