Maggee Mae and Her Final Day

I hate waking up.

I hate coming home.

I hate meal time.

I hate cooking.

I hate these moments, because these are the moments I subconsciously forget that Maggee's gone.  These are the moments that the realization she's not waiting for me, or wishing I accidentally drop the chicken I'm cooking, or hoping I'll set my plate down so she can lick up whatever is left, these are the moments that make me, force me, to acknowledge that my favorite little fur friend is gone.  I'm not going to see her again during this lifetime.  These are the moments I hate.

I just miss her, ya know?  She was the sweetest, funniest little thing.  Her death didn't come suddenly, I had been preparing myself for months that it might happen soon.  But once she went downhill, she went downhill a lot faster that what I was ready for.  After all, just a week ago she was jumping around playing with Steve hoping he'd get her a treat.

Thursday she was fine.

Friday it seemed she had gotten significantly more blind and seemed to be in more pain.  We tried to give her pain pills but she refused to take them.  

Saturday she started to fall over a lot.  She couldn't walk up the stairs.  She'd get stuck in odd places, like under our kitchen table.  We thought, "let's take her to the vet just to see what we can do to help her."

So that's what we did.   We knew that this might be her "time."

Saturday morning I remember cautiously asking Steve, "when do you think we need to have that talk?"  He knew what I meant, neither of us wanted to say it out loud though.

Sidebar:  Back in November, Maggee got really sick, we thought that was going to be her "time."  She had lost a lot of weight.  Turns out she had a gastrointestinal infection and after some meds, she was happy as could be.  The vet said she had lost some muscle mass, that's common in old labs.  He said she may not be getting enough protein.  After that visit, we started giving her 1-2 eggs every day.  For the first little while we noticed she even seemed to be gaining weight, but I think we were just seeing what we wanted to see.

When we took Maggee back to the vet on Saturday, he noticed a mass in her abdomen, a HUGE mass.  One that wasn't noticed in November.  We didn't run tests, so we can't say for sure, but the vet thinks it was a cancerous tumor.  She fit the description perfectly.  The type of tumor he suspected it was, was one that was aggressive, one that sucked any and all nutrients from the dog.  Our pup had lost between 10-20 pounds since her last visit just 2 months ago.  We realized that there was nothing more we could do for Maggee so we talked to the vet, made an appointment for Monday and told Steve's family to come over Sunday and say goodbye.  Man, trying to make the appointment at the vet's was awful.  I knew it was best for Maggee, I knew she was suffering, this had all just happened faster than I thought it would.  The girl at the desk asked me the very first question, "What's your last name?"  and I lost it.  I could barely utter "Howe."  I gave up pretty quickly and went to trade spots with Steve (he was sitting down with Maggee).  He made the appointment and we went home.

I kept questioning whether or not we were doing the right thing.  Was it too soon?  Was there ANYTHING else we could do?  Then Heavenly Father put my mind at ease.  Maggee went downhill, and fast.

Saturday night, she lost her balanced and tipped over.  That was the last time she stood.  Steve picked her up and put her on the couch.  We laid down several towels and blankets, just in case she accidentally peed, but I guess her kidneys shut down, because she never did.  We didn't sleep much that night, we just laid there, watching her.  Her breathing became labored.  We didn't think she'd make it through the next day.

But Sunday was the same: sitting, waiting, watching.

Sunday night I cuddled her almost all night long and just cried.  Was this really the last time I'd cuddle with her?  I kept my hand on her chest to feel her heart beat.  I sunk in and out of consciousness.

Monday came, no change.  I was honestly surprised.  I didn't think she'd keep holding on, but she did.  

I've heard some people say that when a human is dying, they hold on for others, they fight death, but once given permission to go, they stop fighting.

I don't know exactly how one fights death, but I felt like that's what Maggee was doing.  All day Sunday we kept telling her that it was OK to go.  We'd be OK without her.  And we will be, just not yet...

But she kept holding on.  

Monday at noon we took her to the vet.  Stephen, Steve's mom, Steve's 2 sisters, and I all stood around her petting her and telling her how much we loved her as she drifted to sleep, and eventually into her next life.

I didn't want to go home.  A huge part of me wants to move to a place that has never had Maggee in it, but I know that won't fix this.

What's was even more cruel about that day is the fact that I had to go to my post-op appointment right after we got back from the vet's.  I looked like an absolute makeup-less mess.  I didn't care.  And surprisingly I held it together.  I'm still not sure how.

Tuesday Stephen stayed home from work, I was working from home... well... trying to work from home.  Sometimes my tears would get in the way of my vision.

Wednesday was the first day that I was alone in the home.  It was awful.  So quiet.  Maggee wasn't a loud dog, she never barked, never whimpered, just followed us around silently.  Or so I thought; I guess I never realized how much noise her little paws made.  Her claws would click on the ground everywhere she went, not a loud click, but an audible click.

Now our house is silent.

and empty.

and it's hard to be here all day.

Right now it's hard.  We know we'll be OK, and we know that we'll see her again.

We just really miss her.