When I first saw his picture online, I just knew he was meant to be mine. I called Buster's foster mom who said someone was coming the next day to meet him, so I told her I was on my way and left immediately, driving 2.5 hours one way to "meet" him that night. Of course, he left with me. :-) We didn't get home until after midnight, but we were both so energized that neither of us slept. In the beginning, he cried every time I left, but we eventually grew to trust each other unconditionally. He slept under the piano while I taught piano/vocal lessons. He came with me to the office on the days I counseled. He became a therapy dog for so many of my clients. He was my running buddy and my cuddling buddy, believing in his heart of hearts that he was a lap dog. Despite our almost-equal size, I loved every moment of his need to be nearly on top of me.
Over the last month, I began to watch him digress. I brought him to the vet last Saturday, May 5th, never dreaming that May 10th would be the day we'd have to say, "goodbye". Blood tests over this last week revealed depleted levels of all blood cells, except those indicating acute and agressive leukemia. After consulting with the doctor on Tuesday, and verifying that he would not worsen in two days, I took him home for two more nights. Even in the end, Buster was the one comforting me. He put his head on my shoulder while I cried. He licked the tears off my face as they streamed down my cheeks. He followed me everywhere for those last few hours and tried desperately, it seemed, to hide how miserable he was. The morning I took him in, his final gift to me was allowing me to see how miserable he was - in essence he was saying, "It's ok, Mama. You can let me go." It was like he knew I needed that, and, once again, I was aware of how much he was living for me. I knew my last and greatest sacrifice for him would be to release him from his pain, even though mine would grow beyond what I ever could imagine. Just before the meds were administered, Buster licked my tears one last time as if to say, "I'm ready now, Mama," and as much as I wasn't, I knew I had to say, "Ok". I couldn't let him keep hurting. That is how much I love him.
I miss him. I miss him so much. My heart aches when I open the door, and he is not there wagging his tail and entire backside in anticipation of the walk we were about to take. My bed feels empty because the mere foot I used to have is now the entirity of a full queen. I miss being squished. Every morning since Thursday, I have rolled over expecting his breath on the pillow right next to me. No, it never did smell like roses, but I miss that too. I know it's only been three days, and I am quite familiar with the phrase "time heals all wounds". But today, I am not healed. Today, I am wounded, and I am broken, and I am lonely. Today, I miss my baby, and I know that the time I will start to "feel" healed is far. Today, I am hurting, and today, I am crying...
But even more importantly, today, by the grace of God, I have Buster to thank for being able to say that "it is ok, to not be ok".
