In sunlight and in shadow

Yesterday was Fig's last. His gradual decline of the past week took a turn for the worse by late weekend when he stopped eating altogether - the tastiest handfed treats could no longer tempt him. We forcefed him on Tuesday evening, but it was evident that his kidneys had succumbed to the cancer at last, and he was growing weaker. It seemed a part of him had already left us, as it was difficult for him to interact with us and our touch seemed to bother him. So we let him decide how to spend his last day, and he chose to spend most of it outside on the deck, soaking up the sunshine, watching the birds at the feeder, and sniffing the cool February air in between naps inside.

Fortunately the vet I spoke to last week was able to come out the same evening, so we took our final pictures, said our last goodbyes, and smiled bittersweet smiles as the ever gentlemanly Fig walked stiffly to the door to greet the vet and her assistant as they entered, his tail plume held high one last time. He then returned to his place on the rug near the fireplace and waited. The vet quickly administered the shot and put him in my arms, where he passed away peacefully at 7:20pm on February 10, 2010. His death was totally without fear, struggling, stress, or pain - only gentle compassion to guide him from the sunlight into the shadow.

I was surprised to find a sense of peace when he died, along with the certainty that we had done absolutely the best thing for him. He had 6 months of life, almost all of it quality time with the ability to enjoy his normal activities, beyond the vet's original prognosis. He never had to suffer the trauma of another vet visit and its attendant poking and prodding after September. And honoring the decisions we had discussed and made beforehand regarding letting him go when the quality of his life declined, we did let him go in the gentlest and most dignified way possible. I have never had a pet euthanized at home before, but now I can't imagine doing it any other way, circumstances permitting.

Yes, there is a hole in my heart today, and I feel as if I have been kicked in the stomach. I sob intermittenly, and I miss the sight of him curled on the cushion by my desk or looking out the patio doors at the birds. But I have loved a magnificent friend, and been loved by him in return, and the pain of my loss, and the grief work ahead of me, seem a worthy price to pay for the gift of that love.

Rest in sweet, sweet peace, my dearest Fig. I will never forget you, or the life lessons you shared with me.