A very special dog – a very sad day – more lessons

I know I'm going to be crying while I write this.  

I've written before about Dewey, the little guy on the right.
He was diagnosed with lymphoma back in February of this year.

Dewey fought a brave battle.
And he continued to love life and people throughout.

But it was too much, even for him, last week.

You can read more about Dewey in earlier posts in this series. 

He was close to dying before he even started chemo - because the cancer came on so fast.  Then he was close to being declared in remission - but the cancer came back - even faster and more aggressive than before.  Then he got into a trial program for a new drug.  He almost died again, waiting for the one week "chemo free" period that was required for the trial.  Two days after receiving the drug - we could feel the tumors shrinking by the hour.  Seriously - it was working that well.  One more day, and Dewey was having trouble walking.  There had been concern that the tumors were actually being killed off too fast - too many dead cells in his little body that couldn't be flushed out quickly enough.  He was put on an IV drip for fluids, nutrition and (just in case) antibiotics.  In spite of the fluids, his blood pressure continued to drop - he had a fever that kept going up - and his blood and liver numbers kept getting worse.  Then there was pressure in his brain.  It was the worst case scenario - the cancer was in his brain - and the fight was over.  It was hard to see him in pain - the first time in the entire 8 months that he was moaning / groaning constantly.  The vet said it would have gotten worse.  The old drugs weren't working and the new one, for physiological reasons, could not enter the brain.  There was no hope.  So we cried,  We put him to sleep.  We cried.  His fight was over.  And we cried some more.

I have never known another dog like Dewey.  There was just so much joy - no matter what.  Until the very end.

We knew right from the start that lymphoma is fatal.  The only question is if / how long it stays in remission.

So Dewey dying wasn't a surprise.  It wasn't anything to be angry about - or to question God about.

No.  It was the way it happened.  So many ups and downs.  So many times being within literally days of losing Dewey - and then within a couple days he's back happy and bouncing around.  And then he's down again.  And then he's back.  And then the new drug was going so well so fast.  We thought prayers were finally answered - and Dewey was going to be with us for a while.  And then hours later - Dewey is gone.

The LORD gave and the LORD has taken away

Most of us know this line from Job.

The Lord gives.
And the Lord takes away.

Sometimes - like now - it feels like the Lord gave, then takes away, and takes away, and takes away some more.

I was talking to one of the pastors at my church about this yesterday evening.

It's not like it was with Job - and it's not like it is with other people I know - losing family members or anything like that.  It's more like the drip, drip, drip of Chinese water torture.  I just want God to stop taking away.

But last night at home there was another conversation in my head.

"What makes you think I did it?"

This is a "conversation" that non-Christians probably won't understand.  But it's a critical one.

I'm questioning God as to why Dewey had to die the way he did.  Why all the ups and downs.  Why not just take him right away, if it really had to happen at all.

God says - "What makes you think I did it?"

Me - "The Bible says the Lord gives and takes away."

God says, again - "What makes you think I did it?"

Me - "That's what Job said."

God says, one more time - "What makes you think I did it?  Job was right about a lot of things, but was he right about that?"

Me - "Oh."

Not unlike what Job said to God, after waiting 40 chapters to even get any kind of response from God.

^{Job 42:1} Then Job replied to the LORD:
^{Job 42:2} “I know that you can do all things;
no plan of yours can be thwarted.
^{Job 42:3} You asked, ‘Who is this that obscures my counsel without knowledge?’
Surely I spoke of things I did not understand,
things too wonderful for me to know.