Thursday, October 08, 2009

Under A Little Sapling

I've always thought that I'd have to be careful when my dog died. I assumed that people would dismiss that sort of grief and expect it to be less. I knew there would be some people who understood and I'd have to be careful to stick close to them and steel myself against the others. I have found that to be wholly untrue up to this point. The only even marginally questionable comment was "Sounds like you need a puppy." I think we can all praise my fortitude in biting back, "No, actually I don't need a puppy I need my fucking dog back and that's not god damned well going to happen now is it?" But that was only one comment I know it was meant to be helpful.

I wrote yesterday about living in my own version of Stars Hollow. At the time I thought I was just being funny or at least exaggerating a little. I'm not too proud to admit I was really wrong.

Queen Bee is on her way to visit me right now. She was planning to come this weekend anyway but moved up her arrival when Emily passed, after giving me the option of coming up to visit her instead if I needed to be away from home. After writing two beautiful tributes to my girl Kath fed me dinner on Saturday then took over the hosting of Southern Girls Supper Club for Tuesday so I wouldn't feel I had to clean and we wouldn't have to cancel. It was just the right thing to sit in a room full of dog ladies who knew and loved Miss Em and just be. And eat. It's easier to eat if the food just appears. Yesterday Chrome took her lunch break to hike over to my office from hers and deliver time, an ear, cupcakes, champagne and poetry magnets from her and Zelda. Teddy's Girl offered me a walk with Teddy. Ulserad, who lives up north near the Bees, ran into Queen Bee and heard what had happened so while I sat at home last night alone, not having to go out and walk my dog the bell rang and it was UPS delivering me a bouquet of multi-colored roses because he "thought [I] could use a little color in my life" right now. A couple of hours later he called and we shot the shit for a long time, which we haven't done probably since at least the beginning of the baseball season. The people who have called, e-mailed, texted, blogged and commented to make sure that I'm still upright and moving forward are too numerous to list here but no less appreciated. It's clear to me that if the internet were a quirky Connecticut town we would all be squished into my little peach colored house eating burgers and cupcakes and washing dishes and some version of Luke would be delivering ice and helping me dig a grave in the back yard.

Thanks for that. Thanks to all of you. I can't tell if I'm getting better or just getting used to feeling this bad. Right now I don't think that matters. Looks like you don't either and I appreciate that.


  1. See? It's all about community.

    When Shem died, O'Mama actually apologized to me for crying about her dog while I was dealing with my dying mother. I gave her shit for that. Love is love, and grief is grief, whether it's for a person or an animal. No one gets to judge you about that - don't let them even go there.

    Not to be indelicate, but what do you plan to do with Em's remains? I know that, in a strange sort of way that I can't quite describe yet, burying Mom's ashes was helpful to me in my grieving process. I feel more settled now, somehow. I'm hoping you can have that same experience.

  2. She'll come back to the house and I've had the offer of a hand crafted urn so she'll live here with me. She didn't have a place that was special to her except being right next to me so I can't imagine banishing her to some resting place. I'll keep her with me where she'd want to be. Years ago I thought it through, wondered where I might scatter her, so I've given it a lot of time and this is the conclusion I've remained at. It was unfathomably hard to let them take her away, I still feel guilty about it, so I'll be relieved to get her back with me where she belongs.

  3. you are loved. arms wide open, across the world. you are loved.

  4. What a wonderful circle of friends you have. There's nothing like people who understand.

  5. I'm sorry about your pup. That's so very sad. They are such sweet parts of our lives.

    I'm glad you've got a great circle of friends to help you through this.