Why won’t she listen to me. She’s always paid attention to me before. Even when she’s sad, like now. She’s sad about me. I want her to know she doesn’t have to be.
I wish I knew how to write. She writes all the time. But I never learned. Whenever she spent too much time doing all her writing stuff, I did my best to distract her. And I was always able to get her to stop doing it and pay attention to me.
She always did so much to make me happy and comfortable. I want to do something for her. She never seemed to get mad at me the way other mothers do at their family. She’s always spoiled me actually.
I mean after all, who else do you know who got the biggest stocking at Christmas, stuffed with the biggest treats? Ever heard of someone’s mom buying them an air-conditioned van to drive ‘em around on the weekends?
My mom did that for me.
I don’t remember it too clearly myself, but I’ve seen the pictures she has of when I was first born. Wow, was I cute! And cuter still when her and dad finally brought me home.
Mom has always been there to cuddle me, feed me, play with me, and sometimes she’d talk to me for hours on end. I tried to act like I was paying attention now and then, but there’s only so much you can think up to say and do. I can’t help it that I kept falling asleep.
Even then, mom didn’t mind. Lot’s of times, she’d just lay there with me. The coolest thing was when she’d sing to me. I don’t know why, but it totally relaxed me every time she did it. It was some kind of song she’d made up with my name in it. I’m not really sure of all the words, but it sure sounded good.
As a baby, I learned how to walk real quick, and got around all by myself in no time. But running was something I was pretty clumsy at. Seems like every time I tried it at first, my feet would just get in the way of my body, and I’d trip over them. Mom would pick me up and kiss me all better, then tell me to try it again.
Took a lot of work, but I did finally get the hang of it. After I grew a bit. Mom also tried to teach me how to get up and down from her and dad’s bed. At first, she had to lift my bottom up, but I figured out how to climb up there all by myself in no time.
I hated the part where I had to get down. Mom tried to help, but I wanted to do it by myself. So if I tried to slide down head first, I always landed on the top of my head before flopping out on the floor. That didn’t feel so great.
So I tried to scoot down, feet first. All that did was get me to where my hands were hanging on for dear life and my feet were still too far from the floor to be of any use. So it was either swallow my pride and cry, so mom would ‘save’ me, or rustle up some courage and let go. Crying hurt my pride, letting go hurt my back and bottom. Pride usually won out, but hey, I was pretty little, give me a break.
Eventually mom piled up pillows at the foot of the bed, and she and dad encouraged me to jump from the bed to the pillows. Mom even tried to demonstrate it for me. Wish I’d have paid more attention to the process rather than the result. Let me tell ya, you bounce off a stack of pillows a few times to go rolling across the floor where you whack your nose a couple times, and even you’d learn how to get off that bed pretty fast.
She’s crying again, and I can’t help her. Not that I was ever really able to do anything that could be called help before. But I’ve always known, that just by being beside her, brought her all the comfort and happiness she needed.
Sometimes, I’d even pull at her arm or leg a bit to get her to play with me. But I’m not doing that now. Now, I’m just listening to her. And this time, I’m paying attention.
She keeps telling me how much she loves me. Heck I already knew that. But then she keeps asking me to forgive her. She keeps saying she’s sorry for it, that she wishes there had been something else she could do.
But there wasn’t. My mom did more for me than most moms would even think of doing. Would your mom refinance her house to pay for you to have an operation? How about two operations? Did your mom sit by your bed and sing to you while you recovered? Did your mom ever write little books and sell them so she could buy you more medicine?
Me and mom talked a lot over the last few weeks. She said it was up to me, that she wanted it to be my decision. She kept asking me to be real clear when I made up my mind. Then she’d cry.
Soon, she was crying almost every time we talked. And she’d tell me she loved me again, and say don’t worry, she’d be fine, in time.
More and more, it hurt so bad I couldn’t even try to get up at times. Other times, mom would help me, if I let her.
As I think about it, I think what made it so hard for mom was seeing how I couldn’t hardly get up to go play outside anymore, let alone to go eat dinner. But at the same time, I was determined for her to see that I wanted to play and eat, but only in bed.
I just really liked laying in bed with her, her singing or talking to me, stroking my hair, massaging me. It didn’t hurt when we did that, it didn’t tire me out. Moving out of bed hurt, and I didn’t have enough energy to last too long at doing anything else.
Mom would get really happy when I’d rest real good through the night, and then muster up all my strength to get out of bed and talk dad into starting up the van. I LOVE riding in that thing. Mom put plush cushions and soft blankets in there just for me. And I had my own window that I didn’t have to share with my sister.
Mom and dad made sure all the windows were opened to just the right amount so I could feel the fresh air blowing through my hair.
And if it was too warm out, they turned on the air conditioning for me. The air conditioner where they sat, up front, didn’t work. It hadn’t for a long time. But mine did!!
A short time back, I got to where if I was able to get up and get around at all in the mornings, I really paid for it with pain in the evenings. Mom and dad both were crying at that point.
Mom knew what I wanted. What was needed. Even when none of us could say it, mom knew. She loved me too much to make me keep going through all that. She knew I wanted to be able to rest and to sleep without hurting.
It was mom who rubbed my chest at night when it was hard to breathe. She kept massaging my legs and hips so they wouldn’t be as stiff when morning came. My mom would lay beside me for many hours, stroking my back and soothing me.
She brought me water cause I was so thirsty all the time. And she made sure the fan was on for me, cause I was constantly hot.
