Forrest is a fighter. He is still fighting. I don't know the exact nature of the virus, but to me it seems he has made it through the worst of it. Each day I have been hoping for the best...but Thursday really was the day I thought he would be leaving this place, and I was a bit hopeless. He hung in there and has s.l.o.w.l.y been gaining strength ever since. This morning, he even jumped up on my legs when I went to greet him with some water. It is the first day throughout all of this that I feel slight confidence in his survival. I believe he is a survivor.
It was certainly an exhausting few days for both of us (mostly him, I am sure) but also for me. It was tough in that I felt the weight of it in my heart and mind and the energy of death was very real and prevalent within our home. We were breathing it in and I was acutely aware of the fact that I may walk in to care for him only to find a lifeless body on the floor. It hasn't happened that way and it has really taught me so much of the co-existence of life and death and how sometimes, the notion of death breads fuller life. Forrest and I have developed a kinship through this and the experience has taught me so much thus far. I've learned, through an unfortunate experience with an unkind veterinarian, about the importance of living and working with compassion. The art of kindness turns worlds around by creating safety and shelter. There are certain people who make it their priority to bring out the best in people and situations. This only serves to better this planet and the individual experiences of all of us who inhabit it. My heart was taken to new levels of understanding the urgency and the hunger for revolutions in kindness. It makes every bit of difference between feeling alone and scared OR surrounded and supported. Forrest has been surrounded with love and I have been supported through the trial of caring for such declining health.
These past few days have brought a lot of mindfulness for me. I would reach to turn on the porch light outside when night fell, something I habitually do for Forrest in the evening...only to remind myself that he isn't out there. I would feel sadness for a split second and then remember that he is down the hall in a cozy space, resting his healing body. I found myself sad at the fact that we could leave our toys scattered all over the yard, knowing that Forrest wouldn't rip them apart. I would much rather him feel like himself than not. It is funny how we think of what we would miss and how things might change without the presence of a life we have grown accustomed to and loved. There were a lot of lingering empty spaces with thought of him not pulling through.
It is with a lighter heart that I write a sincere thank you for all your kind words and support. These little lives sure do take up a whole lot of space in our hearts, don't they? We are very slowly graduating towards a bit of consistency and, in turn, experiencing more of our natural rhythm. For some reason it feels like we have been somewhat debilitated and it is going to take a few days to get some kick in our step again. Resting in the solidity of each other's love sounds like a great plan to me at the moment..
A big hearty thank you for all the ways you have shown you care!