Welcome to Max von Levron's Rainbow Residency

Memories of Max von Levron

I was five. I remember the musky barn--or was it a large shed?--where I first saw the love of my life. There were dogs barking everywhere and puppies crying. In the corner, there was a box containing about five of the handsomest schnauzers you would ever see. But wait--what was that in the corner of the box? Another puppy! Dark, fragile, and small enough to fit in one of my tiny hands. I picked him up and looked at him. Something passed between us. "I will always love you." "And I will always be with you." I announced that HE was the one I wanted to take home. And, after much attempted persuasal to pick a different dog, Max von Levron was on his way home with us for Christmas. Max was my best friend. I told him all my secrets and knew he was my confidant. I loved him more than anything, and he knew it. He was rotten to the core, thanks to the love of his devoted "grandmother," my mother. My mom was Max's caretaker and, ultimately, his source of certain love. Max knew all of us loved him, but he was secure in his Grandma's. I remember his best friend, Billy the stuffed Bunny. In many ways, Max was just like Billy. They were both rough and tumble, and both had been through many hardships. I remember thinking Max was invincible. That he would never get old or sick, because at 12 years old, he still looked and acted like a puppy. I was wrong. In February of 2010, Max was diagnosed with a splenetic tumor, and whether or not it was malignant was never known. He were told he had 30 days to live, 90 if we removed his spleen and put him on chemotherapy. Easter came and went, and Max played and played. Summer rolled in with all the happiness our playful boy exuded. We were watchful of his every step, his every move--carrying him up and down stairs to go potty and play outside, monitoring his playtime with our other puppy. October 12, 2010--Max turned 13 and exceeded everyone's expectations. October 13, 2010--I, his "mom," was able to celebrate my 18th birthday with my beloved boy. And still, he seemed invincible. Even with a rapidly growing stomach invaded by a tumor, a slipping memory, and fading eyesight, Max von Levron was the same tenacious escape artist he had always been, just a little longer in the tooth and grayer in the fur. November 14, 2010. Max wouldn't get up. "No," my mind whispered, then screamed. "Things like this don't happen to us--to strong dogs like Max." He was breathing, and he was alert, but he couldn't get his body to cooperate with his mind. I sat on the floor, Max on the couch, and cried. I almost never cried--but I wept for Max. Finally, he ate some bologna and looked healthy again, but only after we had decided that he was ok for now and his life could go on a little more. November 15, 2010. It was 4 AM. I hadn't been asleep long, or at least it didn't feel like it, when I received a call on my cell from my mother downstairs. "Max isn't doing real well. I think we need to go ahead and take him in." My mind was numb, and it wasn't until I sat in the veterinarian's office with my sweet puppy in my lap, a red bandage around his leg to hold the catheter in place, that I realized what was going to happen. No more playtime. No more treats in the morning, no more "King Tut" trips up and down stairs. No more worrying, no more pain. No more Maxie boy. Again, I wept. My whole body shook with the force of my grief. How was I ever going to say goodbye to someone I had never been without? A veterinarian. A needle. I looked into my Max's eyes and felt his pain. Something familiar passed between us. "I will always love you." "I will always be with you." But this time, something more. He silently, gently said something else. "I will wait for you. I love you." The vet's words will always haunt me. She checked his heartbeat, and looked at me with tears in her eyes. "He's gone." I buried my face in his fur. My best friend, gone. How was I going to do this? I went to work, numb and cold. My family and I were inconsoleable. I went outside a while later, still deeply depressed and greiving, and I saw a star. "I miss you," said a gentle voice, as I looked up at that star. "And I can't wait to see you again. But I'm not in any more pain. I'm not truly gone--I will never be gone." "But you aren't here," I argued, angry and sad. "I can't play with you! I can't make up for lost time! I can't do anything about it!" "The ones who love us never truly leave us," the voice said. "Not as long as we remember them." "I will always remember you," I whispered, my voice catching. "And I will always wait for you. And when you come to get me, we will never be apart again." "I love you, my friend," I said, quietly. "Goodbye." "Not goodbye," my friend said, endearingly, "Only, until we meet again." No one and nothing will ever take Max's place in our hearts, and it was indeed a large place. There's a hole now that hurts when the wind blows through. But we know that one day, we will be reunited with our sweet, beloved boy. And on that day, something will pass between us. "I will always love you." "And we will always be together."

Photograph Album
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