During one of my many worry sessions about Murdock (a.k.a. vet appointments), I vividly recall the very kind doctor telling me that taking care of a senior animal is one of the most rewarding things a person can do. I should mention that Murdock was probably 8 or 9 at the time, in great health, and would have another 6 or 7 years with me (my worrying started early, and without any evidentiary basis). I thought about what she said many times as Murdock got older – I still do. Having now experienced being that caretaker, I want to share her optimism and wisdom. I am not there yet.

Watching Murdock’s decline, and doing the things it required of me, was the hardest period of my life. Maybe even more difficult than his departure. Challenging things can be rewarding, I get that. But that time was like running a race without knowing the distance; but you do know it ends in utter heartbreak. You can’t pace yourself – you don’t know how long you will be running. You have to give your absolute all at every step, without rest – knowing nothing can prepare you for what is to come. You may even have people watching your race, wondering how you can endure, or even why you keep going – and you know that they don’t understand that it is not a choice. You have to keep running – because you have to keep loving.

Murdock’s last year was tough – his last six months especially so. My life centered around him. He had doctor appointments and therapy visits. I cleaned messes and washed belly bands. I strategized how to get him to take his supplements. I carried him down steps so he would not fall. I set aside every aspect of my own life that I possibly could. And, I worried. I spent countless hours, during the day and through the night, just watching him breathe. The hardest part of this time was trying to find the strength to keep running, while already grieving as I watched my best friend fade away. When I needed to be my strongest, I felt so very fragile.

I know that this is a blog about pet loss. When a soulmate departs, we understandably focus on the loss, the emptiness in our lives, the sorrow we feel. If we cared for a senior or ill furry companion, that difficult period of caretaking is left behind in our grief. But I don’t think it should be. That incredibly hard time, that inherently losing race, shaped me in a way that few things have – in a way I don’t yet fully understand. I often think of the me from two years ago, knowing she was so close to losing the love of her life, and I just want to go back in time and comfort her. Like one of those race spectators, I wonder how she, how I, endured.

I didn’t do anything miraculous; anyone would do the same for a soulmate. I would not have done anything differently. Love allows you do things you would have never thought possible, and even after you live through it, you still can’t believe. I will carry the memories of that time with me forever. They are still painful. But it was all because I had the honor of being Murdock’s mom, and walking with my best friend for 15 years, even when the road was tough. Maybe that is the reward.