When time is limited

 

Oliver and I were meant to be in each other's lives. I discovered his sweet face on one of those websites that offers pets for adoption. I knew two things - we needed to meet, and I would need to change his name. He wasn't a Roscoe. 

And it was love at first sight. While the woman at the animal rescue wanted me to meet eight or nine small puppies running around, I knew I'd come for him. He was in another area at least 75 yards away, behind a three or so foot fence, and when we locked eyes he literally climbed the fence and bolted over to me. 

Meant to be.

He turned ten years old last fall, and this spring we will celebrate our ten years together. 

Almost two years ago, I wasn't sure that would be possible. He was struggling to walk, to breath, and he had lost so much weight. An exploratory procedure allowed for the discovery of PLE.  Protein Losing Enteropathy has been a battle for both of us since July 2023. 

Oliver and I have climbed our way out of some pretty devastating and challenging times. From divorce, and the loss of his other best friend, a second dog that stayed with her dad, to two surgeries for him and four for me, many moves and changes, and some great losses. 

And we've thrived together as well. From countless beach trips, walks, snuggles, and visits with friends and family, we have taken full advantage of being each's others everything. We know each other by heart.

More than ever before, these last two months has proven we were meant to be in each other's lives. Regular testing and visits with his internist have confirmed, just as I begin to truly face my own terminal illness, his personal battle (and ours together) is coming to an end in the next few months.

Our time together is limited, but the last couple of months have helped reshape my ability to see the gift rather than the loss. Or perhaps not rather than, but more than. He is the greatest love I've ever known. And what we have been able to give to one another is nothing short of true magic. 

And maybe the real lesson is something I've been thinking about almost since the moment I was diagnosed with stage IV cancer. 

I'm one of the lucky ones. Because so many people are taken from this life in a breath. No chance to reflect, make final plans, create or even attempt to tackle a so-called bucket list, and no opportunity to say a goodbye and have some sense of closure.

But Oliver and I have had that chance. And I will continue to have those chances for some time to come. It will be breathtakingly hard to do most of that without him by my side. But I am the luckiest that I've had that chance. What a privilege.