And then there is compassion.

By Artur Ciesielski | Essay

This is a Facebook post written by Joanna on her timeline. I wanted to have it here as well.

Today is 10 years since we drove two days to Memphis to get our dog Maya. Today is one month since she died.


This year her mom Callie and her uncle Carter also died, so they [are] all play[ing] together in St. Francis’ garden, just like only smooths can. Maya is pulling the water hose and St. Francis is pissed. Then he softens [up] and smiles.


And next month Rupik will be 16.


Still doing “well”… with kidney failure.


I received a call from his vet and I’m glad that what I’m doing helps to keep his kidney values stable. It was really an experiment. I spent days online searching, cooking homemade food and giving him serious doses of supplements.


Sometimes I think he will live to be 20. Maybe Maya’s death prepared me for his… but I’m not sure this is how it works. Time will show.


When thinking about the “transitions” it crossed my mind that maybe the depth of our sadness is a measure of our love? The person or a pet dies and we want to go with them.


Maybe part of us does…. And then the freedom from pain we find in the days and weeks after- is a measure of our faith… in something beyond physical.


And then there is compassion. Which helps along the way.

 From the left: Maya, Joanna and Rupik

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