I don't really know how I feel this morning. I suspect the best word to use is 'emotional'. Of course, it's not as if this hasn't been a fairly constant theme of late, but it feels more profound this morning.
The last 24 hours have been a bit of an up and down journey, with one rather poignant 'high'. I don't know what got into him, but he let out a couple of raspy barks, and wagged his tail back and forth just a few times. It brought immediate tears to our eyes. It was such a special gift. It didn't last long, but it sure felt good. The chance to hear his voice...it was very moving, and something I hadn't realized how badly I wanted until his raspy song came forth. It was so beautiful. Funny to hear myself say that. He is a big boy, with a big voice. There have been many times I have tried to quiet his voice over the years. Yesterday he could have sang all day, and I wouldn't have cared.
So many visible symptoms seem better this morning, but his weakness is extreme, and weighs heavy on our hearts. I have felt, so many times over the past several days, that we needed to release him to fly, then he gives us a small sign that says "I'm not done yet," so on we march.
Feeding him the last two days has been such a challenge. He has become very finicky with the list of foods he will even entertain. Yesterday he seemed keen on chicken and rice. Last night he enjoyed a few laps of chicken baby food, and some chicken balls. Today the baby food and chicken balls have no interest for him, but he is happy with boiled chicken thigh meat, and he loves his Greek yogurt.
He sleeps a lot, and we let him. If that is what he needs, then that's what he will get. This morning his feet were twitching while he slept...he must be running free and happy in those dreams. If he is free from his disease while he sleeps, running free and joyfully, then I hope those dreamy spells of sleep continue for him.
So many have asked me if he is in pain. I don't know that I can answer that question. He sleeps restfully, and while weak, pain is not something I see. Mostly, I just see the toll the disease is taking on him, as though he has been in a race, and can't quite take the lead.
We have truly reached the point of 'minute by minute'. I do not know if he will be here tonight, tomorrow or Sunday. I cherish every second he is here, and every second he fights on.