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Sometimes it is Friday

Last Friday, on Scott's and my 28th anniversary, our beloved dog, Sunday, an unorthodox answer to some of our prayers, left us. Like her name connotes, according to the referenced talk given at a General Conference for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, she gave us hope after a long, painful Friday. The entirety of the talk takes only a few minutes to read and I highly encourage reading all of it. It is about Jesus Christ and the wonderful Gifts he has bestowed upon us. At the very basic level, it is about holding on to hope.

"Each of us will have our own Fridays—those days when the universe itself seems shattered and the shards of our world lie littered about us in pieces. We all will experience those broken times when it seems we can never be put together again. We will all have our Fridays.
But I testify to you in the name of the One who conquered death—Sunday will come. In the darkness of our sorrow, Sunday will come.
No matter our desperation, no matter our grief, in this life or the next, Sunday will come."
Sunday died on a Friday. I look forward to our next "Sunday" and the many after that. I know there will still be Fridays to come. But there is always the promise of Friday.
Here is my letter to Jacob, my son who is serving a mission for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints in the Philippines, Cavite Mission:

Dear Jacob,

Two Fridays ago was Sunday’s first vet appointment. Her red cell count was 19 where it should have been 36. We began treating her for an intestinal bleed and started cooking chicken for her to eat. Monday, Sam took Sunday in for an ultrasound which turned into a biopsy, too. Her red blood cell count had dropped. She had a serious internal bleed and she had a tumor attached to her spleen with smaller tumors on her lymph nodes and throughout her chest. By Tuesday, the vet called us to let us know the biopsy came back and she had untreatable, aggressive cancer. We realized that her neediness every evening was an attempt to let us know that she didn’t feel well. She was restless and uncomfortable. Sophie would sit somewhere and meow relentlessly. Food? No. Water? No. Clean out her litter box? No. She just kept talking. 

By Thursday, we had loved her up as much as we could but she seemed to still be pleading for help. She was pooping blood and just wanted to lay outside in the sun. I sobbed away at work on Friday. My B6 class is my biggest and toughest. They were so amazing when I let them know what was happening. Dad took Sunday in to the vet that afternoon. I love this vet, by the way. The office put up a sign that requested respect and reverence as someone was losing their pet that day. Dr. Sarah gave Sunday an IV, brought her to Dad who was sitting on a blanket on the floor. Dr. S gave her a drug to relax and Sunday finally did, laying her head on Dad’s lap, listening to him croon happy words, petting her, as her eyes closed for the last time. 

Later, Dad told me he was driving around and felt happy dog feelings from the other side. We both sobbed at that. We know our decision was the right one but it really hurts! Sophie has retreated. She isn’t demanding whatever it was she was demanding. I’m pretty sure she was yelling at us to look at Sunday! Something is wrong with her. Amy Hacking told me she can see into our backyard and noticed Sunday failing. Their new dog, Leon, who barks at everybody and every dog, stopped barking and sat, facing the fence when Sunday was outside. These animals knew their sister dog was leaving. 

I’m sorry. I can’t play it down and I don’t want to. We loved Sunday and we miss her. We are grateful for the joy she brought us. She was an answer to our prayers.

It’s okay to cry. It’s okay to be sad and grieve. Love and grief go hand in hand. 

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