A river runs through it
FIRST::: DID ANYONE COPY THE LITTLE WORDSWORTH QUOTE I HAD AS MY 'STATUS' RECENTLY? DALE AND I ARE HOPING TO FIND IT AGAIN... SEEMS ELUSIVE! PLEASE SEND IT OVER IF YOU HAVE IT. THANK YOU SO MUCH!
FLASH!!! FOUND! (On my FB page in memory of Andy.) I'm putting it here for future reference.
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"I loved the boy with the utmost love of which my soul is capable, and he is taken from me...yet in the agony of my spirit in surrendering such a treasure, I feel a thousand times richer than if I had never possessed it." William Wordsworth, 1812
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Zooming into 2011. Very busy with work, family visits, church projects, the house, painting, and self-care (need more of that, always... sleep, food, exercise). I have lots of planning for projects and pleasures up ahead. It is all connected. It flows and swirls.
Case in point: I just had a meeting with a friend from church to plan a service in March and since she was here she asked me about my dogs... my two rescue pups Annabelle and Henry... she asked didn't I used to have more?... yes, and the story unfolded for her: I had a very VERY old husky-lab mutt named Eliza who died at almost 18 (I was ready for that) and then a few weeks later my darling baby Marley, a 12-year-old black&tan smooth dachshund, a beloved little jelly bean of a boy with shiny eyes and popcorn paws, suddenly had to be euthanized due to bladder stones. I couldn't put him through the pain and it was likely to happen again and again. I was shattered. I sobbed for days.
I wasn't able to have his sweet little body cremated (unthinkable) and I buried him under the apple tree in my backyard. I wept every time it rained, thinking of the cold and wet which he hated. He was ALL about cozy and warm and dry! Under the cubbers, he 'called' it. (LOL) One night when I was crying my brother Nick called up. I told him how upsetting it was for me to think of Marley out in the cold night... gulping and sobbing. Nick said, "Sarah... Sarah... you've forgotten something." "Wh-wh-what???" I hiccuped. "That's not Marley," he said. "Marley is not under the garden. Marley is in your heart. He's under the cubbers. He's running on the beach." "Oh... that's true... "
So I started to remember how much Marley loved all those things. And the memories of how much I loved HIM started filling me up. Now when I think about Marley, I still have a great big OH and I feel terrible about the suffering he endured. But I know I did everything a person could do for her little friend. And it doesn't hurt as much to talk about him.
Marley died in October 2007. Annabelle was the only dog left. Fast forward. I got Henry to keep Annabelle company, in August 2008. He was perfect. A goofy yellow mutt, or 'melange' as they're called in France... haha sounds better?! Fast forward. In January 2009 Andy was diagnosed with cancer. Fast forward. He died seventeen months later, in May 2010.
By the time he died, we were grateful for the peace of his death, his release from suffering. And I knew with my whole heart that his body, his poor tired earth-suit, was no longer 'Andy'. Andy was up up and away, UP HIGH, and everywhere. I miss Andy more than I can say (and as much as you miss your sons and daughters... you know how much) but I have not had the same kind of shock. I wonder whether the way that I did the work of grieving for Marley was clearing the pathways for pure channels of grief and love when Andy was diagnosed... the day I started to grieve... the day I heard the words Glioblastoma multiforme. By the time Andy's tumors overwhelmed his poor brain and shut down his organs and his respiratory center, 'he' was gone. The skinny little body in the bed was like a snakeskin or a snail's shell... cowbones on the desert... just the frame that HE inhabited for 27 years. I loved his body, yes, but I loved HIM much much more, and HE went first, before his earthsuit.
Grieving for Andy has obviously been many times bigger; you can't even compare the hole left behind by my son and the dog I adored. I don't know how to say this... grieving for Andy has been clearer and purer as a pathway. I knew what I was losing and I made sure to know it and feel it with every cell of my body. And as I had learned, as I watered the garden with my tears, that "that is not Marley" I was prepared to know -- no one needed to remind me this time -- "that is not Andy".
