Monday, November 29, 2010


Objective? Who am I kidding.

The problem of saying goodbye to someone you love is that a gaping hole is left where that one used to reside. Not just in your heart, but in every room in your house, in the car, in the back yard. I've heard that amputees can still feel their missing limb. It's been eight years since my mother passed away and there are still times I feel her presence every bit as real as if she were sitting on the stool across the room from me watching The Price is Right.

Today there was no need to get up and open the back door. No need to mess with the dog food. No one standing at my feet hoping for a morsel of turkey as I clean the bones for soup. No collar rattling. No dog to trip over in the dark hallway. No poo on the rug. (Well, okay, this is probably not something I'm going to miss.)

I don't know much about physics. Who am I kidding? I know nothing about physics. But isn't it some Newtonian law that a space will fill itself up - that a vacuum doesn't like being a vacuum, it would rather be a crystal vase full of sweet smelling roses? I know that in the weeks ahead, the places in my life that feel so hollow now, will fill up with new chores and/or pleasantries. Today, their is void that only an old black dog can fill.

Dad has always had a theory that the way to get over losing one pet is to go right out and get another. That's pretty typical of how he deals with life - don't deal, move on to what's next. At the end of a long day, with a large amount of narcotics in his system he went on and on about what kind of dog we should get next and, how if we didn't want one, he'd get his own, etc. My Sweetie who took Beauty's loss as hard as any of us even though he hadn't been with her from the start, came very close to losing his Sweetness and kabonging Dad over the head with the giant box of Milkbones my sister got us on Saturday. I think the day may come when we're ready for another dog - I've never been dogless for very long in my life. But now is not the time.

Now is I the time to let the emptiness sink in, to be in the moment and feel it, and to be grateful for the 15 years we shared with Beauty. I think by embracing the goodbye as heartily as we did the hello, we will have loved as best we could.

Wishing for you permission to feel everything,
Merry ME


Fire Byrd said...

I love the phrase.... 'Grief is the price we pay for love'
seems to say it all for me.
Sending you big doggie kisses from Miss Trix.


Jennifer said...

My heart - I understand, sending you a hug and a gentle touch. We lost our Annie a few years ago to Cancer and my Spice is 15 and plodding along with her gray muzzle, her glazed eyes and that never ending patient love a dog seems to be born with. When my puppy Palmer was struck by our neighbor's car and I was away visiting family - my husband bought a new rescue before I returned - she's adorable but I grieved so for Palmer and him alone. There is never a replacement for someone we love - how could there be. There is only one you. With Love, Jennifer

Molly said...

When i lost my first dog, I grieved for her so hard...I've always wondered if I was giving myself permission to grieve for her in lieu of the relatively little outward grieving I did when i lost my dad.

And like you I felt like I needed time for that before another dog would get the best of me.



JoyZAChoice said...

My heart goes out to you...and many, many hugs too. I ever know this feeling. It took me over 2 years to finally get in that space of "another dog". That's not to say I don't still miss my Raja. I suppose I always will. She was THE most special puppy (and we were together for 12 years). Hurt like hell. Now there's Bruzer. And he has not 'replaced' her. He has come to show me there's still more love to share. He's a HOOT and I love him to pieces. The time will come when it comes. I'm guessin' your Beauty is still hangin' listen with your heart. He's HERE. (but it's NOT the matter what 'they' say!)
Hugs, Bella~

AkasaWolfSong said...

I agree Mary...embrace all you need to embrace and let the rest fall to the wayside. Only you and Beauty know this way.

Big Huge Hug Mary...HUGE HUG!

Anonymous said...

I remember when you moved to Mom and Dad's and you found Beauty at an animal rescue center and how you had to use your most persuasive words to convince Dad that this was the perfect dog. How this little dog would pull and bark ferociously at the other dogs on your neighborhood walks. Over the years, dear Beauty lovingly worked along your side and became their caregiver companion, too, always watching them with her doggy intuition. Even when she couldn't see or hear, somehow she seemed to always know their whereabouts. I miss her too from afar. lg