Soldiering On

The newspaper said today that the last day we saw the sun peek out of the clouds was Feb. 1.  That was the day I lost my Precious, and the days truly have been dark and gray since then.  It's as if there is a heavy pall over every day.  I still wake up with terrible visions of her, and I still cry for her every day.  I haven't felt at all like picking up my camera, but today I finally did it--more as an exercise of determination than in any spirit of delight.  My recompense follows.

The past two days I've taken the horses out to graze, but they are still full of pent-up energy.  With the thermometer at 24° this morning plus snow flurries and a freezing wind, I knew they'd be full of it.  If Brandy looks mean and crabby instead of exuberant, the next picture explains why.

Hero considers it his duty to chase the horses, barking wildly, if they run when I turn them loose.  Neither of them likes dogs anyway, and he is certainly no Canine Goodwill Ambassador!

This amazing frozen puddle was too intriguing to pass up.

 And last, but not least, my sweet little Peekaboo.  He has had a thing about these books for quite awhile now, knocking them out of the bookcase every chance he has.  I have joked about his literary tastes, but when I looked at the photo fullscreen on my computer, I had to laugh.  When I quipped that he thinks he's a vampire, I had no idea how true that was!

The rain that has fallen all day pretty much illustrates how I’ve been feeling. (I took the picture in January.) But one thing happened today that I want to share.

Jenny had heard some news about Lexuses crashing because of accelerator problems, and she was concerned, so I called our dealer. I talked to the service department and also to the salesman, Tom, who sold us both of our cars, Kara’s car, and Katie’s old car. After he reassured me in detail about why I did not need to worry, I expressed sympathy for his situation. He told me he is so deeply concerned for his customers and the fear and anxiety they are experiencing from all of this. He told me about all the people he has sold cars to, including many at his church, and said that he wouldn’t be able to bear it if someone died because he had sold them a car.

I said, “Tom, I truly know how you feel.” And then I told him the story of how God gave me Precious, my ferret, 5 ½ years ago, two weeks before our dogs both died; how she was my little companion while Herb and Kara were gone at school; and how much I loved her. Then I told him how she had been so sick while I had to be out of town; and how my nephew kept her alive for 8 days until I got home; and how she was doing better and actually felt well enough on Monday to run around the house. And then I did a load of laundry, not knowing she was napping in it, and when I took out the sheets that night, I found her little body. I had killed my dear Precious. And I said I knew he must be in agony worrying every day that he would get the news that someone had died in a car he had sold them.

Bless his heart, he was in tears for me and said he didn’t know how you could get through something like that. I told him that I was struggling with how God could let Precious suffer and die like that, and then my precious son shared something with me. “Please,” Tom said, “tell me what he said.”

So I told him what Jim said: That we live in a fallen world that is groaning, waiting for redemption, and that is why such tragic accidents happen. God does not cause them to happen; they happen because of the world we live in. God longs to redeem that world and heal it, but he is delaying to give people a chance to come to him. And meanwhile, we suffer from the tragedy and brokenness in the world. God does not promise to save us from the tragic effects of living in this broken world, but he does promise to be there to give us his comfort and love through it all.

We talked a little more, and as we ended our conversation Tom said, “Susan, I know why you think you called me today, but you really called to witness to me.”

This story doesn’t explain “the reason” this tragedy happened to Precious. This isn’t something that can make me feel better about the way she died. This isn’t “all things working together for good” the way most people mean it. (I don’t think that’s what that verse means.) There is no good in Precious dying like that; it is purely and simply a result of evil having come into the world.

But this story does show me that indeed, God is good. He is good to have given me comfort through Jim’s words of wisdom. He is good to have led me to call Tom today. And he is good to have comforted Tom in his need. And in some small way, that comforts my heart, too.

Thank you, God, for Herb's tender, loving care last night into the wee hours of the morning.  Thank you for the love and tenderness of my loved ones today.  Thank you, also, for loving words of sympathy that remind me of things I would forget in my grief:  That Job blessed you and did not blame you even when he lost all his children.  That you do not cause such tragedies; they happen because we live in a fallen world that is groaning for your redemption of it, and while we live for now in this broken world with all its grief, your love reaches out to our hearts even when they are broken.  Thank you for loving hearts that weep with me; they are a picture of your own love for Precious and for me.

My heart is breaking this morning as I write this.  My dear, precious Precious is no more.  I know I was posting pictures of things I am thankful for, and I keep reminding myself of my post about believing that God is good even when I don't see the bread--but it is hard to feel right now.  I know He is good; I believe He is good; that will have to do for now.

