Vet check today. Nicholai is panting a bit more than usual. His energy is good as usual and his enthusiasm for food – well, that is undisturbed. Somehow, I think appetite will be the last to go, the final harbinger that the dance is done, the curtain falling, the last chapter finished.
Examination reveals lymph nodes slightly increased in size again. They have waxed and waned over the past twelve months, each cycle alternately striking alarm or relief into my clinging heart. With today's report, a little knot of anxiety gripped my stomach. Breathe in, breathe out. He will die of this disease, this I know.
Our walk this morning was striking, the early morning sun gleaming off Mount Hood, air cool – biting almost – on my hands. Nicholai still strutted jauntily ahead of me, appearing to have a wonderful time. I do hope that my sensitive boy will show me when he needs more rest and not try to keep up appearances for appearances – or my – sake.
Tick-tock, tick-tock, I really feel the clock today. Next weekend it will be ten years since we found Nicholai and his littermates in the freezing rain in a north Portland park. I want to arrive at the anniversary with my "bubba," but the memory of his sweetie, Maya, and her rapid decline bubbles up in both my heart and mind. He could go at any time. I struggle for equanimity, but remind myself that there is no way around grief – only through. No amount of sensibleness will prevent Nicholai's death or eliminate my need to grieve it.
Sigh.
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