Jeremiah Jones

I wasn't dressed for the barns.  I had meetings scheduled.  The superintendent of the Scranton School District.  A volunteer group from Baker Tilly.  An onboarding call with our Google Ad Grant manager.  I was dressed for business meetings--a dress, hair up, fancy-ish shoes, my squisher-inner (y'all know what that is).  But when I arrived in the Art Barn on Thursday, before I could even radio to the team that I was on-site, I heard the news.  Jeremiah Jones, our biggest "big" pig, was vomiting and foaming at the mouth.  I stopped and listened.  He'd been given medication to help with his pain.  It was taking effect.  It wasn't alarming at this point but Dr. Interlandi was monitoring him.  

I assumed this would change the course of the day.  I began to mentally prepare.  Indra would want to be with him.  Meetings would be moved, cancelled or rescheduled.  I might need to handle them myself.  This was often my role.  I took over the day to day when she needed to be with someone.  It wasn't stated or even discussed.  It was assumed--probably by me.  If she can't, I would.  I saw myself many times as someone to fill in when grief struck.  In some ways, I felt I had no right to grief.  Afterall, I wasn't an "animal person".  I wasn't with any of these beloveds when they were rescued.  I wasn't with them when they came home.  I'd never seen them scared, damaged.  I'd only seen them safe.  What right did I have to grieve?  Maybe, on some level, I kept myself at arm's length...

But I was wrong today.  Meetings would be kept--at least for now.  I met my volunteers, sent them on their way and drove to my next meeting.  It was good.  It was GREAT!  We had so many ideas.  So many ways to help kids and families who needed help.  Teachers approaching burnout.  Counselors, administrators.  All of them. We can DO something!  I was energized...  Until we got back.

Dr. Interlandi came to the Art Barn. It's time.  Today's the day.  Jeremiah needs to be let go.  Sigh.  Heavy.  Shudder.  Ok.  My amazing assistant who has no emotion whatsoever said nothing but got up from his desk and walked towards the barn.  He knew.  Today was the day that Jeremiah needed all of us.  

I stalled.  "Are you coming?" I was asked.  "Yes," I said.  I just needed to change my shoes.   I was asked to move our last meeting.  Email sent. I walked to my car.  Grabbed my boots and socks.  Plugged in my computer.  Packed up my bag.  Slipped out of my squisher-inner.  Used the restroom (anything to stall). Finally, I made the long walk to the barns.  Everyone was standong outside the barn.  I learned long ago that some of us, especially those who are newer or aren't part of the animal care side of things don't always know what to do in these situations.  They want to be present.  Be helpful. Be a part of the team.  They just don't know how.  

But that wasn't me.  I wasn't about to stand on the outside looking in.  My sweet Jeremiah Jones was preparing for his last journey, and I wasn't going to stand idly by.  I wanted to be in the thick of it.  I wanted to be part of the team who would send him on his way.  I walked right into his area.  Indra was with him alone.  I walked up to his box bed and looked in. He was peacefully napping.  She sat with his head in her lap.

"Do you need anything," I asked.  "Water?  Tissues?"

"Tissues," she said.  I immediately handed her a pile of napkins I'd snagged from the Art Barn.  "I'll need more," she said.  I took a deep breath.  

"Can I come in?" I asked.  I didn't want to intrude, but I didn't want to keep an unnecessary distance either.  She said yes, and I crawled in.  

I don't know ow to describe this.  Jeremiah's box bed was a space that was only accessible if you were willing to squat down, crawl under, and nestle into a bed of straw.  It wasn't easy.  It wasn't comfortable.  But it wasn't optional if I wanted to be with him.  

I settled in next to his 1,400lb body.  I placed my hands on him.  He was hot.  He was spasming.  The flies were relentless.  Indra offered me the bottle of fly spray.  I sprayed my legs.  I sprayed my hands and applied the chemical to my arms, my face, my neck.  I sprayed Jeremiah.  Anything for a few seconds of relief.  

"I love that you've crawled in her in your dress," Indra said to me.  What else could I do?  Of course I would be with him.  What care did I have for a silly dress?

I asked where his greatest pain was.  She said, his shoulders.  Bread for size, Jeremiah would have been dinner for someone many years ago.  Most pigs are slaughtered when they're just babies.  He would have suffered the same fate if not for the kindness of strangers.  His body was too big for his limbs.  His shoulders bore the brunt.  They hurt him more than his feet, his joints, his body.  I laid my hands on them and asked Jesus to welcome him home.

"Should we say a prayer?" Indra asked.

"Yes," I said.  No hesitation.  She prayed her prayers.  I prayed mine.  I asked God to take his pain.  I asked for his safe journey into eternity.  I believe that Jeremiah was created by God just as you and I are.  God cares for Jeremiah because I care for him.  He cares for those for whom I care for.  At its simplest, that is enough.  But there's so much more.  

I am created in God's image.  Jeremiah is not.  But does not the God of the universe care for all of His creation?  Of course He does.  God loves this pig.  Of that I have no doubt.  So, I can ask the God of the Universe to ease the pain of this small-ish being.  The pain of this creature that He created.  God, YOU know Jeremiah.  YOU made him.  YOU know his pain.  YOU can ease it because YOU are all-powerful.  This was my prayer.

As we waited for his last moments to arrive, I thought of so many moments with him.  I often sorted the produce.  It afforded anyone the chance to share a snack with a grateful pig.  Dominick was the most likely to benefit.  One day, I had a bag of apples.  There was plenty to share but Jeremiah was especially greedy that day.  He pressed his way in when he'd already had his share.  I saw it happen and scolded him.

"NO!  That's NOT YOURS!  You SHARE!"  He backed away, ashamed.  His body language betraying his feelings.  He knew he'd done wrong.  After a while, I picked out a ripe apple and walked up to him.  He was sitting on his haunches, head bowed.  "Do you want this?" I said, offering him the apple.  He looked up at me and swung his head down as if to say, "no.  I was naughty.  I don't deserve it."  Broken, I assured him that I loved him and he could take my gift with no shame.  He gingerly took it, looked up at me and accepted my ear scritches.  That was years ago...

I cradled this beautiful soul in my arms.  I laid hands on his pain.  I held his limbs.  I rubbed his belly.  I cried out to God to take his pain.  God heard me.  Jeremiah was sedated and snored deeply.  He was no longer in pain.  Our amazing veterinarian did her job, gave him what he needed, and placed her ear on his belly to listen to his heart...breathe in.  Breath out.  Settle.  Our sweet boy was gone.

I watched his belly rise and fall and then stop.  He was gone.  I sobbed.  My own heart betraying me.  I didn't love animals.  But I loved Jeremiah Jones.  He was my sweet JJ.  

Darling boy, you are gone from this Earth.  You are at home.  I imagine Jesus standing at the pearly gates, welcoming him.  He's saying:  "Hello Jeremiah Jones!  Welcome home!  Let's find a pasture to root in!"

Oh my Lord, welcome this child home.  He's changed the lives of so many.  Thank you for letting him change mine.