It was over a month ago that we said goodbye to Lily. I didn't want to write this post, especially since I had not written in forever, and I didn't want to post something as grief-filled as this particular goodbye. Beth put a picture of Lily at the door of Hands On Physical Therapy with the caption that Lily had gone to the the light, and I thought it particularly apt. Lily was always a part of the light and she shared it every single day of her life, even the really bad days. The cancer returned in a dozen small tumors, one of which--on the old incision site--grew, ruptured and had to be bandaged, which necessitated wearing new fashionable clothing.
But this is not just about how she died, but also how she lived, and she did both with a grace and generosity of spirit that leaves me almost speechless. Her brother Mischief began watching over her, and we all rejoiced in the days that she seemed to have a good amount of her old energy. She was slowing generally, wanting to walk less and rest more, but still wanted to come to work, still needed to greet everyone and still didn't want to let Beth out of her sight.
Things changed abruptly and it was clear, all during that restless last night, that the time had come when she needed to leave. In the morning, when Beth asked if she wanted to go to work, she still jumped up, eager to do her job, and then lay back down, remembering her weariness. She wagged her tail when Carolyn, her favorite vet, came in the room, and she left this life held in the arms of the person she loved the best.
I am absolutely sure that she is dancing on four legs, cavorting with her first human mom and waiting, doggy smile in place, for the moment she gets to greet her last one.
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