jennjxn

Well, not the very end. Because we are not there yet and my imagination is too wild for me to stay there right now.

On March 25 of last year, I made a deal with the universe. I wasn't ready. One more year. Please.

One more year is marginally less than what I received.

In that year, Bernie has had short spurts of joyful wildness, jumping around the room. Infrequent, but enthusiastically welcomed, dance parties. She occassionally would lay on her back and turning into a giant fur squiggle, evidence that she still had interest in her favorite hobby. She would hunt for the joint supplements we'd hidden around the room. She demanded, with a furrowed brow, a prompt and punctual food schedule.

Through the gradual decline, I regularly asked her, “Is it still worth it?”

She answered by wiggling her eyebrows and I trusted that I knew what that meant.

On her particularly old lady days, I would gently sing Cate Le Bon's chorus of Are you with me, now? I would get a wag of the tail.

Those have become exceedingly special over the course of the last year. A fact I have been aware of this whole time, even while I tried to deny their increasing rarity.

Two weeks ago, as she wore her giant lampshade collar, her eyes zeroed in on me and I watched her develop the idea to chase me around the kitchen island. She smiled and I laughed and we did two laps. Tired, and under the give of her arthritic hips, she collapsed into her sheet. My heart ached in a whisper that knew that was probably the last time.

It felt like a gift.

I just thought we still had more time. And that is why we decided to do the surgery.

The universe was quick to remind me that I had my year and more.

Bernie has spent 48 hours at the emergency vet. She has met about a dozen more people. I'm sure she would like me to correct my earlier statement, as making friends is clearly her favorite hobby. They have been so good to her. And she has been happy to demonstrate her food negotiation skills. She wasn't there for 10 hours before she found all of the heart strings, pulling and lulling the staff into giving her canned chicken over her bland prescription food.

Don't worry. She ate both.

Yesterday, they let us use the on call room to visit. I laid on the floor with her. We both scooted around the floor trying to find our own comfort. And then each other's comfort. We did some cuddles and some back scratches. And then I turned on some music.

And Cate Le Bon asked us both Are you with me now?

And Bernie placed her head in my lap and quickly fell into a nap. We haven't done that since she was a puppy.

We sat there like that for over an hour. Bernie sleeping in my lap while we both floated in Sad Lady music.

And it was perfect. And it felt like surrender. It felt like permission.