Friday’s Movement.
The front door crashed open before breakfast was even on the table.
“Mom. Mom. Mom,” Mosely was rushing to my side, breathless.
“Prince Caspian won’t get up. He can’t stand up.”
And it was Friday.
And the day was tilting.
I ran out to the goat’s pen and surveyed the situation.
It didn’t look good.
Poor little Caspian was suffering for sure.
I called my kind vet tech in training and asked her advice. I messaged the helpful seller of the goats. Then I called our vet and made an immediate appointment.
The kids and I all piled in the car, Mosely carefully holding Caspian in a red blanket on her lap.
At the vet’s, things didn’t look much clearer.
All regular concerns were addressed and stool samples taken. The little guy had a high fever and needed fluids. The vet – a very gracious young man – informed me of my options. Options that included a rather high vet bill for giving Caspian an IV with fluids and keeping him for serval days. An expensive option with zero guarantees – a fifty-fifty chance at best.
Caspian was breathing heavily and pitifully on the table, on top of his fleece red blanket. The kids were staring at me and I was staring at the goat suffering before me and wondering how in the world I had found myself in the sterile vet office making a many hundreds of dollars decision all alone.
I had the kids read books in the waiting area while I talked candidly to the vet. I shared my situation and my concerns – tried to highlight both my compassion for this animal and my desire to manage our finances wisely.
The man was truly kind. As was the vet tech. I struggled with my thoughts.
You know – I am forty-one years old but I’ve been married for nearly twenty years and this kind of decision has always accompanied a text and a phone call and a shared opinion about what the best outcome should be.
So I’m standing there – eye to eye with these two strangers and a dying kid goat – and I cry a little because I just can’t help it and I try to tell them with words, “Guys. This isn’t just about a goat. I mean. I care for this animal. I do. But – it’s just ….”
I ran out of words.
I mostly gathered myself.
I thought and reasoned like the person my mom and dad raised me to be. I spoke with the kids frankly and openly.
And then I decided what I thought would be best – best for our family and best for our little goat friend.
We gathered back around Caspian on the vet’s stainless steel table and we rubbed his head and said soft words and touched one another’s shoulders and waited until the vet quietly said, “He has passed.”
Afterwards, God was very kind to me to meet a specific concern of my heart. The vet stopped me, made direct eye contact, and said with assurance, “I would not regret the decision you made. You made a good choice.”
I nodded, hoping my eyes could convey my thanks because my mouth was suddenly unable to.
Then we headed home and tried to make arrangements for the shift in our day’s agenda.
You know, a home always feels more like a resting place somehow when a favorite pet is buried under a tree in a shady spot. Prince Caspian took his little place under the same tree as a sweet little kitten and Bergen’s beloved parakeet.
When I tried to explain it all later to my friend who had most graciously offered to come over and help us bury little Caspian, he put a bit of language around my thoughts and I liked his words.
I was trying to explain why I was crying in a vet’s office that morning about a goat, for sure, but also about a decision and a life and a place where I find myself.
“Lacey – it’s just a little tile in the mosaic that’s making up your life right now.”
I don’t know why exactly – but I liked the way that sounded.
You know – I am sure we’ve all been there.
When we look like we are crying over one thing (and we are) but we are also crying over something else – something so much bigger. But something so much harder to put language around.
We buried Prince Caspian under the holly tree and I moved a step farther in this life of decision making and direction pointing and experience having.
17 Comments
Lynn Adams
…there are things that should not be…
…longing for the new Eden…”BEHOLD. I am making all things new,” He said. “Write it down because it’s true,” He said.
Leslie
Oh, friend. I am so sorry you had to make this decision and yet so very proud of you for making it! What a beautiful example to your sweet children (and to all of us!) you are of courage and strength in life’s “hard”. Praying for your grace and strength and that your courage remains and even grows! xo
Chelsea
Sucks.
Is that inappropriate and offensive? I apologize.
But in the big ways and small ones, the superficial and the deep, that’s how I feel about it often times.
laceykeigley
Oh Chelsea – so much of my life seems inappropriate and offensive. All the big stuff IS inappropriate and offensive.
And.
It sucks.
It is how I feel too.
Karen
I have no words. Only tears. And hugs. And prayers.
laceykeigley
I’ll take those.
Sara
This is hard stuff on so many levels. We grieve with you.
And yet.
God.
He is good even in the hard.
And-praise Him-
He is Always.
laceykeigley
even in the hard.
Laura Childes
Dear Lacey, My heart and mind hurts for you to have to bear that on your own. I know that God is with you, but a human opinion to share the question/fallout with is sure nice. One positive of death like that is that kids “see” that death is a normal process of life. On our farm in IN, the kids saw death of cats, chicks, and then animals we raised for food–chickens, cows, and pigs. I think it was always harder for me than for them, suburb girl that I was…
A pastor shared this poem in a sermon there one time, and it has stuck with me. You’re probably heard/read it before, but here it is:
The Weaver
My life is but a weaving
between my Lord and me;
I cannot choose the colors
He worketh steadily.
Oft times He weaveth sorrow
And I, in foolish pride,
Forget He sees the upper,
And I the underside.
Not til the loom is silent
And the shuttles cease to fly,
Shall God unroll the canvas
And explain the reason why
The dark threads are as needful
In the Weaver’s skillful hand,
As the threads of gold and silver
In the pattern He has planned.”
― Benjamin Malachi Franklin
laceykeigley
what a beautiful poem.
Crystal
“A little tile in the mosaic” I like that. Mosaics seem to be the theme of so many of our lives. Seeing the small pieces it all seems like a big mess but put together and seen from a distance, a masterpiece! He’s not finished yet – thank you, Lord!
laceykeigley
Yes. Thank you Lord.
But, alongside that in the same breath, a begging of God to reveal a bit of His mystery.
Sarah Green
The begging. I know the begging. “Please don’t leave me in the dark. Please make some of this make sense.”
Amanda
And your doing it beautifully.
laceykeigley
You are kind – it so often does not feel true.
Rachel
Four years ago, we had to have our beloved Sadie Grace put to sleep. That black lab had been my constant companion for seven years. Our vet was so kind, and said something similar.
But what I most remember is *that* is the first day I truly felt like a grown up adult. Marriage, mortgage, adoption? Nope. Putting down our beloved pet made me feel adult.
And I hated it.
laceykeigley
We had a yellow lab named Sadie. Best dog ever.
It truly is an “adult” decision -isn’t it?