Mortality

My dog is 15 years old. She moves a lot slower then she once did, is pretty much deaf and sleeps nearly all day long. Nearly every time my husband and I see her sleeping like one dead, we check carefully for breathing. There have been a couple of times that I have touched her or called her name and she has simply not moved. I think "She's gone." for a heart-stopping instant and then she takes a breath or starts awake and all is normal again. It's not like we have any reason to assume she will die any time soon...but 15 is not a youthful dog. According to this chart, Lucy is nearly 85 years of age in human years.

My dad just turned 85. My mother will be 85 in May. I don't find myself as aware of their ages as I am of my dog's, perhaps because I only see them about once a year. Still, my equivalent of "checking the breathing" occurs every time the phone rings in the middle of the night. For just a moment, the world stands still. I imagine the worst scenario. For that frozen moment, I hold on to the world I know, knowing that when I pick up the phone, my world may be irrevocably changed.

Every day I practice preparing for loss with my beloved dog and by extension, my beloved parents. But in my heart, I know I can never prepare. All I can do is treasure each moment we have together. So, I am going home for Christmas. San Francisco, not Tucson. I want to be with my family, in our family home, with all our furniture, traditions and all the familiar baggage. I only wish the dog could be there, too.