Days of My Life

Sitting here looking at a photo of my dog Candy, I am reminded of the things we leave behind. There is a collage of her on my wall, and in one photo she is looking directly into the camera as though she is looking directly at me. I love that shot, so as I look I tell her that she will never be forgotten and my mind drifts to the spot in my back home yard where she rests in a cardboard box sealed tightly by her vet enclosed with her blue blankie. She is in the spot where she was laid to rest by my parents and me on a pleasant February day almost two years ago under a shade tree several feet beneath a concrete marker my dad had poured especially for her. In fact, it was he who insisted on a service and proper burial that caused me to drive her body in the trunk from NC where she died to GA where she was buried before returning to DC.

That day was so long ago, distanced by the events that transpire with time, yet it seems like yesterday. The memories of Candy and that day I hold dear. Candy died of what killed my dad a year and more before him. He had just come out of the hospital fighting it the day before Candy died. They shared a bond like that and it was important to him that she be remembered properly. So when I think of Candy’s burial and her special spot under the tree, I think of him.

I am also reminded of what I have taken with me from that moment and what I have left behind. I have taken all of the love that both of them have given me, Candy for 16+ years and my dad for my whole life. I am strengthened by the fact that I thought the pain of leaving Candy in that one spot of my life’s history felt like it would never end, but that is a pain I have left behind. The loss of my father fills me with a different pain, a different longing, far more intense and more profound, but I am encouraged because the pain of that loss I will one day leave behind although the memories I never will.

So I smile when I think of Candy and her antics as I prepare myself to reach out to another dog and try loving a pet once again. I understand that I will one day embrace a step-father eventually whom could never replace my dad but could be just as worthy of my love and respect.

When our loved ones get off the life merry-go-round, we sometimes feel stuck in that one spot, not knowing how to move forward without them and sometimes feeling guilty for the moments we feel they’ll never share. But the funny thing about that playground toy is that it will keep right on spinning regardless of whether we want it to–just like life. I’m learning that what we take with us in the way of memories as the wheel keeps on spinning is far more useful and valuable than the pain and self-pity for our own loss (no matter how warranted) that we must learn to leave behind.