Edgar

Dear Evie,

I keep writing this blog less and less as a way of communicating your goings-on to far-away family members (as I suspect fewer and fewer of them read it), and more as a way of recording the events of your life so that you can read later on about your early years.  I find when I think back on things I did in my childhood, I'm unsure of when a particular event happened or what the context was and I go to my parents to find out the answers.  I figure, if I write things down now, we may remember them better in the future when you come up with these questions.

I do want to ask you in the future what you will remember about today, the day you watched another being die.  I was 26 years old before I saw a death in person.  I was fortunate to be with my Pappaw when he passed and, truly, it gave me a peace about death that I wish I'd had earlier in life because seeing it happen made it seem less scary.  You have witnessed death so much younger than I was, and I hope it will have de-mystified it for you rather than causing you anxiety.

This morning, between my teleconferences at work, I was making you breakfast when I looked out to the deck and saw Edgar lying on the porch, panting and drooling.  Just minutes earlier, he had walked himself down to the grass to do his business and had made it back up the stairs, but he lay there trying to catch his breath.  As I watched him, I thought about the fact that he was 11 years old, has survived a couple of surgeries to remove tumors, and has been slowing down quite a bit in the last few weeks.  He'd gotten harder of hearing and less responsive when invited to go outside.  Still, he had recently been following you around the house as you chase Siouxsie, even nipping you a couple of times to herd you into the direction he felt you should go, so I figured if he was still spritely enough to do his "job" of herding, he was healthy enough.  But I told you, "Evie, we need to start accepting the idea that Edgar may go to heaven soon.  Maybe in the next few months."  You took that okay.  I had no idea at that point we'd be without him in less than an hour.

I finished your breakfast and went out to talk to Edgar.  He didn't move and his eyes didn't look right.  I went to pet his head and he didn't even lift his head in response, so I picked him up.  He was basically limp, hardly supporting himself at all.  While you ate at your table, I took Ed in and tried to have him stand to drink some water, but he collapsed.  I put water on his tongue, but he barely moved and it was then that I noticed how dry his mouth was.  I told you he might actually be going to heaven tomorrow and I started texting Daddy to tell him what was going on and tell him I thought if I took Ed to the vet, they would recommend putting him to sleep and whether Daddy could get home to be there for it or not.

You finished your breakfast and I had to move into the office to take my next call, so I scooped Ed up and brought him into the office with me.  I turned on a movie for you, thinking we still had several hours before we would be forced into some kind of action, and I took my call while I pet Edgar with my foot.  You came in at some point during my call and knelt down and hugged Edgar and stayed there petting him until my call was over, only 15 minutes later.  I told you to go potty and get your shoes on so we could go to the vet, but after I got my stuff together and tried to pick him up, I knew we were too close to the end and there would be nothing the vet could have done.  His breathing had slowed, his eyes were glassy, and though I think he knew we were there, he was very close to being gone.

You came into the room, ready to go, and I told you we weren't going because Edgar was dying right then.  You climbed into my lap and wailed, and I asked you to be quieter, not because it's not okay to cry, but because we want to send Edgar to heaven in peace.  I told you that our job was to make sure Edgar felt soft pets and calm voices as he went on to heaven and that he needed to know we love him, so you and I sat together, with you in my lap, petting him, scratching his nose like he liked, and telling him he was a good boy, what a good dog he was, how much we enjoyed having him in our family, and how much we love him.  You held it together extremely well.  We cried together and speculated about whether Edgar would see Winston and ChuuChu and his brothers and sisters and parents when he got to heaven, and how happy he'll be when we get there too, much, much later.

Then he stopped breathing and I told you he was gone.  You wailed and I let you.  We both wailed, honestly.  I had never suspected this was going to happen today.  You said you wished Daddy were home and I told you he was on his way.  You said you wished Edgar would have died tomorrow and I said, no, if he died tomorrow no one would have been home and he would have died all alone.  I told you it was better this way because we could be there to make sure he knew he was loved.  Later you said it was a good thing Edgar died today so that next time Kathy comes over, she won't get Edgar and Herbie confused.  You were trying to find the bright side.

It was hard to answer your questions and keep calm myself, but I'm glad we could go through this together.  I hope I did the right thing, letting you experience this.  It seemed much better than having you wait all alone in another room, knowing what was going on but being unable to see what happened.  I hope that when you think about this, it won't be as traumatic for you as it is for me.  Honestly, I'm having a hard time coming to grips with it. But I hope that you were able to understand death a little better and that I did an okay job explaining what was happening and answering your questions.

I worry that you may have lost a little too much of your innocence today.  Death is a part of life, but one that I hoped you'd have more time before you had to think about it too much.

I love you so very much, my little girl.
Mama