Only You

 Coming here today, I see several more unpublished Drafts, things I've started to write and then realized they are more like journal pieces, for me to keep in my Grief journal, or Danny's Unicorn Book, a little journal I bought to keep random, personal memories in. What's the point of an online diary - a blog - anyway? As my friend, the illustrious and gracious Sidney puts it - "no one reads them anymore anyway".

But still, there are things that want to come out publicly, no? This morning, I'm listening to Anonymous Four on Spotify, Korky in the background, setting up my day at work, Gabe has had his breakfast and lying quietly like the good boy he is, waiting for his walk. My back is at a 6, which sucks for this time of the day, but likely had to do with my sleep position, which is often cramped and constrained due to the presence of the Hundred Pound Puppy, but that's a trade off I can live with. Coffee is good, day not too busy, horrendous saga with my email continues and it's starting to become the new normal. 68 degrees at 7:30 does not bode well, I am miserable already.
In other words, Just Another Day.

And then - scrolling through my feed on Facebook - I see a post about Blue Vervain. Verbena hastata, grows all over the place,  a deeply sacred and medicinal plant, a fellow herbalist posted a brief comment on the uses of it.
And hey, there we are...transported.  There I am, lost -  memory creeps in, or more like, swoops in over me, covering the world, all else stops and there we are, Danny, you and me - that time I found a huge patch of vervain, plenty for harvest, off the road, and had to pull over jump out and grab some. I had my gathering basket and various knives in the back, it was a quiet spot; you stayed in the car; I never took any chances having you out loose with me when there was any chance of a vehicle coming by. (You were and are so very precious). I parked so I could watch the car while I did the harvesting - I had an intense, probably irrational fear of someone stealing you from me, just the worst thought imaginable, if I left you unattended for a moment. (This made all the errands and shopping I had to do the last few years, when Alex was gone most of the time, very challenging. I'm sure people thought I was crazy, constantly leaving my cart of groceries or whatever to run to the window and check.) I went as quickly as I could, leaving a small offering of thanks, and packing my haul in the backseat before we headed home...often with a quick stop at the Rupert Community centre, for you to have a short run, and me to just glory in the freedom, the happiness, the simple daily joy of being with you, in that magical place.

                                   Basket of blue vervain, ready to process, July2014


This post, you know, is not about vervain, although I have to say that the clearest, most persistent memories are often of you and I wild crafting - that huge stand of mullein that was poisoned the very next day; our pine and spruce resin forays; days up at Eddie Beltrans, mostly Goldenrod from there but many baskets of acorns too; all the agrimony and New England aster from the path behind the RCC. Those were, hands down, the happiest, most blessed and grace-filled days of my life. And as I always said, Monk -  "you and you and only you".

Whatever I have now, or will have in future, those words mean that only you shared that sacred time and only you were with me every moment through the long transformation from who I was in 2006, to who I was when you left me, that overcast terrible February morning, fifteen years later. 

Only you will live forever in sacred time as the companion of my heart and my canine soulmate through the most magical time, the best time, of my entire life.

And so many things trigger memory - today it was a post on FB about blue vervain, another day it's unpacking fall decor and remembering buying that stuff when you were still here, it could just be the way the light filters through the trees at dusk. It always hurts, it sometimes hurts so much my heart collapses with the pain of memory, but it is always there.  you are with me always my darling, my Rabbit, my boy.

You and you and only you.

 I stand at the back door and look out into the landscape of white - silent, except for the twittering of many small birds - at this time of year, likely redpolls, goldfinches and juncos, in flocks. Chickadees are here year round, of course, and flit about all day, along with the woodpeckers and jays - larger flocks come and go. The silence and the snow is wonderful; in this crazed,disintegrating world, I know I am fortunate to be here. I stand and watch while my 10 month old puppy sniffs the snow,  tries to catch a defiant red squirrel, stares around in wonderment at the world. He is tall, brown, elegant, thoughtful - beautiful - and he adores me. I love him back with a depth and  desperation that only someone as hurt as I am could feel, for the (briefly) small being who entered my life at the most painful of times and just gives love endlessly and without question. He is my strength and my comfort, the source of any smiles or laughter in my day (well, aside from Korky) he gives me meaning and purpose, is my anchor to this earth, all in return for some home cooked food and a soft bed of snuggles every night.

