by Laura O'Brien
February 3, 2011
A dimension of my existence slipped quietly from the world this day. There is no gaping, ragged wound torn by its passing. And yet, there is now a negative balance that confronts me rudely at every turn. Something is definitely missing.
No more ragged blanket on the kitchen floor, no tumbleweeds of shed fur congregating in every corner, no large black and white body always lying in the most inconvenient spot. No dim eyes trying to follow my every move, no ancient nails clicking slowly down the hall, no gate blocking stairs grown too steep for his valiant attempts. No standing outside in all weathers at end of day to insist he does his business, no medicine twice daily without fail, no more accidents inside, no more seizures. He is at peace. I am. . .not bereft, but. . .flatter; less than I was.
His absence is thankfully incomplete: memories, bright vignettes soften these unwanted tugs at my heart--a boy and his dog in love with each other, romping with abandon on a sunny day and curled together through the night; the new puppy, her pierced ear reflecting his confirmation of the proper order of things; prancing in delight at the sight of his leash; revelling in snow but mincing steps on frosty grass; the battle of the chewy bones—not so fierce of late, but even on the last day he took from her with impunity. And always, his beautiful face.
To paraphrase much nobler words, for the joy that was set before us we now endure the cost. I do not regret the price. And, I lied about the hair in the corners. It’s still there. It’s been too soon. A friend, when in a similar state, said she might not sweep for a week or so. I completely understand now.
Rest in peace, my faithful friend.
In memory of Flash.
Date of passing: February 3, 2011
Rest in Peace in Rainbow Bridge x