The tumor in Ufi’s leg keeps growing. His mobility is worsening. Friday evening, we decided it was time to make him a ramp.
The ramp is helping him more easily go in an out of the house. For that, we are glad. But the ramp is a sad sign. In my mind, the ramp is the last straw. Once his mobility is compromised to the point where the ramp is no longer enough, I’m afraid that will be the time to say goodbye.
He isn’t really going for walks. He can’t play with his toy. Once Ufi can no longer safely, fairly comfortably go in an out, I will have to decide to let him go.
Even though I know it’s getting closer, I’m not yet heartbroken. He is still happy. He doesn’t seem to be in more pain than he can handle. The last nearly six months have made me more resilient when it comes to Ufi leaving us. It will still be crushing. But the memories we made around the holidays that once seemed impossible, have made me stronger.
Watching him slowly become less functional has, in a weird way, helped me feel better about saying goodbye. Ufi isn’t living Ufi’s life. When Ufi isn’t living a life he enjoys, letting him stop living the life he doesn’t enjoy will be humane.
That day will be traumatic and terrible. But I’m more ready for it than I was when he was diagnosed. In fighting for life as he has fought for everything and everyone he loves, Ufi has managed to give me a gift I never imagined being able to accept. In giving me time to adjust, Ufi has made it easier for me to do what I will someday have to do for him. In that, I’m once again appreciative of what I have gained from this special relationship we will share long after I must do for him what I won’t want to do for either of us.