I must have looked rather like an organ grinder and his monkey as I set off on my walk this evening. My older Maltese, slowed by arthritis, now sits in a doggy pouch strapped across my chest. Walking alongside me, my poodle mix stopped and sniffed- and perhaps remembered. I remembered. Down each street, at every turn, through moonlit alleys and past now familiar homes, I remembered. How strange to long so for a lost pet! It is as if the ghost of my dog Chloe still lingers in the dark. Recently, I tossed warm laundry from the dryer into the waiting basket. Im quite certain I let out an audible gasp at the sudden realization Chloe would not be bounding around the corner, diving into the scented softness of fresh towels and sheets. That was a joy we shared. I am now the keeper of the memories. The pragmatist in me chose burial over cremation for my dog. ( I had already invested too much in keeping her alive to splurge on ashes and an urn.) I like it that she is buried in a favorite spot she loved to explore: spring, summer, fall and winter. Several night ago, the beauty of a full moon drew me outside and down the path to her grave. In the cool night air I breathed in the smell of autumn. The moonlight filtered through the branches above, casting lacy shadows on the mound of freshly turned earth that is her resting place. I whispered I love you in the silence. I felt the memory of her soft neck and beard beneath my fingertips.I felt the comforting warmth of her sleeping body against my legs. I cried for what was. Grief is a gift. It is as much a part of living as is joy. Grief is a testament to a life that mattered. Over time, it loosens its painful grip. Each lost love binds us to the ever after. Every grief helps build a bridge to eternity. Somewhere my grandparents, my beloved father, my sweet husband and my aunts and uncles wait for me. I imagine Chloe, ears raised and tail wagging, searching for her master. And I smile.
Posted on: Sat, 11 Oct 2014 03:20:33 +0000
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