Mom gave me my medicine, my dinner, and my spray-bath’s in bed. She’d slowly and softly brush my hair so it wouldn’t be matted and stick to my skin, making me even hotter.
So another morning came, and I struggled to get up. I made it. Barely. I went outside with mom and dad, but just walking down the hall to the patio wore me out. I just plopped down on the blanket I have out there.
Mom cried, and she and dad were talking. I kept dozing off. When I was awake, I’d wave my hand in the air. That was my way of telling them to come sit with me.
I couldn’t go sit with them anymore. It was too hard to get up. But I smiled at them. And that made them smile. Did I mention I know how to work those two? Yep, got ‘em completely wrapped around my finger.
So there were smiles and conversation and tears. Even I couldn’t hide my tears anymore. Mom wiped it away for me, and then she called my doctor. Pretty soon, dad told me he was gonna start up my van, and that got me real excited. He helped me walk out and get inside it, and my mom and sister came along too.
I guess all I really wanted that day was to be in my van, to just lay on my cushion and look around at the inside of it. I looked at my curtains that mom hung for me, and the big speaker dad had inside (that was because my sister wouldn’t stay in the back with me, she kept going up front to their seats before dad put the speaker in.)
I’ve always wanted to look out my window and smell the air and watch all the people and dogs we pass, as we’re driving along. But that day, I didn’t want to watch my world. I just wanted to lay down where it was comfortable and familiar.
Mom and dad didn’t talk much on the drive. Before too long, dad parked and mom got out and went into my doctor’s office. Dad opened up the side door of my van so I could have some cool air. When mom came back out, I decided I wanted to get up one more time, so dad helped me up while mom held my sister.
Mom had come up with a pretty cool ramp for letting me get in and out all by myself, but this time, dad had to get me out on his own. Once I was standing, I walked around a bit, smelled the flowers, looked up at the sun that was shining that day, and then I had to go potty!
They got me back in the van, and mom crawled onto my cushion with me. I liked having her stroke my hair and rub my legs. I liked having her do it over and over and over. She was trying really hard not to cry, but I could tell. She was sad. And afraid.
What I didn’t know then, but I found out since, is that when mom went into my doctor’s office, she told them that she didn’t want me to be afraid. She didn’t want me to be anxious or in pain, so she told them to give me the medicine that would make me finally get some good sleep.
My doctor came out later, and he crawled into my van too. That was cool! He’d never done that before. I knew who he was, and I knew he was a nice guy, but I wasn’t entirely thrilled with having to share my space with him, ya know?
Then he gave me a quick little shot in my bottom. It stung and I gave him a real dirty look. I was glad when he got out of my van and went away. Mom stayed with me, talking, rubbing, rocking.
Pretty soon, I started getting so sleepy, I just couldn’t keep my eyes open, but I tried. I was still so uncomfortable if I put my head down, that I kept trying to lift back up. So mom got her sweater from off her seat and rolled it into a ball for me.
I could smell her perfume on it, and I liked it, so I laid my head on it and went to sleep. And I snored louder than I had in a real long time.
What I know about next, is that my doctor came back out, crawled back into my van, and stroked my hair like mom does. He talked to dad a bit, and then he made all my pain go away with a simple little shot.
Mom cried real hard for me then, holding me closer, talking to me and praying for me. Pretty soon, dad let my sister ride up front with him, and mom stayed on the cushion with me as we drove away. Mom never let me out of her arms. She continued to kiss me and sing to me and pray for me all the way along the drive.
And when it was time for mom to let me go, she told me “go baby, you run, you play, cause you’ll never hurt again, and I’ll see you soon.”
You know what? She’s right. I don’t hurt. I can climb, jump, roll, everything. Nothing hurts anymore, and I don’t get tired out. And I can either see or hear everything that my family is doing or thinking, depending where I’m at.
Mostly, I’m with Jesus. Did you know he likes dogs too? As I was telling you this whole story, I made up my mind of what I could do to help my mom. To make her not be so sad anymore. I figured out why she isn’t listening to me. I’m a d’angel. That’s what they call us dogs up here in heaven.
I talked with Jesus and some of the angels up here, okay, well, Jesus and the angels were talking and I just sort of listened in on the conversation. He’s been sending his angels to soothe mom and dad, and Jesus is giving my mom all kinds of something he calls peace.
I don’t know what peace tastes like, but it sure must be good, cause my mom isn’t the only one who asks Jesus to give them some.
He let my mom know that there’s nothing she needs my forgiveness for. That she did what was the kindest thing possible to do for me. Cause she, along with all the people, was placed in ‘stewardship’ of me and all the other animals. That means it was her duty to take care of me and be kind to me, and wow, was she good at it. And it means saying goodbye when you don’t want to, when it breaks your heart. Because it is the kindest and most caring thing that any people type can do for us animal type.
I decided to look in on mom the other day, just to see how’s she’s doing. My sister has been a real big help to her. And she’s wearing my name tag as a necklace. I watched her close her eyes and hold the tag in her hand. It helps her to remember me laying on the patio. Mom made a special place to keep memories of me. She still misses me a whole lot. But she’s not crying as much now.
I love you mom. A whole bunch. Thank you for loving me all those years, thank you for being my mom, and thank you, so very very much, for letting me go when you did.
Now you go mom, you run, you play, cause I’ll never hurt again, and I’ll see you soon.
All my love, Truman-roo
| Truman Androo |
| Roxanne Everson |