It's been a long time since the spector of Death has been near to me. Dont worry, I'm fine; it's my dog that I'm worried about.

Spike is the three dogs I've had so far in my life. We got him from my father's friend, who could no longer take care of him. I was around the second grade at the time. I was actually afraid of him, because he would often growl at us. But he eventually came to care for us, and we've been living pretty happily ever since. Since we arent his original owners, we dont quite know how old he is, or his breed for sure. He is part Japanese Spitz, and is very fluffy like one. If we've had him since I was in elementary school, he's more than twelve human years old. As I often remark, "He's and old-man-dog."
This past weekend, my mother was taking him for a walk when she noticed he was acting oddly. He was very tired and not moving much, and his leg wasnt working right. She took him to the vet's today, where he was diagnosed with Cushing's Disease as well as damaged kidneys. Because of the leg thing, the doctor also thinks that he may have had a mini-stroke (but the leg's okay now). Cushing's Disease is also called hyperadrenocorticism. He has a tumor on his brain that is causing him to excrete large amounts of corticosteroids. He's getting medicine for it, but the outlook is not good. He has maybe two years, and that's if he's lucky.
I'm not stupid; I realise that everyone thing on this planet will eventually pass on, whether it's today, tomorrow, or some day in the future. But that doesnt make it any easier to deal with. It's surprising that he's been around this long, to be sure. He was already quite grown when we first got him. If that was when I was in the second grade, he's at least twelve years old. And this wouldnt be the first dog I lost either; my other dog Bingo passed away two years ago. There was also Rocky, who died when I was in pre-school. But all this intellectual reasoning is not helping me deal with my dog's mortality. When my mother called me earlier this evening, I started crying and shaking. And until a few minutes ago, I still was sporadically breaking out in tears. Thankfully, a bit of procrastination (here,here, and here) has helped me calm down and stop crying. Yay for procrastination, huh?
The problem of Death, and the pain that it leaves, has always been a problem for me and Christianity. I simply cannot accept the idea that a loving God, who only wishes the best for me, would invent this concept of Death, wherein someone I love is taken from me. Oh fine, so we'll meet again in Heavan, but what about the time in between? They may be There, but I'm still Here! Who knows how long it'll be before we're reuinted? Maybe I'll get over it, but everyday, I'll know that they're not here with me. All I'll have are my memories; the walks we took, the things we did, all in my wonderful Memory they'll be. But let's face it-that's not the same as having them right there with you. And the pain and suffering that one usually undergoes before death is terrible as well. Thankfully Spike has an imbalance of steroids, but think of the dogs that are starved and beaten to death, or run over, or the other millions of ways a dog (and let's face it, people too) could die? What kind of God says, "I love you so much, but I cant protect you from Pain"? This has been one of the things that defies belief.
I'm going back to Hilo at the end of September because my sister wants her turtles to live in the pond my father is building. I hope that I'll be able to see him then, at least. I imagine that for the next few months (and perhaps longer?), I will be afraid to see "Mother" or "Home" flash on my cell. And if the pain is so great, Spike should know that we all love him so much that we would want him to leave. Bingo and Rocky would love to have another friend, I think. Until that time, I can only pray that someone-Kannon, Amida Buddha, God?-will watch him and comfort him.