Birds flutter for Azalea

Lily's fairy-friend Priscilla left her a little package last night with this garland of paper birds. We hung them in our magical peach tree where they flutter and remind me of Azalea's freed spirit.

Something happened in the whole process of letting Azalea go that has been quite transformative.
I realized in the last two days that much of why I was holding onto her was because I thought I should. I didn't want to be accused of giving up too early, of not trying hard enough to keep her alive, even if it was difficult for the family in terms of stress, back pain, sleep deprivation or expense.

These last two or three days I finally saw that her life had become so small. I wanted her here because I was accustomed to her calm sweet presence and that's understandable. But I had to look at what she wanted. Of course she wanted to walk and play and swim and stand up to eat her food. I don't fault myself for keeping her here too long, but I'm glad I was able to let her go.

I had some epiphany of "I am the mother. I make these decisions. They are not easy or painless, but that is what mothers do. They make choices that effect their families. Carry on." (Rob had been suggesting letting her go for some time and then had finally left it up to me.)
Lily and Georgia were angry when I first told them the plan yesterday, saying they would kick the vet and his wife out when they came to the door.
I said, "We're invited them to come help Azalea. We can't blame them."
Lily looked at me and said, "Then I'm angry at you!"
I was so grateful to be at a place where I could take that and say, "That's understandable. I'm sorry you're upset, but I think it's best for Azalea."

As Azalea was ailing I had thought over and over, "I'm not grown-up enough for this. I'm not ready for this. This is what my mother does; not me"
Through staying home and being quiet with the family (including calling in sick to work which always makes me anxious. My work has quite an absurd and strict sick policy) I somehow became the person who could do it.

The house is lonely today without her.
She has an altar with lovely flowers and photos my dear friend dropped off.
Close friends and family left sweet sad messages that I am just really listening to now.
I feel the emptiness of loss now but somehow also feel supported by the world.