Bennett Sewell Art

Jimmy, The Little: 

 

Dad, you and I have always been able to talk to each other, about good or bad things.  I know that you already know, but I’m gonna say it anyway.  For the past month since you’ve been sick, I’ve been scared that I’m gonna lose you.  I knew what was gonna happen, but I couldn’t bring myself to admit it.  When mother died, I was just a little puppy and she just didn’t come home one day.  I missed her, but when I sat on your lap, I could quit crying.  I didn’t know what happened at that time and I wasn’t old enough to ask the big question.

 

When you had to go to the hospital, and the veterinarian asked, I told him to do everything he could, antibiotics, feeding tube, oxygen, whatever it takes.  I was denying the inevitable and you suffered.  You remember when I was growing up you would say to me, “You can’t always have it your way.  It’s not always about you.”  We would talk about striving for control and certainty and the lack of it. 

 

I know that you understand that living and dying are for the most part involuntary.  You have been able to live each day for what it was worth, even when there is pain.  I know, also, that you won’t rest easy until you are satisfied that I have made my peace.  As you said many times before to me, “It’s not about me; it’s about you.”

 

Dad, I’m ready for you to pass.  I’m not gonna cry now.  I’ve asked and answered the big question.  I love you and you will be in my heart forever.  Tomorrow or the next day, I’ll catch some of past happiness that I shared with you.   Dad, what do you wish for me to tell the vets about the continuation of life support?

 

Jimmy, The Big:

 

Son, come close.  I’ve always loved you so much.  During the last few days of waiting I have come to realize that we are as one somewhere.  I don’t have good words for this feeling.  It’s more than being warm and soft without fear.  Maybe it’s the joy of becoming aware of shared life.  I think it was the same feeling that I had when I was inside of my mother just before my birth.  Her message to me is the same one I’m going to give to you.  She said, “Carry your memories of us with you.  I wish you well on your journey.  I love you.” 

 

Son, I am ready.

 

HattieMae:

 

Sometimes I wonder if it’s okay to think about things like this until you need to and are willing and able.  But then again, if you’ve got the big picture, your daily bread might taste better.