A Prayer for Joshua

Joshua's time came when he was eighteen. I was devestated and for the first time ever, discovered that I couldn't do it alone. He'd had a stroke at sixteen and had slowed down considerably by the time the glaucoma in his eye ruptured. I sat in the waiting room waiting for the surgery to be over and praying for all the wrong things. Karen carried him out, bandaged, woozy from the anesthesia and one eyed, but very much alive. He came home the following day.

He recovered quickly, adapting easily to having only one eye but he was old and tired and spent the majority of his time lying in sunspots and sleeping. He had to be lifted on and off the couch where he would circle once or twice and then ease himself down into my lap. I stroked him, able to feel his ribs, and listened to his breathing. I made him boiled chicken and fed him by hand, coaxed medicine into him with cheese or peanut butter, made sure the heating pad was always plugged in for him. I would leave in the morning and at lunch would find him exactly as I had left him. He'd raise his head, wait patiently to be taken outside where he would sniff the air and walk ever so slowly around the yard and then I would carry him back inside. I refused to think about the fact that he was dying, preferring to concentrate on the positives - he was still eating and drinking and he wasn't in pain. But late at night as he laid beside me, his sleep was troubled and his breathing was labored. I slept with one arm around him, hugging him to me and praying that God would take him in his sleep.

Not long after, the glaucoma in his remaining eye ruptured. I wasn't sure he was strong enough to survive a second surgery and I prayed harder but in the end, it was left to me and Doc. I called my friend, Henry and asked the unthinkable and he said yes. Josh was already at the vet's and as they carried him into the exam room I felt something inside myself give way. It was denial and heartbreak and a sorrow so intense, so painful that I almost changed my mind. They put him in my arms and I buried my face in his fur while the tears came and held him while Doc gave him the injection. I watched him close his eyes, felt his breathing slow and then stop. And it was over.

We wrapped him in his blanket, Doc hugged me, and we left for the country. Henry drove silently, knowing that there were no words which would comfort me, knowing that the tears were necessary, understanding the depth of the loss completely. Now and again he would reach over and gently touch my shoulder, saying more in a touch than he ever could have with words.

Like Magic, like all my animals, Joshua was a gift from God, given to me for a too short a time. I prayed for God to make him well and was told no. I prayed to God for strength and it came. Henry, who loves animals the way I do, was beside me and he shared the pain of Josh's death. All prayers are answered.