Missing You
I stood by your bed last night,
I came to have a peep.
I could see that you were crying.
You found it hard to sleep.
I whined to you softly
as you brushed away a tear,
“It’s me, I haven’t left you,
I’m well, I’m fine, I’m here.”
I was close to you at breakfast,
I watched you pour the tea,
You were thinking of the many times
your hands reached down to me.
I was with you at the shops today.
Your arms were getting sore.
I longed to take your parcels,
I wish I could do more.
I was with you at my grave today,
You tend it with such care.
I want to re-assure you,
that I’m not lying there.
I walked with you towards the house,
as you fumbled for your key.
I gently put my paw on you,
I smiled and said “It’s me.”
You looked so very tired,
and sank into a chair.
I tried so hard to let you know,
that I was standing there.
It’s possible for me to be
so near you everyday.
To say to you with certainty,
“I never went away.”
You sat there very quietly,
then smiled, I think you knew…
in the stillness of that evening,
I was very close to you.
The day is over…
I smile and watch you yawning
and say “Good-night, God bless,
I’ll see you in the morning.”
And when the time is right
for you to cross the brief divide,
I’ll rush across to greet you
and we’ll stand, side by side.
I have so many things to show you,
there is so much for you to see.
Be patient,
live your journey out…
then come home
to be with me.
– Colleen Fitzsimmons
Over the years, when I would think about losing Mia, I knew it would be difficult and therefore did not sit on that thought process for long. When she went blind two years ago and fell into keto acidosis, I was suddenly faced with the possibility of losing her. She fought hard to stay here and because of her miraculous rebound, her eye surgery went better than the surgeon anticipated. The healing process took time, but Mia patiently let us fill her eyes with drop after drop of medication. Up until the time of her death, she was still receiving three different types of drops each day.
Sadly, her health continued to deteriorate. In fact, I think she was sick much longer than we will ever know. I keep thinking about how hard she fought to be with us and how difficult it must have been to lie there each day with pain and nausea. She gave us two more years of love before her little body could no longer fight. Her love and loyalty never wavered, even when I know she must have been miserable. That kind of unconditional love was, and is, almost unbelievable. I am still in awe of such a tender mercy.
I miss her terribly. Everywhere I look, I see her. Different smells and sounds remind me of her. I miss her nightly barking as she waited for a furry friend to respond. I long for the times when her sass was in full force. I loved the way her nails clicked on the wooden floor. I miss hearing the dog door as she went in and out of the house. I miss watching how much she loved our drives around the neighborhood; she loved putting her head out the window as she took in the smells and sights. I miss her obsession with the ducks and geese at the lake. I yearn for her barking at the birds that tried to share her pond and our "field trips" to see the elk, bison, horses, and shetland ponies; she had so much to say every time, so I would drive slowly and stop every now and then so that she could get a good look. I love how much she loved drinking from the hose. I miss her sitting on the front porch and beneath the shade of the tree in her backyard. I miss her "woo, woo, woo's" and her "blowing air out of her nose" when she was frustrated and/or irritated.I love that she had no shame as she'd roll onto her back and spread her legs in anticipation of a belly rub. I miss her beautiful brown eyes, her long eyelashes, her warm ears, her calloused paws, and the way she wagged her tail. She was, she is, perfect. She is love. She is my beloved.
