Tuesday, May 6, 2014

My Harley, My Love

I can't stand it, I just can't stand it. My Harley is failing. 
After successfully fighting off diabetes for a full year, his kidneys just took too hard a hit. 
I am trying to make him comfortable, and the poor little guy, I keep following him around to make sure he's doing OK. 

I can't seem to help myself. And sweet baby Jesus, if he falls asleep ! I must seem like some kind of creepy troll when he opens his eyes, I'm STARING AT HIM. I watch him breathe. 

The whole idea of living without him? Just does not compute. Resistance is Futile. And I cannot seem to say the words I know I should.. I SHOULD!!

"Honey, whenever you need to go, my Love, you can.. You don't need my permission, and you have all -every dram- of my Love. Go with my Blessings. We loved each other well and truly." I belong to Harley. 

I belong to Harley. Who will own me when he's no longer in corporeal form? I can't stand it. 

I would cut off my finger if it would make you better, Sweetie. But the *cure* is worse than the aging process, and it will strip away your dignity, and you will hate the constant traveling to the Vets, and the dialysis machine.. and ... it will not cure you - it will only strip away the quality we have left. 

I can't stand it. I am a Rock. I am an Island. (And a rock feels no pain;  And an island never cries.)

When you finally have to leave me, when circumstances of age rips your body from me, then I will write a letter to God letting Him know of all the things He'll need to do in order to keep you happy until we meet again over the Bridge. There are certain things He will need to know: like exactly how to rub your eyes and the ridges around them; and how you need to sleep on top of my shoulders and wrapped around my neck; and how you need to sleep in bed besides me, because it's dark and scary out there. And how you REALLY like those new soft treats ! And how you will give a Low Five paw palm to get a treat. And how you really like the new fresh grass, especially when I cut it up in 1" inch pieces. And how you love flannel and heating pads.

But I'm not in a big hurry to write it, because that will mean you're gone from this world into the next where I can't follow, and ... I can't stand it.