Sharjah - 1994 to Forever
Sharjah - My Heart
Sharjah, a few days shy of her 15th birthday, a few days shy of Christmas, has left this world. I am not sure how I will go on. She has been such an integral part of my life, of our life, I can't imagine the future without her. Her passing is the right thing, nature's way, God's way. The last year has been very tough -- getting up in the middle of the night to take care of her, watching her stumble, watching her fall. And yet she always got up, every time, except the last time.
Even in her final days, when her body was broken, she would give a wag of acknowledgement. And when we thought it was the end, she recovered for a day, as if to say Mommy, Daddy, I will be ok, but after this, you have to let me go. And so it was.
Perhaps as painful as seeing my beautiful little girl go, was seeing my wife's love and anguish as she cleansed Sharjah's face, fed her dinner one kibble at a time, lay with her on the floor for the final hours, and gently caressed Sharjah, trying in vain to turn back the hands of time.
Sharjah cheated death three times, but could not cheat death a fourth time. Her time with us has passed, and I feel an infinite sorrow. I miss her presence. The chinking of her collar, her breathing, her paws tapping across the hardwood floors. I miss the rhythmic sound to her drinking water – five laps and then a pause, five laps and then a pause. Always five laps, always rhythmic, always peaceful. Now, the silence deafens.
The most incredible thing about Sharjah was that she seemed to have a human-like awareness. Last year I tore up my knee. I was in a great deal of pain for a few days, and since I couldn’t go up stairs, I slept on the couch. Sharjah never left my side (except of course, to eat).
A good friend’s baby was crying in his crib. When Lynn went to check on him, Sharjah was there, sitting attentively watching the baby, comforting him in her own way.
Lynn and I experienced a particularly devastating event. While we were breaking down, Sharjah would appear, and nuzzle her head into ours, clearly saying that “Everything is going to be ok.”
I want that nuzzle now. I want to know everything is ok with her. I want to know she will be in heaven and we will meet again. I need to know we will meet again. I tell myself she must be in heaven, for there is no heaven without her.