Tuesday November 19, 2013, 5:30 p.m.
It’s a very,very grey day here at Grey House Journal, literally and figuratively. In a way I’m glad, it helps with the grieving. Makes me feel like the universe is sharing my sadness at the loss of a wonderful soul and dear, loving friend. It made sleeping through the day much easier.
Let me apologize in advance for being what you may feel is rather maudlin. I come from a loooonnnnggg line of drama queens on my father’s side (see? trying to find a little humor here…). You may recall my mention (in past posts) of the fact that in life “you can choose to laugh or cry” and I noted that I chose to laugh (or at least try to)…. Plus the purpose of this blog/post, is so that I can have a permanent record of events in my life and the feelings accompanying them.
Sadness permeates my being at the moment. More so than the loss of any other of my beloved companions. I think it’s due to the shortness of Blue’s stay with me. Only three years and four months minus three days. That is simply not enough. I know I won’t get any likes or comments on this post because who wants to read about sadness? Everyone has enough in their own lives.
Anyway, yet another loss in my life. I am so terribly sick to death of losing so many of the beings and things that have meant so much to me since 2000. But maybe that’s what happens when you get closer to the end of your own life. I’ve read several “elder” blogs where the writers speak of being more and more alone because so many of the friends they knew and loved have departed.
Now I’m not all that old but suddenly, I am acutely aware of how short life is. It’s so weird. Really. You go on day by day without a thought of time and it’s passing. Suddenly you’re 50 or so plus and face to face with the fact that you only have so many years left. It’s like a slap upside the head. What were you thinking? You should have prepared better, saved more, done more, seen more, loved more and so on. Well, you can’t undo the past, sadly, you can only move on.
I miss my little companion. When he was not by my side (rare), and I made a sound or noise or whatever, he’d notice and fly (well, later, drag himself) through the house to check on just what was going on. Now, nothing. Only momentos of his gift of time with me.
I’ve gone through 5+ boxes of facial tissues in the last 3 days. Where the heck do all the eye and nasal liquids come from? Ever wonder? I do.
For those of you thinking I should have done more, like get a cart (aka wheelchair) for him, I don’t think he was a wheel cart candidate. It was hard enough for me to get about the narrow pathways in the house, down the stairs to the yard with a cane, much less him in a cart.
Notes from Monday night…yes I was up late…very late…
-1:15 a.m. I still hear his whimpers and cries. Has he not left yet?
-I’d swear I can hear him crying and whimpering on the back porch (4:30 a.m.)
-Maybe I could/should have waited a few more days…weeks…
-I still hear peeps, like he’s still trying to contact me…
-the abject silence now…
-he deteriorated so quickly…in about 1.5 to 2 months
-degenerative myelopathy is a truly hideous monster of a disease
Though I slept in, I did get up in time to make all the calls for what I’ll need for Friday. Thursday will find me at Trader Joe’s buying a gathering of riotously colored flowers and hopefully rosemary. Then on to Jacob Maarse (florist) for the Calla lily and then home to arrange my dear one’s bouquet.
On Friday I will be at Cal Pet Crematory by 10 a.m., to say goodbye to Blue one last time. Like all my other dear companions, I will drape him in a rainbow of flowers tied with a wide satin ribbon. I’ll pet him and kiss him for the last time. No, I’m not afraid of the cold body, the sunken eyes…he was my love and nothing changes that. The bouquet will, of course as I said, have a sprig of rosemary “for remembrance” and one white calla lilly for personal reasons (since this isn’t their season I was having trouble finding one until I called Jacob Maarse). I will photograph him with the bouquet (okay, whoever is grossed out by this, get over it, it’s my way of leave-taking) and I’ll silently read the W. H. Auden poem to him which has been read to all the loved ones who’ve left me since 2000. My brother was the first to read it at my Dad’s funeral.
“Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.
Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.
He was my North, my South, my East and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.