Thursday, July 5, 2012

Brogan has cancer.

Suddenly he's delicate to me. Looking at him feels like it might break him. I'm cautious, and full of sadness. He's oblivious. He's lucky, and incredibly unlucky. I could ask 'why?' for the rest of eternity.

I'm terrified but optimistic, and most likely extremely naive.

He can't get a break. He's only four. It's not fair.

1 comment:

  1. You have my most profound sympathies, Kaetlyn. My favourite dog was four and a half when she developed a tumour in her throat, for which, ultimately, there was no solution. For three months I found it difficult to function, but I remained optimistic until the very last morning. And maybe that even made it worse, since optimism somehow increases the fear.

    I hope for a better outcome in your case, but if it proves not to be, I can only suggest taking a philosophical view. A good short life is better than a bad long one. That's what helped me at the time. Here's hoping.