Bear
(This post has nothing to do with Irish dance. It’s personal.)
Today is the last day in January and I still haven’t mailed the Christmas cards. And a new dilemma has arisen concerning one of the subjects in the photo card...
Bear died. Lots of tears in this house.
Scott and I have been married 17 years. Bear lived 15 1/2 years. He was our “first born”. We picked him from the litter when he was 3-weeks-old, and brought him home when he was 7-weeks-old.
He lived a very long time for a large male Golden Retriever. And for the most part his health was excellent. But the last several months he had more and more trouble with his hips, and often needed help getting up from the floor.
Then one day he just couldn’t get up. He looked at me with those big brown eyes and said, “Sorry, Mom, I just can’t do it anymore.”
The girls were at school. Scott came home from work and the two of us drove Bear to the vet.
We had the same vet for all 15 1/2 years. Through tears, we each said goodbye to one of the best dogs ever to grace this earth.
Many tears.
Then Scott and I went to pick the girls up from school, struggling with a strategy for how to break the news. We decided to bring them into the chapel. The girls knew that Bear was very old, and we had been prepping them somewhat with comments like “Bear may not live very much longer.”
So, with the four of us sitting in the back pew, I said, “Girls, today is a sad day. Bear died today.”
Katie (age 9) immediately burst into tears. Pure and simple grief.
Ellie (age 5) looked at her sister. She looked at me (also crying, but trying to hold it together). She looked at Scott (teary, too). She looked down at the floor. Then she looked back at me and asked...
“So... does this mean that we can get a cat?”
I love the practicality of my Ellie... and it sure felt good to laugh!
Today is the last day in January and I still haven’t mailed the Christmas cards. And a new dilemma has arisen concerning one of the subjects in the photo card...
Bear died. Lots of tears in this house.
Scott and I have been married 17 years. Bear lived 15 1/2 years. He was our “first born”. We picked him from the litter when he was 3-weeks-old, and brought him home when he was 7-weeks-old.
He lived a very long time for a large male Golden Retriever. And for the most part his health was excellent. But the last several months he had more and more trouble with his hips, and often needed help getting up from the floor.
Then one day he just couldn’t get up. He looked at me with those big brown eyes and said, “Sorry, Mom, I just can’t do it anymore.”
The girls were at school. Scott came home from work and the two of us drove Bear to the vet.
We had the same vet for all 15 1/2 years. Through tears, we each said goodbye to one of the best dogs ever to grace this earth.
Many tears.
Then Scott and I went to pick the girls up from school, struggling with a strategy for how to break the news. We decided to bring them into the chapel. The girls knew that Bear was very old, and we had been prepping them somewhat with comments like “Bear may not live very much longer.”
So, with the four of us sitting in the back pew, I said, “Girls, today is a sad day. Bear died today.”
Katie (age 9) immediately burst into tears. Pure and simple grief.
Ellie (age 5) looked at her sister. She looked at me (also crying, but trying to hold it together). She looked at Scott (teary, too). She looked down at the floor. Then she looked back at me and asked...
“So... does this mean that we can get a cat?”
I love the practicality of my Ellie... and it sure felt good to laugh!
Labels: family
posted by Meg | 11:34 PM
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2 comments
