She is so so tired, her little body unable to keep up anymore. Her little legs can’t function and carry her the way they used to, her breathing often heavy. Her youth, vitality, and vibrance are slowly being replaced by pain and sleep. While it makes me quite sad, I can’t help but think of the amazing memories and joy she brings to our little family every single day, and I smile, so grateful for getting the opportunity to simply have her in our lives.
Our little Lily is somewhat of a rescue dog. We don’t know her age, we don’t know her date or location of birth, we don’t know anything about her past before the day I picked her up, we don’t even know her actual name. She was dirty and matted, incredibly overweight, and well… I took her home after inquiring about her online. To be honest, I wasn’t even sure if we were going to keep her, but I couldn’t will myself to drive away without taking her with me, even if that meant finding her another home myself if ours didn’t work. When I first brought her to the vet a few days later, it felt very similar to when I’d sat in the doctors office with our adopted littlest the first time. Nope, we didn’t know her medical history. Nope, we had no idea if she was chipped, if she was current on her shots, if she’d been neutered, if she’d ever been a mama, if she’d ever bitten anyone, or if she had ever been out of the country.
I don’t know how many times I’ve wished she could talk, that she could tell me all about her life and her adventures before our family while she’s nestled on my lap. Although, to be honest, it’s probably best we don’t know.
Our family quickly loved up Miss Lily, and she was soon deeply loved and connected to us, and us with her. She nestled right in and we take her everywhere we go. She loves the adventure as much as we do, maybe even more so somedays from the way she goes a little bananas every time the overnight bag comes out or we say the words “Shall we go for a ride?!?”
I think I was in a little bit of denial about her age when we got her, and over the years she has had to have most of her teeth removed and her little tongue now just hangs out the side of her mouth. I always feared she was maybe a little older than what they “thought” she was… and this past winter that reality was finally confirmed.
This winter she started to limp a little, and couldn’t jump up on her favorite chair and climb to the top to hang out and watch the day pass by through her high up little perch anymore. Spring came and camping season arrived, and we knew something wasn’t right. We didn’t know if she was just that out of shape, or if it was something more serious, but we all commented how much she had obviously aged since the fall. After a call from our groomer that she couldn’t even handle standing anymore to get her hair cut, we knew it was time to go in.
I of course feared the worst (cuz that’s the way this mama is wired… over-thinker, over-worrier, over-doer, over-processor). I feared she was going to have something causing her pain that wasn’t treatable, or the only option was for expensive surgery and we would have to choose surgery or putting her down. In the end… well, she is old… she has knee issues, which affect her hips, which affect her back, which caused arthritis, and she’s still a bit overweight (despite the fact she gets no table scraps and only two tiny cups of diet dog food a day ~ poor thing ~ lol)…
We were told she was, in fact, in a good amount of continual pain, and we needed to start her on long term joint and pain management medicine. I hoped for the best, but deep inside kind of knew this was probably the start to the end…
Her aging becomes more and more evident every week, as she gets slower and slower, and more and more frail and weak. I watched her fall down the stairs inside our camper this morning and I just about started to cry.
We all age, we all slow down, we all start to tire… it’s the natural cycle of life. I think we all openly pray we will get to live long, healthy lives and reach a ripe old age of greatness before it’s our time to begin our earthly slumber. But as I continue to watch her struggle and fail, I can’t help but think about the realities of entering into that “next phase” … that “final phase” ~ and not just in our little dog’s world and reality, but also in my own life and circle of family.
Our little Lily is somewhat of a rescue dog. We don’t know her age, we don’t know her date or location of birth, we don’t know anything about her past before the day I picked her up, we don’t even know her actual name. She was dirty and matted, incredibly overweight, and well… I took her home after inquiring about her online. To be honest, I wasn’t even sure if we were going to keep her, but I couldn’t will myself to drive away without taking her with me, even if that meant finding her another home myself if ours didn’t work. When I first brought her to the vet a few days later, it felt very similar to when I’d sat in the doctors office with our adopted littlest the first time. Nope, we didn’t know her medical history. Nope, we had no idea if she was chipped, if she was current on her shots, if she’d been neutered, if she’d ever been a mama, if she’d ever bitten anyone, or if she had ever been out of the country.
