It's "See you later"...

This weekend my family made the decision to put our dog, Maggie, to sleep. My family spent all day Friday laying with her in our basement, trying to make her as comfortable as they could, and hoping that she would pass on her own. She made it through the night, however, and was in such poor shape Saturday morning they decided that visiting the vet was the best thing to do. I was pretty devastated that I couldn't be there to see her out, but I'm happy that she had the rest of my loving family there with her in her final moments.

They buried her under one of the big pine trees in our backyard ("her" tree, as we've grown to call it), and surrounded her with some of her favorite toys and blanket. My mom found a really nice headstone for her, and my younger brother took care making the spot very special. Being away from home was downright horrible, but they made a great effort to include me with pictures and phone calls.

While I lost one dear friend, I'm thankful for another who did everything right helping me deal with my grief that day. Nazlı came straight to my apartment after work toting a dozen pink mini-cupcakes. We ate oatmeal and sat around. It was good not to be alone. When I was ready, she let me pull out some old photos I had of Maggie through the years and listened to some favorite memories of mine I felt compelled to share. It was nice to remember the Christmas we received that tiny white puppy in the big red box, opened last of all our presents that morning. It was fun to laugh at the "reindeer poop" that covered my brother's gifts that day (Mom and Dad-- big snafu there!), and how I thought I'd received a kitten named "Magic" (I was overwhelmed with joy-ok?).

Look at how tiny she was! 

Nazlı listened, didn't push me to "feel my feelings", and brought desserts. These acts of friendship were simple, but so powerful. Maybe even more than she knew. I realized that being there for someone isn't quite the big complex gesture we sometimes think it is, and that this kind of support can be overwhelming in times of grief. Nazlı's simple friendship was my greatest comfort that day. I wish for all of you to have a friend like this.

Day two of knowing we are pet-less has been weird for a few reasons. Mostly because it feels like a bad dream; I feel removed mentally from the situation as well as physically. I haven't experienced the weird quiet in my childhood home like the rest of my family has. I don't know what that is going to be like. I guess I will find out soon enough.

But, adding to the weirdness, my mom frantically texted me this morning with the following message:

"I was just sitting in Maggie's chair in the kitchen crying with my head down... when I raised it and looked out the window... the next pics are what I saw!"

At first glance my heart stopped. I thought it was Maggie running down from her tree to bound through the back door. Then I realized, as I'm sure you have, that it was a cat. A pure white cat taking her place. I called my mom immediately and she went on to describe how the cat had come down through Maggie's path, turned, and headed up to Maggie's grave under the pine, and sat there. My Dad had even called out a hopeful "Maggie!", just because it was so supernatural. The cat, who none of us had ever seen in the neighborhood before, stood and exited our yard through our back fence (through which Mags had escaped many times). 

This event has been strangely comforting to me all day. I don't know what it means, but I believe it means something good. 

Rest in peace, Maggie. You were an extraordinary member of the family. I'm glad I got to see you as your perky self before you went. This was, perhaps, the greatest of all the gifts you have ever given me. Thank you for being strong for me and making our last moments together so joyous. You will be sorely missed but never, ever forgotten. Love and belly rubs. 

Many heartfelt thank you's to all friends and family who have expressed their condolences over the past few days. Your love and support make it easier to focus on her life and what she added to my family, rather than the sadness that accompanies her passing.

As my second week of graduate school approaches, I'll keep the joy and positive thoughts you've shared with me close to my heart and hang on.