A Small Miracle

When Gypsy first came into our lives she weighed about 8 ounces and fit neatly into the palm of my hand. Sure, she was our daughter's puppy but the whole family quickly accepted her as 'ours'. Playful and fun, Gypsy is the expressive kind of dog that makes it almost seem as if she's always smiling or maybe even asking a question. She doesn't walk...she prances and at night she must curl up against SOMEONE to be able to sleep. She never got very big and remains to this day, a two-pound bundle of sweetness who loves to cuddle, loves to play.When my daughter headed off to college, she naturally took her baby with her. Gypsy has been her constant companion for many years so it only made sense that she accompany my daughter on her college adventures.

A week ago we almost lost her. Got a frantic phone call last Monday. Gypsy was sick. I urged my daughter to get her to the vet ASAP and she was immediately put into the doggie hospital. Worried sick about her, my daughter and I kept up communication throughout the week. The verdict? It wasn't looking good for our baby. I can't express the cloud of grief that washed over our home. I cried until my eyes were swollen (and bless you Allie for calling to listen). My husband was unusually quiet and withdrawn. My son called to talk about the situation. Through it all, my daughter continued to visit and the vet re-iterated there 'wasn't much hope'. Yes, we were looking at saying goodbye to our darling and I swear, I couldn't bear it.

So last Thursday night we talked with our daughter who said she had to do the right thing. That's a tough decision at twenty but she was determined to be strong. According to the doctors, Gypsy was just not responding to treatment.  Now, I'll say straight off that I pray but I often wonder if it's an act of futility. Was my faith strong enough? Don't know. Let's just say I doubted the strength of any prayers I might offer but that Thursday night, I sat outside for the longest time and prayed.

By Friday morning, I woke up with the feeling that Gypsy was GONE...just GONE. There weren't any tears. Just a sad, terrible acceptance that I would never feel her tiny body curled against mine or cuddle her in my lap as I watched tv at night. Sad. Just so very sad and empty. I talked with my daughter that morning never mentioning what would occur later in the day. I knew she couldn't take it and figured I wouldn't handle it well either.

Hours later, the strangest, oddest thing happened. My daughter called from her car. She was crying. She went on to tell me that when she showed up at the vet she was led into a room to say her goodbyes. Gypsy got UP from the table, walked to her and licked her hand. The vet was stunned and said this was the first response they'd seen from her. The decision was made. Gyspy was coming home. Yes, she is still sick but getting better every day. She is held, cuddled and responding to her meds and my daughter believes she is going to make it.

In the end I don't know if it was the power of prayer or the touch of someone she loves that brought her back. Whatever did it, whatever accomplished this miracle, I'm going to go with it. And I think I'll keep on saying those prayers.