I am surviving...some days better than others. My body is pretty much broken and my spirit, hanging by a thread. But, I continue..and the tall, brown, thoughtful, 90 pound puppy has helped. Light from the late afternoon sun  sets the snow sparkling and ice on the trees creates a shimmering backdrop of glass. It is beautiful, quiet, and  still, magical and bittersweet, and always, always....empty.

Everywhere in this stillness, there you are. I see the Hills, through the forest out back, off in the distance, and there you are - there WE are, roaming together, me giddy with joy, you with your serious face and purposeful sniffing.

I see the sunlight fall across the yard a certain way and it's like your energy sweeps through me, so many times I stood enraptured, somewhere in the wild, and you stopped whatever you were doing to stand motionless with me, as if feeling what I was to the core of your being.

Everywhere inside, your sweet, serious, so changeable face peers out at me, from framed pics to casual photos on the fridge to the memorial I'm building in the room I keep my most precious things in...I am never without you, but always without you.

"Gabriel says that he was sent from heaven in specific answer to Daniel’s prayer."

One Heart

 This morning has been terrible. Simply, indescribably awful. I woke up reliving his last hours, and felt to the core of my being that I had betrayed the strongest love and greatest need I've ever experienced. My "daemon" (for those of you who get the reference) my baby. Like our long beautiful sacred story was eradicated in a few hours, by me, who was never worthy of this Gift in the first place.

The above was written at 6:30  and now it is almost 9, I have moved on to a different manifestation of this misery. For some it will be a little mystical, for others it will resonate, but this journey is mine and this is what I feel, experience, suffer every moment as I try to walk through the loss, the guilt, the self reproach.

I feel, at times I am experiencing his memories. Things like, our drives back and forth to the store all the months Alex was gone - I'd sing goofy songs to him, and when we were on the way home I'd exclaim "LOOK where we live, Rabbit!"  and he'd start looking wildly about as if that statement of mine meant there were deer in a  field, a dog strolling by, or something else of equal interest. Not Mom just exclaiming how elated she was to live in the place did. Every time this played out...and I remember it as the driver, the human, looking over the fields on Shouldice Rd, beholding the funny adorable predictable Danny-behaviour...that's how I remember it.

Until he died, that is - now I have these flashes as though I am recalling it all through him. Strange, mystical, bizarre as that will sound, and to some, sure evidence of my PTSD and probably slide into psychosis. I feel like I'm remembering bits of his life...through his eyes.

Another Thursday, and More Lessons from my Love

 It's so hard to believe we are close to Christmas, and in just two months Danny will have been gone from my life for a whole year.
Much of it has been a blur as I tried to manage the most terrible grief, my back pain, depression, work and then my joyful but incredibly demanding  puppy Gabriel.

The last few days, probably a confluence of factors, I've been really down and sad. But even through that haze, I feel insights coming through that are so important for me to integrate, and to share. I just wanted to take a few minutes and jot them both down here today.

1) Celebrate NOW.

2) It's not betrayal to do better

2) I can share love and it doesn't diminish Dan and me.

1) Sounds obvious to the point of cliche, but some things drive the point home so poignantly. I'm not doing much Christmas this year, but not ignoring it either - I did purchase a Swarovski Christmas Star from 2006, the year Dan was born and came into my life. We're getting a small - 4 ft - artificial tree, the first I've ever had, and I'm going to put it up even in future years when it's safe to do my full tree, and make it a memorial tree, starting with Dan. It may become a Danny tree and then a second small tree will cover all my other lost loves, I don't know. But the point is, as I was buying Dan's star I kept thinking, why do we wait till someone is gone, to memorialize? I mean, that's not the right word - celebrate, maybe? Buying the stars from years past is expensive and requires some hunting - I got 2006 at a steal, for 80$, some were listed at 300! but pragmatics aside, why not celebrate now? Although it hurt me to do so, I bought a 2021 star for the first year of Gabriel. (It hurt because I never did this with Dan, and I feel enormous guilt for all the love I feel towards Gabe, anything he gets Dan never had. I know this will ease in time).

