Sam's first car when we met was a 2001 Honda Accord. It was 2 door, greyish-silver, and had an Israeli flag bumper sticker on the back right side. He was so in love with this car, although I had a different opinion. The car had so many different issues, the timing belts needed to be changed, the spark plug wasn't doing its thing and then the radiator started to overheat. He would try these little cheap fixes and I would tell him he was wasting his time because he was eventually going to need to get rid of it. After we got engaged and we agreed to move to Arizona, he mentioned he was going to drive that little car 1300+ miles across the country. I laughed so hard while I told him there was no way that his favorite car was going to make the journey. He disagreed.
By Spring of 2008, he finally decided he should take the car to the nearest dealership, which was about 40 minutes away in Valdosta Georgia. So together we got into the car and started to drive. About halfway into the trip the car began to smoke. We pulled over and the radiator (again) needed to cool off. He was so used to "fixing" the radiator, so it came as second nature. While I sat on the side of the road he got a ride from a nice older lady to the nearest gas station to get some water. When he returned, he poured the water on the radiator, it cooled off and we continued on our way. It was finally time, Sam knew it was time, he still would have rather held onto the car, but he did admit it was time, and so he let it go.
I couldn't sleep last night, and at 3am I laid starring at the ceiling when this story popped into the forefront of my mind. So many similarities from this experience, however, instead of a car, it is our little Sonzee bear. Her entire life we have spent trying to put putty in all the water holes that have presented themselves, albeit never fully successfully. Eventually, you realize and accept there really is nothing that you can do to try and fix the problems. No amount of interventions can compete with the fact that her body is telling us it is tired. It is not in the, I need to lay down and take a nap type of presentation of tired. But in the "I cannot regulate any of my bodily systems appropriately for things to function" manner. It is beyond devastating and really impossible to have to accept that there really is nothing left for us to do, we really have done everything for her. So, what is left for us to do, is to respect what her body is telling us, respect what she is communicating to us and respect this process as horribly painful as that really is. So to summarize the only way I know how, I give honor to one of the famous quotes from Steel Magnolias, "We should handle it the best way we know how and get on with it. That's what my mind says, I just wish somebody would explain it to my heart."