I don’t know how many times I’ve wished she could talk, that she could tell me all about her life and her adventures before our family while she’s nestled on my lap. Although, to be honest, it’s probably best we don’t know.
Our family quickly loved up Miss Lily, and she was soon deeply loved and connected to us, and us with her. She nestled right in and we take her everywhere we go. She loves the adventure as much as we do, maybe even more so somedays from the way she goes a little bananas every time the overnight bag comes out or we say the words “Shall we go for a ride?!?”
I think I was in a little bit of denial about her age when we got her, and over the years she has had to have most of her teeth removed and her little tongue now just hangs out the side of her mouth. I always feared she was maybe a little older than what they “thought” she was… and this past winter that reality was finally confirmed.
This winter she started to limp a little, and couldn’t jump up on her favorite chair and climb to the top to hang out and watch the day pass by through her high up little perch anymore. Spring came and camping season arrived, and we knew something wasn’t right. We didn’t know if she was just that out of shape, or if it was something more serious, but we all commented how much she had obviously aged since the fall. After a call from our groomer that she couldn’t even handle standing anymore to get her hair cut, we knew it was time to go in.
I of course feared the worst (cuz that’s the way this mama is wired… over-thinker, over-worrier, over-doer, over-processor). I feared she was going to have something causing her pain that wasn’t treatable, or the only option was for expensive surgery and we would have to choose surgery or putting her down. In the end… well, she is old… she has knee issues, which affect her hips, which affect her back, which caused arthritis, and she’s still a bit overweight (despite the fact she gets no table scraps and only two tiny cups of diet dog food a day ~ poor thing ~ lol)…
We were told she was, in fact, in a good amount of continual pain, and we needed to start her on long term joint and pain management medicine. I hoped for the best, but deep inside kind of knew this was probably the start to the end…
Her aging becomes more and more evident every week, as she gets slower and slower, and more and more frail and weak. I watched her fall down the stairs inside our camper this morning and I just about started to cry.
We all age, we all slow down, we all start to tire… it’s the natural cycle of life. I think we all openly pray we will get to live long, healthy lives and reach a ripe old age of greatness before it’s our time to begin our earthly slumber. But as I continue to watch her struggle and fail, I can’t help but think about the realities of entering into that “next phase” … that “final phase” ~ and not just in our little dog’s world and reality, but also in my own life and circle of family.
I think about and watch my parents, who are in the process of moving into nearly full time retirement after years and years of faithful and fruitful work and child rearing. They’re still very active and healthy and always on the go… they’re probably both busier now in retirement than they were when they were still working. But it’s also the entering into their “next stage” … which is another natural step in their aging, on their timeline of reaching that “final step.”
I watched my parents journey with both sets of their parents through their final stages. But I wasn't old enough to fully know the magnitude of those footsteps through those years and that season. I often desperately wish I had been more mature and had had more of those deep conversations with my grandparents that I would love to have now, but can’t.
My parents aren't there yet, and hopefully we have lots and lots of years ahead of us before we start to have to think about and have more of those larger conversations and transitions. But those days are coming.
Another reality is that their aging also signifies the reality of my own aging. I now have an adult child who is out on his own, making his own choices and responsibilities. Someday, he will be the one having to transition into taking care of me, having the big conversations with me. It’s kind of a sobering thought… and while it isn’t something I want to stop and dwell on in great depth, it is also something I don’t want to just ignore and brush off until later either.
I’m on a journey learning to live in the right now, but I’m also about being aware of the tomorrows. I am not one who wants to keep tripping over the past, or letting the future paralyze me, but I am one who is trying to be conscious of… to simply be aware of this amazing and wonderful full cycle of life. Conception, to birth, to death, and everything in between. We are all on our own little journey’s.
I want to help my children grow and mature gracefully. I want to help myself grow old gracefully. I want to help my parents grow old gracefully. I want to help our little Lily dog grow old gracefully. My heart just aches as I watch and care for her… and she is only a dog… I cannot even begin to imagine having to say goodbye to her, and worse yet, someday having to say goodbye to a human loved one.
