Max

 This past Saturday was a perfectly normal day in our household.  We were thoroughly ensconced in our home out of the bitter cold and wind, taking the day easy, as the latest polar vortex was screaming outside .  The cold had come into the Great Plains a couple of days before, and we weren’t too eager to get out into it.

As we were watching an NFL game on the TV, we got a call from Laura, our daughter-in-law, telling us that they had taken their house cat Max to the emergency veterinary clinic.  The news wasn't good.  Max, a 17 year old cat, rescued from a shelter as a youngster, and who had been with the family from the beginning, wasn't going to get better.  His organs were shutting down, and he had not long to live, even with intensive and expensive intervention.

Rachel, our oldest grand, came into the family about the same time as Max.  All the kids have ever known was Max the house cat.  Mild-mannered, Max allowed little kids to pull his tail, grab him, and love him in the ways that little kids sometimes do.  When he had enough of their play, he just disappeared somewhere until a better time.  He became very adept at being on the floor in the middle of a lot of feet, but seldom being stepped on…he developed some really good moves while navigating the crowds of kids and grown-ups.  And later on, he could often be found on the back of the sofa or on someone’s lap, just cooling his heels and looking wise.  Max was the epitome of calm in the storm of six kids and two adults in the same house.

This was going to be a tough rest-of-the-day, because wee knew that Max wouldn’t be coming back home.  Tough on the grand kids.  Tough on Laura and Scott.  Tough on us all. 

Scott and Laura left Max at the clinic where they had taken him and received news they didn’t want to hear, while they went back to the house to break the news to the kids.  Just before they left the clinic, they called and told us.  We volunteered to go out to the house and be with them when they let the kids know.  We bundled up against the cold and wind, and got to the house a few minutes before Laura and Scott, telling the grands once we were there that we came out to watch them until their parents got back.

In a few minutes, Laura and Scott came home.  We gathered around the dining table, and the news was broken to the kids.  It didn't take long for the kids themselves to be broken.  We worked through the news about Max for the next 30 minutes or so around the table.  Any of the kids who wanted to see Max one last time could go back with us to the clinic, but if one or more wanted to stay home, we would stay with them.  All wanted to go.  Son Michael and grand Estella had come down from Hutchinson after hearing the news to be with everyone too.  I'm grateful they chose to come and support us all.  So we gathered our coats, our favorite comfort stuffed animals, etc., and went to the clinic.

At the clinic, there was a “family” room we could use to say our good-byes to Max.  They brought him in and we spent a good 45 minutes or so with him...with Scott holding him.  Each of the kids got to sit next to him for a time.  We talked.  We cried.  We wiped tears.  We held.  We even laughed from time to time.

Finally, Scott was ready.  The veterinarian came in, told us what she would be doing, and carried it out.  Max went peacefully over the rainbow bridge, held and stroked and loved by his family.  They decided to take Max home and bury him on the family property.  The clinic prepared a bag and a box for Max, took his paw prints to give to the family, and we started out for home.  It was over.

I tell this story to say that even though Pat and I knew Max very well, he wasn't our cat...his family was Scott and Laura and kids.  Yet I felt pretty much drained a couple of hours after coming home from the clinic.  These things take an emotional toll even on those of us who are a little more detached from the situation than others and provide support for the grieving.  I can't imagine how the veterinary staff emotionally handles these things.

By the way, they (the staff) did great.  Caring.  Communicating.  Compassionate.  I have nothing but praise for them and for the physical facilities, which had “family” rooms for these kinds of things, televisions, crayons, etc to keep the younger kids occupied, and water, snacks, and restrooms for us if needed.

On the way home from the clinic, I told Pat that what we did...being with the family...was important tonight.  I think it mattered that we were there.  I think it mattered that we cared.  I think it mattered that Uncle Mike and Cousin Estella came down from Hutchinson.  I think it mattered that we were grieving along with them.

The days will go on.  Max is buried on the home place and will forever be in the hearts of those of us who were his family.  These things are never easy.  But in this broken creation, they are necessary...until the Day all death will be abolished forever.  As the song says, “What a day…glorious day…that will be.”

 

Blessings.