To sum up - I have a table in one room of my house, with framed pictures of Danny, several photo books, various rabbits, a memorial plaque, candles etc -  I'm working on several projects like a silver pendant in the shape of his chest angel, and painting stones (an artist I am not)..all kinds of things SINCE HE DIED. And some of that is appropriate of course, but some, like Christmas ornaments, can and should be incorporated into the here and now with the ones we love who are with us.
That may sound absurdly obvious to many but it wasn't to me. I get so caught up in survival - right now we are in a frighteningly slow phase and I still have to prioritize top quality food, a good coat, toys etc for Gabie - that I forget to do small, celebratory but meaningful things like a Gabe's first Christmas" ornament - or a framed pic of him on the wall NOW, not to wait till he's gone and then plaster the house with them.

2) Doing better with Gabe- this hits me all the time every day. I was preparing Gabe's breakfast this morning, and remembered how, when Danny was this age, I so often put down a bowl of (good) kibble for his breakfast, I was so out of it in the mornings ( a side effect of my beer habit n those days, which I have completely given up years ago). Dan was never neglected in any way, God forbid, and he had home made food throughout his life,  at the end he had all home made, the last 3 years I made it fresh every day, too. And I not only balanced it to NRC values, I geared it always to his preferences. But I felt guilt this morning to the point of tears, dishing up home made  meatloaf and a few supplements for Gabe's breakfast. Anything I feel I "do better" now hurts me so much. I will just have to find some way through this one. It is a daily companion....no amount of rationalizing, of intellectual understanding, helps it much at all.

I remind myself - this is not betrayal, it is growth, it is carrying forth the legacy.

3. I am gradually getting better with this. I remind myself that all the years I had my Dan, I also loved all the cats, Korky, and all the other dogs here - my darling Lila, in the beginning, and then two RR rescues, Tina and Amara.  It has always felt to me like I can love other creatures, but also that all the love in the universe pales in comparison to how much I love Dan. I so often feel I have betrayed him by getting a pup - and, excruciatingly, when I am in the midst of a big "love-in" with Gabe, (he's such a cuddle bug) I feel these waves of guilt hit me, like "oh yeah, you loved Dan to the ends of the earth and 5 months after his death you just replaced him". I mean, I KNOW that isn't true, but yet I do it. What is it on me that makes this happen? Survivor guilt? I leaned about that phenomenon after my brother died....PTSD? Likely both?

I'm not really going anywhere with this post, just  thinking out loud and hoping something might resonate wit others struggling with longterm grief. Every day is still a challenge and I feel - I KNOW, there is so much still to "process". And it gets harder as time passes and people around you think your grief is pathological, it's gone on too long, you are wallowing etc. Nothing so isolating and  difficult as all that. Our grief is what it is and yes, it can be complicated and tied to other issues, and yes it can take years. What I do - one of the things I do, anyway - is write here and get clarity.  I try to celebrate Gabie NOW, although I am so tired and in need fo a rest, I do make a conscious effort every day to celebrate his beautiful presence in my life. I struggle with feeling like I would have been a better Mom to Danny if I "knew then what I know now", even as I recognize how loved he always was. Lastly, loving again does not crap all over the years I had with Dan. I got this puppy to help me survive and that is exactly what he has done - helped me, at the same time I owe HIM all the love and care and focus Danny got and I strive to deliver it. Gabe is not a mistake or a replacement, he is my sweetie, my companion and my helper. There is not one iota of my love for Dan displaced by his presence in my life.

Not...one.

I started this post in December and just completed it now, April 18th. Not much has changed. Gabe is bigger, settling a bit and I am soldiering on through my many health and other challenges. I miss and mourn Danny evry day, as I face the second spring without him - which in fact, feels like the first spring,as last year I was deep in shock and living in some kind fo an altered state.

Occasionally these days I get clarity about WHY this is all so devastating - why meaning, beyond the loss of my dog, which is hard enough - and sometimes I get glimmers of healing, at least what to do if I ever had the time. I suppose I am moving forward.But it remains a long journey and very draining.

My heart is fully with everyone out there who is going through the same. And especially those whom the world simply does not understand.

A Ritual of Cleansing

 Today I opened this blog for the first time in a long while. At the very top, I saw three consecutive attempts to post - my first Christmas without Dan, a reflection on not waiting till someone you love is gone, to do things that celebrate their life,and another, just outpouring of sadness, after I found a line about how "Gabriel was sent by Daniel"...three attempts to write something, all ended with tears and depression. I carry my grief with me every day, I guess I've felt like I don't really need to open up this blog and pour more fuel on the fire of sadness and regret.

