I sit outside in the perfectly still day. Again listening to the bird calls and bees, but now with a leaden heart. Mischief is on the last few steps of her journey. She had refused to come in for two days, staying outside last night, even in the rain. This morning she appeared at the door sodden and wobbling on her too-weak legs. I wrapped her in a towel and held her close, thanking her for coming back to say goodbye. I had been prepared to let her find a place outside to be alone in her final moments. It is so painful to see her failing, but still better (for me) to be able to be with her.
I thought about taking her to the vet, to “assist” the transition. But… I doubt she would survive the anxieties of the trip. But… more so, I find myself wondering. I’ve always thought I was a proponent of compassionate euthanasia. Now I wonder. This transition from life to not life is so profound. And the struggle against it so strong, is there not something there we are meant to understand? And at the same moment I’m filled with terrible awe at the fact the we, across the whole of humanity (and now our pets) have such a wide spectrum of experience of this moment, across a wide spectrum of choice. What does it all mean? And how do we look at it full-face so we can discern its meaning?
Life/death, the ultimate mystery. It plays such mischief with our rationality.
Mischief is at peace now. She has crossed over and begins her journey to join her ancestors in the Egyptian pantheon of gods.