Heading For Home

After my dad died my mom lived alone in her house.  One of my nieces, realizing that Grandma needed a companion, found a rescued dog through a local pet store and got it for my mom.   It was a beautiful dog, a German shepherd mix, soft cream color, with a mostly-black face, kind eyes, and a skittish personality. We all thought Sheba would be a great companion for Mom.  

Pretty soon Sheba was going everywhere with Mom. They’d take walks together around the neighborhood.  Having a dog again forced Mom to get out of her house and go for walks.  Sheba rode in the car with Mom wherever she went.  And Mom talked to her like the companion she was.

“Let’s get in the car, Sheba.  We’re going for a ride.  We have to get some groceries.  Now where’s your leash?”

Even in the house, Sheba would follow Mom wherever she went.  To the bathroom.  To her bedroom.  To the laundry room.  The kitchen. 

Sheba seemed to understand her job.  She was a companion for Mom.  And her presence in Mom’s life enabled Mom to continue to live independently in her own house a little longer.

Eventually we sold Mom’s big house, and Mom and Sheba came to live across the street from us in another state.  Sheba did remarkably well with the move.  Her job hadn’t changed.  Only her location had changed.  She still followed Mom everywhere she went.  From the living room to the bathroom.  Into the kitchen.  To the laundry room.  Mom didn’t drive anymore.  So no more rides.  But the two of them still went on walks every day.  Even in the ice and snow of winter.  

Mom’s memory was failing much more rapidly by then as Alzheimer’s took more and more control away from her, and there were times when she and Sheba lost their way during their walks.  Mom would stop and wait on a street corner looking around, not sure which way to go to get home.  

“Well, Sheba, which way do we go?  Do you remember? Which way is home?”

Sheba never seemed to mind the waits.  And with her calming presence they always managed to find their way home together.  

As Mom’s disease progressed it wasn’t long before she could no longer safely live independently, so she moved in with us. She and Sheba.  Mom couldn’t go out on walks anymore.  Which was good.  She no longer knew which way to go, or where home was.  She and Sheba stayed to the yard.  And Sheba depended on us to take her out for exercise when we took our dogs.  I’m sure she missed their walks together.  But I think she understood.  The way dogs always seem to understand.

Eventually Mom moved into an assisted living facility.  A difficult decision made easier as Mom’s disease progressed.  It had become a safety issue.  Mom needed a  staffed facility where someone would be awake to help her day and night.  

Sheba had been around our family fairly constantly over the years and we were confident that she would be fine staying with us and being with our dogs.  

We were wrong.

Sheba changed overnight.  She became aggressive.  Which was very out of character for her.  The look in her eye was suddenly frantic.  Confused.  Afraid. She started attacking.  The vet explained to us that when Mom moved to the care facility Sheba lost her companion.  And in losing her companion she had lost her role.  

We tried to reassure Sheba.  We explained that Mom had needed more help than what we, or Sheba, could offer.  She searched our eyes, apprehensively.  She wagged her tail.  But there was something different.  Almost wild. We all saw it.  She was on high alert.  Ready to attack at the slightest provocation.  

Nothing we did seemed to help Sheba.  In fact, she worsened.  We sought help.  We exhausted our options.  But the message was clear.  Sheba wasn’t okay.  

Ultimately we had to put her down.

Our kids were devastated.  And disappointed in us.  How could we even think of putting down Sheba?  She had been such a wonderful companion for Grandma all those years!  

That day at the clinic we surrounded Sheba. We all sat by her, petting her and telling her over and over what a wonderful friend she’d been.  We thanked her for her years of faithful companionship to Mom.  We told her we were so sorry.  That we weren’t sure what had even happened.  And we hadn’t seen this coming.  

And later, we wondered if Sheba had somehow understood the disease that was changing Mom all along.  That when Mom became agitated and mean at times it wasn’t because of anything Sheba had done.  Or even anything that Mom had done.  It was because of the disease that was slowly taking Mom away from all of us.  And we commented to each other about how strange it was that when Sheba was no longer needed by Mom, she too suddenly became agitated and aggressive, snarling and attacking those around her.

We prayed together, asking God to please send one of our loved ones in Heaven to come and be with Sheba so she wouldn’t be alone in her moment of death.  Someone to be with her, to be her companion, so she wouldn’t be scared.  Someone to reassure her that she was loved.  Someone to help take her Home.  

We believe God heard our prayers that day. And granted them.  We believe that someone was there to greet Sheba and be with her.  To be her companion.  And to welcome her Home. 

Mom lived another five years.  Dying just a few weeks ago.  

And I suspect that Sheba, along with other loved ones, was there in that moment as death approached.  Coming to greet Mom.  So that Mom wasn’t alone, or scared.   And I am certain, to the very core of my being, that they both enjoyed going on a walk together again.  That this time there was no more confusion or agitation.  No more fear.  Just two dear friends.  Reunited again.  Heading for Home.