But today I am posting this, and maybe will even go back and add the others. Nobody, save for a loving inner circle ever reads this blog, so it's more for my own memories and processing, but that counts too. I'm not writing here about how the loss of one funny little sweetheart of a dog haunts and hurts me, to gain some kind of wide audience. It's for me - and for him - and anyone who happens upon it that may relate. I totally get that my writing may make others very sad as well. But I need to post this - for Danny, for my own soul, for everyone who has lost a living being they loved beyond words.

 I have been washing one of Danny's harnesses today - an old one, ill-fitting, but that I cannot part with for many reasons. He wore it for many years, and while I made attempts to buy him a new one, I was uneasy buying online back then, I had almost no money, and what if the one I bought wasn't a good fit? Better to stick with the ill-fitting one he has (and doesn't seem to mind). He really only needed a new one to go into town with, and we rarely did that. His harnesses were always referred to as his "littles" - everything about Danny was little - so it's weird to even write about his "harness". He had his littles, and for many years, he wore this grey one. All through his mature years - from maybe ...3? to when we left Rupert just before he turned 11, he wore this thing. I didn't even put it on him correctly. But, it was his Little and the sight of it hanging on his empty chair, fills me with pain and longing.

 

 

And then, last week,  I recently realized, it smells bloody awful.

I did wash that thing - I mean, dozens of times in the years when he was wearing it.But honestly, I didn't often wash HIM - a point that brings me much pain when I think about it these days. Washing him was like so many things I didn't do - or to be more accurate, gave up trying to do - because he hated it so much. I recall a few adventures in Dan-washing back at the house - I'd bring multiple large basins of warm water out back, and soap and towels, and tether Monk to the fence - 2 hours later, covered in water and usually with some kind of injury (me) he'd be clean but I'd be exhausted, and I hated stressing him so much. This was the period where I was washing Jasmine almost daily as she was totally incontinent - urine and feces - and would often have diarrhea in the night, the diaper didn't hold it, and then - since she had advanced CCD and paced all night) the whole downstairs had to be mopped as well. I'd be washing HER and the bedding and the floor half the day (Alex was in Saskatchewan). So yes, I didn't wash my Rabbit enough, and he got a little stinky, and seeing as I'm his Mom and all, I really didn't mind.

But the Little - well it does smell. And not smell of HIM - his sweet, warm, puppydog aroma I loved so much - but of stale fur oil and  country- dog -who-walks- an-hour -every-day (at least) offleash and may just get into stuff when Mom is bent over some strange little woodland plant or other. I have to wash it - there is no choice - if it is to hang on the back of his chair in my office - I simply have to wash his Little.

The problem is - this. It is covered in his fur - one of the last items I have that is (his winter coat notwithstanding) and washing it, crazy as this sounds, feels like washing away more of him - as if he hasn't already been gone almost 14 months, as if every single day his absence is not palpable, heart rending, omnipresent. But I just have to do it, and let go of the stink and the bit of fur and the desperate hanging on that I do. So today, this is it - a day "off" (such as I ever actually get one) and I am filling my rabbit bowl with scented soap and well water,  soaking and rinsing and adding rose oil until the damn ill-fitting stinky old Little smells as sweet and sacred as my memories of my boy. As my love for him that death cannot touch...as the lilacs in May at our home in the country. And for some reason this act just breaks me in pieces,  and brings everything about the end back in such acute detail, I cannot wait to get it done.

Danny's fur lined Little, soaking in a rabbit bowl with cedar and a crystal from our Holy Place. 

I wrote this poem today and it says it all, for me. The pain, the love, the memories that burn and sear more than they comfort and uplift.
So far, anyway.

 

Bring me a basin

of Shadow and gold

A bowl made of memory

This water to hold

A bowl full of sorrow, of tears and of joy

To wash away bits of

my beautiful boy

 

To wash away memory

To wash away pain

Till my own days are over

And we meet again

 

Oh bring me some cedar, a stone from the ground

that we walked over daily

A woman, a hound

and here I will stand, with your Spirit so near

As I wash away sorrow, regret and all fear.