This Isn’t The End Of Our Journey – I Promise


I’m keeping the biggest secret from my little baby boy. It’s not that I ate chips without saving him any a few days ago. It’s not that I’ve been feeding him healthy kibble as “treats”. It’s not even that I was planning to head away for the weekend without him. 

I couldn’t tell him yesterday when I came home early and hugged him tight. I couldn’t tell him when I had to stop myself from screaming and throwing everything out of the house except him and I – because who actually needs a lounge anyway? I couldn’t tell him when I burst into tears many times last night. I couldn’t tell him when we curled up in bed together last night much earlier than we normally do. I couldn’t tell him this morning at our appointment when I kept crying. I couldn’t tell him when he kept suggesting we leave that I would have been just as happy to jump in the car and drive away. I couldn’t tell him when I tried to put on a bright voice and encourage him to leave with the vet to get his CT scans. I couldn’t tell him why I left the oncology department without him.

I couldn’t tell my sweet, funny, cuddly, happy baby boy that he has cancer.  

It is the only time that I have not desperately wished he could speak English so that I could tell him I loved him more than anything else in the world, ask him if was happy, comfortable, warm, have him reply when I ask him if he had a nice day on our evening walk.

I have cried as I prepared for his Uncle to fly in to be with us. I have bargained with the universe, because this was never the plan when he is so young, this was never the plan anyway and we have never deserved this. I haven’t been able to stand when I’ve seen a discarded toy, a little indentation in our bed or one of his many beds – beautiful evidence of his little body. I’ve sat outside, and the bright, sunny day with the gentlest of breezes has not comforted me. I’ve been counting down the precious hours until I can collect him from the vet – time wasted without him with me.

Everyone has tragedies in their lives. Everyone has loss, pain, fear. My world has stopped.

When I say “I Heart Dog”, what I mean is that my heart, the reason it is full, the reason it even beats, is because Morris has every little inch of it. The reason I breathe, that I enjoy my life is because of the little furry presence that is always by my side – or not far away.

I will try to be strong, I will try to be brave, but Morris, please be patient if your Mummy hugs and kisses you even more than normal (if that’s even possible). Please be patient if your Mummy cannot play with as much energy and vigour as she usually does. Please be happy, healthy and strong for the rest of your life. Please fight to stay with Mummy because I knew from the moment I held your little baby body in my arms that my heart had been given to borrowed time. I love you, I love you, I love you. More than anything else in this whole wide world.