Yesterday, The Beatles, from the album Help (1965)
Yesterday, we said goodbye to Annie. How I long for yesterday.
We had been planing for yesterday for weeks, but never did we expect yesterday to arrive. She was distressed on Friday, confused and in pain, unable to stand, and frightened. I embraced her and soothed her. We had just walked that morning as we do every morning (we have a routine, Annie and me) sniffing and marking her territory, slower than years past, but still alert and still alive. It came suddenly, yesterday.
A trip to the emergency hospital stabilized the worst of it, a shot of something unpronounceable, some beautiful concoction of strong chemicals. It calmed her and eased the pain and confusion. She became quiet and focussed. We slept a fitful night with Annie by our side on her little bed, motionless, drifting between not quite asleep, not quite awake.
Dementia, weight loss, bronchial infection, hips failing, weight loss, not drinking, and in the end, unable to stand.. it was time for this life to end. It's odd how we expected it, but when it came we fought it hard, unable to comprehend life without Annie.
The doctor was kind, a good bedside manner you would say. He explained the procedure. A sedative followed by a strong injection, 10 times the strength needed to ensure a peaceful and final end. The sedation was quiet. We held her dearly as if for the last time, for the last time, smoothing and caressing as she drifted out of consciousness. The doctor left the room, allowing us to say our goodbyes, to cry, to hold on to yesterday, however fleeting.
The good doctor returned and administered the concoction, 10 times the required strength to ensure a quick and painless end. Annie's life ended in our arms, surrounded by love and warmth.
Yesterday, we said goodbye to Annie. How I long for yesterday.
It's a good day to be alive.
Mike