There are so many dear friends losing their lovers, mothers, brothers, children to cancer, every day. [Insert many names] ... We're all one family, really. People, dogs, cats... probably all the creatures. It's a flowing river of love and loss. We're all in it. We are the river.
FLASH!!! FOUND! (On my FB page in memory of Andy.) I'm putting it here for future reference.
==================================
"I loved the boy with the utmost love of which my soul is capable, and he is taken from me...yet in the agony of my spirit in surrendering such a treasure, I feel a thousand times richer than if I had never possessed it." William Wordsworth, 1812
===================================
Zooming into 2011. Very busy with work, family visits, church projects, the house, painting, and self-care (need more of that, always... sleep, food, exercise). I have lots of planning for projects and pleasures up ahead. It is all connected. It flows and swirls.
Case in point: I just had a meeting with a friend from church to plan a service in March and since she was here she asked me about my dogs... my two rescue pups Annabelle and Henry... she asked didn't I used to have more?... yes, and the story unfolded for her: I had a very VERY old husky-lab mutt named Eliza who died at almost 18 (I was ready for that) and then a few weeks later my darling baby Marley, a 12-year-old black&tan smooth dachshund, a beloved little jelly bean of a boy with shiny eyes and popcorn paws, suddenly had to be euthanized due to bladder stones. I couldn't put him through the pain and it was likely to happen again and again. I was shattered. I sobbed for days.
I wasn't able to have his sweet little body cremated (unthinkable) and I buried him under the apple tree in my backyard. I wept every time it rained, thinking of the cold and wet which he hated. He was ALL about cozy and warm and dry! Under the cubbers, he 'called' it. (LOL) One night when I was crying my brother Nick called up. I told him how upsetting it was for me to think of Marley out in the cold night... gulping and sobbing. Nick said, "Sarah... Sarah... you've forgotten something." "Wh-wh-what???" I hiccuped. "That's not Marley," he said. "Marley is not under the garden. Marley is in your heart. He's under the cubbers. He's running on the beach." "Oh... that's true... "
So I started to remember how much Marley loved all those things. And the memories of how much I loved HIM started filling me up. Now when I think about Marley, I still have a great big OH and I feel terrible about the suffering he endured. But I know I did everything a person could do for her little friend. And it doesn't hurt as much to talk about him.
Marley died in October 2007. Annabelle was the only dog left. Fast forward. I got Henry to keep Annabelle company, in August 2008. He was perfect. A goofy yellow mutt, or 'melange' as they're called in France... haha sounds better?! Fast forward. In January 2009 Andy was diagnosed with cancer. Fast forward. He died seventeen months later, in May 2010.
By the time he died, we were grateful for the peace of his death, his release from suffering. And I knew with my whole heart that his body, his poor tired earth-suit, was no longer 'Andy'. Andy was up up and away, UP HIGH, and everywhere. I miss Andy more than I can say (and as much as you miss your sons and daughters... you know how much) but I have not had the same kind of shock. I wonder whether the way that I did the work of grieving for Marley was clearing the pathways for pure channels of grief and love when Andy was diagnosed... the day I started to grieve... the day I heard the words Glioblastoma multiforme. By the time Andy's tumors overwhelmed his poor brain and shut down his organs and his respiratory center, 'he' was gone. The skinny little body in the bed was like a snakeskin or a snail's shell... cowbones on the desert... just the frame that HE inhabited for 27 years. I loved his body, yes, but I loved HIM much much more, and HE went first, before his earthsuit.
Grieving for Andy has obviously been many times bigger; you can't even compare the hole left behind by my son and the dog I adored. I don't know how to say this... grieving for Andy has been clearer and purer as a pathway. I knew what I was losing and I made sure to know it and feel it with every cell of my body. And as I had learned, as I watered the garden with my tears, that "that is not Marley" I was prepared to know -- no one needed to remind me this time -- "that is not Andy".
There are so many dear friends losing their lovers, mothers, brothers, children to cancer, every day. [Insert many names] ... We're all one family, really. People, dogs, cats... probably all the creatures. It's a flowing river of love and loss. We're all in it. We are the river.
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