The Friday before I left for Texas, Precious got deathly ill.  She came looking for me and just wanted to be held.  I held her all weekend with a heating pad, nursing her as best I could, expecting she would die at any time.  On Monday I took her to Dr. Keller, who diagnosed her with insulinoma and gastroenteritis.  He kept her three days in the animal hospital and finally let her come home Wednesday night, right before I had to leave for Texas.   I was terribly worried about how she would do while I was gone, but Dr. Keller said the stress of the trip could kill her, so I left her in Herb's care.  She needed frequent feedings of high-calorie supplement, the only thing she would eat, and only when it was pushed on her nose so she was forced to lick it off.  Then Herb got very ill with the flu, and my dear nephew Thomas took over the duty of force-feeding Precious.  To my astonishment, when I got home 8 days later, she was still alive--barely.  She had lost a total of 8 oz. of her 1 1/2 lb. weight, and she looked like death warmed over.   But Kara said she had seen Precious eat real food the day before, and as soon as I made her some, she ate it.  She continued to eat over Friday, Saturday, and Sunday--still so thin, but getting more lively.  This morning she actually got out and ran around the house and interacted with the dogs.

Then at bedtime tonight, I couldn't find her.  I expected her to be in her cage, as she has slept there for the past several months.  When she wasn't there, I checked all her old hidey-holes, to no avail.  While I looked in vain for her in her special drawer under the washing machine, I decided to transfer the last load of laundry to the dryer.  And there was my darling Precious, dead in the washing machine.  She must have taken a nap in the laundry on the floor, and I never felt her slight weight as I put it in the machine.  I am beside myself with grief as I think of how she died, at my own hands.  Now you understand why I'm struggling right now.  How can I make sense of my poor baby's suffering?  Why couldn't she have died in my arms two weeks ago, or quietly gone to sleep in her cage one night?  I know that if she had died while I was in Texas, I would have felt I could never forgive myself for abandoning her--but now I truly feel that way. 

Precious was my first ferret and my faithful friend.  She would always come when I called; she was always ready for a cuddle or a game, even if I woke her up by pulling her out of her warm bed.  On the occasions she managed to hide in our room before we went to bed, she always came to me in the middle of the night and put her nose on my face to be sure I was there, then went back to bed.  She assiduously collected soft grip pens and any brand of (unused) sanitary pads.  She loved to jump and play on and under the sheets when I made the bed, and she played hide-and-seek with me, popping out when I would ask, "Where's Precious?"  She was a true ambassador for ferrets, as everyone who met her loved her--even people who thought they didn't like ferrets.  I will miss her more than words can say. 

(The top picture was taken in 2006, the bottom two in 2005)

Precious, I love you.  I hope you knew how much.

Sleep in peace, my angel.

Catching Up, Part II

Saturday, January 16

Jenny, Jean-Marc and I went to the mall, took in a movie, and got home about 8 p.m. to find Precious sitting under a comforter on my ottoman, apparently waiting for me.  She was very cold and limp and looked almost dead.  I wrapped her in a towel and put a heating pad on her all evening, then took her to bed like that.  Needless to say, I wasn't taking any pictures.

Sunday, January 17

Jenny took this picture of me and Precious, actually early Sunday morning before we went to bed.  After a night's sleep on the heating pad, with my hand holding her inside her towel all night long, she actually seemed a bit more alive this morning.  We stayed home from church while I nursed Precious and held her all day until the afternoon when she wanted to get in her cage.  Since she seemed to want to be in her hammock with Peekaboo, I figured he could be her heating pad!  She spent the rest of the afternoon and evening sleeping in there with him, only drinking if I gave her water, and not eating at all.

Monday, January 18

At one point yesterday afternoon when I let Precious down in the study with me, she climbed into the arm of the couch where the ferrets love to sleep.  I wanted her out so I could keep an eye on her, so I reached in to fish her out--but first I had to pull out Peekaboo's treasure trove (at left).  There was: one huarache, 3 foam paint brushes, one stuffed roadrunner, 40 promotional cards that were once wrapped in plastic until Peekaboo ate it, one unmentionable item, miscellaneous foam stuffing and plastic, and a 6-page promotional booklet about colon cleansing!  So now you know what stuff ferrets like!

Precious, by the way, is at the Mountain Hospital for Animals under the excellent care of Dr. Keller and team.  She's spending the night getting fluids and antibiotic treatment, trying to treat her acute ulcerative colitis.