I’ve always been a believer in “The show must go on,”; but there are times when it can’t go on, and this is one of them.
Robbie’s condition was hopeless, and getting worse. I’d rather not go into details. We’d tried everything, held back nothing that promised any hope. But this morning there was no hope left at all.
Eighteen years we had her–a prodigious age for a cat. Most of my family has died. The few who are left live very far away. Our pets have always been a very important part of our lives. More so now than ever. You discover how much your soul has in common with your pet’s.
And that’s about as far as I can go, just now.
My sympathies are with you Lee. When I face this, in 2018, the folks here at your blog helped me greatly. Like yourself, I have little family left, and most are distant. My household is myself, and a cat.
The veterinarian who diagnosed the cat I lost 6 years ago is a Christian man, and we both knew that he was treating me and much as he was treating her. When he delivered the news that she had lymphoma, I was devastated. He took reasonable measures, but there was only so much which could have been done. Much like your situation with Robbie, it happened suddenly. (As I write this, I am fighting back tears.)
The veterinarian, bless his heart, sent a sympathy card which did more to alleviate my grief than anything else. It was a small open, written from the perspective of the pet, and ended with the words:
“Speak not of heaven,
it was heaven living with you.”
In my case, I had literally rescued her from a very bad situation, and brought her to a home where she lived in comfort for over 10 years, and she made her gratitude known, during that time.
You made a good home for Robbie and gave her all you could, to sustain her life. Eighteen years is quite good, so I know that you were doing it right. In our fallen world, there is no way to revert some tragedies, but we do our best, and you have done your best. All I can suggest is to remember that you did all you could possibly do, and when there was no more to do, you didn’t resort to vain actions which can only serve to prolong suffering and stave off grief. You have done well, Lee.
I was sitting in the examining room, weeping, when a young vet came in and said “How are you today?” I was tempted to bite her, but I only said “Guess!”
Definitely the best thing for her to have said. Wise veterinary staff have learned that this is as sensitive of a subject as the loss of a human family member, and act accordingly.
Take rest in knowing that you’ve done all that you could do, and done it the right way.
I know, from firsthand experience, how much this hurts, but it will get better.
It’s awfully lonely here this evening.
Amen. I know you did everything humanly possible. Sometimes, that doesn’t make the pain any less for the present, but be assured that the Lord will be with you to comfort you. My prayers continue for peace and healing. We literally need healing after an event like this.
A song request if you wish: A Brighter Day by Carroll.
Maybe I’ll post that a little later.
I want to sit outside and have a cigar.
… and we do receive healing. Our Creator is merciful and kind. He keeps track: Ps 56:8 “You have kept count of my tossings; put my tears in your bottle. Are they not in your book?”
All of us experience grief. Our Father takes no pleasure in these things. His original creation was worthy to be called “very good”, so we know that the death and suffering of both man and animals was not the original plan. Our God is also just, and will not forget the suffering of His creatures. Honestly, that is a foundational element of my hope.
But God knows our limitations, and he helps. We can only do so much in our own strength, but we can do much more with His help.
My limitations are sitting on me rather heavily today.
Sure, whatever works for you. Another one to consider sometime: Dean and Mary Brown with What A Healing Jesus. That one has been in my mind since yesterday.
I was dreading reading this, but my prayers are with you and your wife at this time of grief. And I’m sitting here weeping for you too, especially after your words, unknowable2. Thank God for wonderful and understand veterinarians too.
Thank you, Torrie.
I am so sorry, Lee. Will continue to pray for you and Pattie every day.
Thank you, Teddy, we need those prayers.
Oh, Lee, I’m so sorry. I weep for you and with you. There’s not much more that I can say. I know. I understand. And I weep. And pray.
Thank you, Phoebe.
I don’t know what to do with myself today.
Mousekin – So sorry, Lee. We prayed, but God knows best. The hurt of grief can be unbearable, but you believe and trust in the Lord, so He will see you through this. May He comfort and strengthen you in every way every day.
Thanks for that, I need it.
Sorry for your loss. Will pray for you and Pat.
So sorry for your loss. I have also had a cat that I dearly loved, for about the same number of years, and had to say goodbye when it became obvious that he couldn’t eat anymore and was dying slowly. They are more than just animals, or even just “pets” – they are like our children and we love them as if they were real “human” members of our family and our hearts. Praying for God’s comfort and peace to surround you during this time.
Thank you–for understanding.
When I had to take my Blackie Bunny to the vet to be put down, I cried so much I had to go to the car while my wife handled the rest. The Biblical stance is to do as much as you can for your animal but don’t go into debt with super expensive surgeries when it is their time to go to the Rainbow Bridge.
Loved ones are loved ones, whether human or animal.
I had to put my beloved dog, Leo down. The vet sent me sympathy card. The pain we feel from the loss of a pet is real. You did what you could, is the best I can say. You are Patty are in our prayers.
Thank you, Mike–we need all the prayers we can get.
I’m so sorry you had to say goodbye to your beloved pet. A few months ago my daughter and I lost our 20 year old cat Sigma. My daughter was 12 when we got her. And through the years I’ve said goodbye to many others, often under especially painful circumstances. You’re not alone. We grieve with you.
Wow, 20 years old–great genes and lots and lots of loving.
Our home feels so empty now.
My condolences