They were hoping to hear better news, but it wasn’t to be.
God took Teddy home and some small part of me finds it comforting that Sam is no longer ‘alone’. Sam now has his friend to show around and play and enjoy life with no pain.
Funny how “living life out loud never gets easier, only shorter”. (my quote)
28 Oct 13: Teddy’s lymphoma is progressing really fast now. He’s having trouble resting, sleeping, eating, and doing his business. His soul is so willing to follow us all over the place, but his body is just failing him.
Tomorrow, he and I will take a trip to the vet, only he will not return home. My parents can’t bring themselves to do it, so I’ve taken on the task. This will be a grueling, cruel one for me because it’s only been 8 months since I had to put my little man down.
I keep telling Teddy to make sure he finds Sam and tells him I miss him more everyday. There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t cry for him. I tell him good morning and good night every day/night. I will see something or eat something, and think about Sam.
I keep praying and asking God for mental strength to get through tomorrow. However, the tears are flowing now, just thinking about tomorrow.
I’m a strong woman. Samson made sure of that before he left this Earth, but I was so much stronger when he was here. Still, after 8 months, I feel like I’m just going through the motions of everyday life.
I know all life must come to an end. My Bible teaches me that, life teaches me that, but it doesn’t make losing someone you love any easier.
Teddy has been part of our family from the day he was weened until tomorrow – 10 years! Ten years is a long time.
Teddy is able to accurately tell me and my sister when we are getting ready to have a migraine and when we come home from work with one, he reminds us we have it, least we should forget, smile. Teddy has accurately told my momma she was having issues prior to all three of her surgeries. Now who will tell us? Who will warn us?
Now Teddy is following us all around. Getting in our laps, something he’s never done. He’s making and keeping eye contact as we talk to him. The light in his eyes is gone. When he looks at you now, it’s as if he’s begging for help, begging for us to do something about the pain he’s in. I told him yesterday I was sorry, and I would help stop the pain, but that meant he won’t come back home. He just laid his head down on my knee, he knows. He understands his time on this Earth is over. He is ready for the pain to stop.
I write this now because tomorrow I will not be able to. I will do a memorial page to Teddy, just as I have done for Sam, but it will not be soon.
I’m sure he’s counting the hours before he’s at peace….