Sunday Afternoon

Sunday afternoons may never seem the same, at least for awhile. This past fall my Sundays changed forever.

As each Sunday afternoon approaches and as it eventually fades into evening I will always feel the loss of my sweet Liberty.

Liberty died suddenly on a Sunday afternoon. Sandwiched between church and Awana, Liberty slipped away.

I didn't see it coming.

I was so focused on serving lunch, making sure Jordan knew her weekly Bible verse and getting my shirt ironed. I never saw the exact moment she went from living to dying. Liberty's life was coming to an end and I was not paying attention. Moments before she died I told her she was a fighter, she would not give up and that she was going to live! In fact I had called my mom around 1:15 and told her Liberty was doing great, that she was feeling better.

How could I have been so wrong?

I always thought there was never enough time between Awana and church, I was always in a frenzy to get things done. Yet those few short hours were enough for a mad rush to the vet. It was enough time to say goodbye. Enough time to place my sweet dog into my trunk and then into the ground. A life that was normal at 1:45 was replaced by a grief stricken one at 2:30.

That day was December 7th 2008.

I am still trying to remember the exact moment her breathing became labored. I replay the events in my mind and I can't quite recall. I was too focused on being on time on getting things done.

Too focused on the task at hand to see a life fading away.

The dog I had spent 9 years loving and enjoying life with was going to be laying in the ground in my dad's army duffel bag within a few hours. How many times have we done this, not payed attention, not been present to our lives. I always believed I was aware of the goings on around me. I lived in the moment. Or at least I thought I did.

Maybe it was denial on my part, I knew Liberty had cancer but together we were going to defy the odds. She would live, she would be the dog who lived with cancer for months and thrived.

Sundays will never be the same.

Each Sunday I think back to that morning, I wish I knew it was her last. Did my sweet dog know death was near? Did she try to tell me. I knew she was feeling a bit ill, but my hope was just too great to see, to realize the sadness that Sunday afternoon would bring.

The hours from 1-3:30 will never be the same for me. Especially when we are talking about a Sunday afternoon.