I think about our little Faith MaryJo. Yes, we said goodbye to her - but that was different. That was a goodbye to a future, a dream, a what-if that was simply taken too soon. For my parents, and with their parents, those are goodbyes to memories, to great moments shared. Goodbyes to years and years of every single day togethers.
I’m gently reminded again of the grand importance of intentionality, of our need to take care of our health - our physical, mental, spiritual, relational health. We have no idea the number that God has put in our books of life… we don’t know when we’ll turn the page to the day that will be the last. We merely need to live and love well each and every possible day.
Our little Lilith might have lots of puppy months and years left, of course I don’t know that. I hope we all have lots of months and years left, but of course no one knows that either. It is my deep ache and prayer that we can all work on continuing to be aware, be involved, be diligent, be fully present, making things a little better each day… a little bolder, a little stronger, a little healthier, a little happier than the day before.
Say the I loves you’s. Say the I’m sorry’s. Say the I forgive you’s. Make the commitments. Spend the time, take the initiative. Listen, learn, love, before it’s too late. May we end each day being ok if it were to be our last. May we end each day being ok if it were to be anyone else’s last.
May we live fully with intentionality and greatness. May we live healthy, regret free, ready to embrace and say hello to tomorrow, while also being prepared to possibly have to say goodbye today. We are given this one life, this one great life… It’s ours for the taking, it’s ours for the making.
So go out - take hold, and do what you can, and do what you have to, to make it great, before it's simply too late.
I watched my parents journey with both sets of their parents through their final stages. But I wasn't old enough to fully know the magnitude of those footsteps through those years and that season. I often desperately wish I had been more mature and had had more of those deep conversations with my grandparents that I would love to have now, but can’t.
My parents aren't there yet, and hopefully we have lots and lots of years ahead of us before we start to have to think about and have more of those larger conversations and transitions. But those days are coming.
Another reality is that their aging also signifies the reality of my own aging. I now have an adult child who is out on his own, making his own choices and responsibilities. Someday, he will be the one having to transition into taking care of me, having the big conversations with me. It’s kind of a sobering thought… and while it isn’t something I want to stop and dwell on in great depth, it is also something I don’t want to just ignore and brush off until later either.
I’m on a journey learning to live in the right now, but I’m also about being aware of the tomorrows. I am not one who wants to keep tripping over the past, or letting the future paralyze me, but I am one who is trying to be conscious of… to simply be aware of this amazing and wonderful full cycle of life. Conception, to birth, to death, and everything in between. We are all on our own little journey’s.
I want to help my children grow and mature gracefully. I want to help myself grow old gracefully. I want to help my parents grow old gracefully. I want to help our little Lily dog grow old gracefully. My heart just aches as I watch and care for her… and she is only a dog… I cannot even begin to imagine having to say goodbye to her, and worse yet, someday having to say goodbye to a human loved one.
I think about our little Faith MaryJo. Yes, we said goodbye to her - but that was different. That was a goodbye to a future, a dream, a what-if that was simply taken too soon. For my parents, and with their parents, those are goodbyes to memories, to great moments shared. Goodbyes to years and years of every single day togethers.
I’m gently reminded again of the grand importance of intentionality, of our need to take care of our health - our physical, mental, spiritual, relational health. We have no idea the number that God has put in our books of life… we don’t know when we’ll turn the page to the day that will be the last. We merely need to live and love well each and every possible day.
Our little Lilith might have lots of puppy months and years left, of course I don’t know that. I hope we all have lots of months and years left, but of course no one knows that either. It is my deep ache and prayer that we can all work on continuing to be aware, be involved, be diligent, be fully present, making things a little better each day… a little bolder, a little stronger, a little healthier, a little happier than the day before.
Say the I loves you’s. Say the I’m sorry’s. Say the I forgive you’s. Make the commitments. Spend the time, take the initiative. Listen, learn, love, before it’s too late. May we end each day being ok if it were to be our last. May we end each day being ok if it were to be anyone else’s last.
May we live fully with intentionality and greatness. May we live healthy, regret free, ready to embrace and say hello to tomorrow, while also being prepared to possibly have to say goodbye today. We are given this one life, this one great life… It’s ours for the taking, it’s ours for the making.
So go out - take hold, and do what you can, and do what you have to, to make it great, before it's simply too late.
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