Today I heard from Lt. P; we are cleared to bring M’s dog, Winnie, up to visit him on Saturday. Thank goodness, because Winnie’s breathing is sounding more and more like a troubled whistle. Each night we take turns holding her, whispering words of encouragement into her fluffy, white ears. She needs to hang on until we can get her up to see her boy.
Now…that could be the problem right there.
For the last six days, I’ve been facilitating a dramatic, labor intensive, intervention to keep Winnie alive long enough to say “Goodbye” to M. We administer blood pressure medicine two times a day along with some other pill, all intended to extend her life just long enough for us to get her up to see him … ASAP.
Meanwhile, he has not replied to any of my emails this week about Winnie. Now, he has gone without replying to my emails before, but I thought his concern about his dog would elicit a reply. Is he mad at me and ignoring my urgent letters? Or is he so sad about Winnie, he doesn’t know what to say? I am certain he cares about Winnie, in fact, he probably cares more about Winnie than he does me, and I’m fine with that…he’ll love me again when he’s older (I hope.)
Perhaps this is just another example of me and my excessive, and annoying to some, micromanagement skills combined with a little bit of my worrywart tendencies. He loves Winnie, he knows Winnie cannot live forever, he’s sad about his dog’s illness, and he’s busy at some military academy we shipped him to. Maybe that’s all this is.
I’m the one trying to hang on to the days M needed Winnie to sleep on his pillow next to him because he was scared. Or the days when M was home sick from school, and Winnie sat snuggled next to him for the entire day. Oh, to have those simple days back again.