very low night.
i’ve been grieving about our dog coley’s death in this underlying sort of way for a couple of weeks. he was our only charge, and had come to us halfway through his life in this sort of involuntary way, in zero degree weather, underweight and skittish, with no other options. we took him in, knowing we had no business caring for an animal with our schedule and priorities. months later, his insecurities turned into a fear-biting habit, and $1500 and a lost homeowner’s insurance policy later, we fought the city for his life (never before nor since have i waxed so literate regarding municipal ordinance). as if our dog were our criminal child, we fought about what was best for our family, our finances, our little baby, our friendships, our sanity. ultimately, i strongarmed his survival, for better or for worse. he became important to me in a different way then.
he died a little over a week ago, at age 15, and we had him cremated. chuck, as is par, handled his passing with a certain wisdom and even almost a happiness. it was coley’s time, he said, and he had lived a long and happy life, and now he would never have to struggle with his bad back legs again. but i was just kind of hanging on.
i thought i might get some closure by spreading his ashes in the woods near our house, and launching a beautiful sky lantern given to us by a dear friend. and maybe i did…it’s too soon to know, i guess. but i was attached to how the ceremony would turn out, how it would look, how i would feel afterward. i had thought about it too damn much.
it played out almost disastrously — and, even in my serious place at the moment, i can glean — sort of comically. we waited until dark so we could see the stars as the lantern rose into the air, and we scattered the ashes as planned. it was a gorgeous, calm night, and we launched the lantern in an open place, but a gust of wind must have picked it up, because it caught way up high at the top of a tree branch. a flaming lantern.
chuck muttered the question of whether we just started a forest fire. if it was going to happen, it was going to happen. we watched for maybe 45 seconds as this silent set of events unfolded: lantern detached, lantern spun, lantern reattached sort of sideways onto adjacent tree. thank god for flame retardant material. lantern detatched. punctured lantern sailed to grassy ground. thank god for flame retardant material. still, there was actual flame. and a ravine between us and lantern. i ran toward it, crunching, and found a tree bridging the gap. i got on it. i’m a gymnast. i can do anything. whatever. my heel slipped. i fell 5 or 6 feet onto my upper hip. i did a sort of victim cry. lantern was still 10 feet away, but from new vantage point, i saw the flame extinguish itself.
i suppose this was an exercise in non-attachment to outcome. (i failed). my brain wants to make it a statement about my lack of character somehow — that things don’t work out in a beautiful and symbolic way for me, that i am not of the constitution to effect such life-giving closure and symbolism and whatnot, that the ability to grow and let go and be wise and be more like chuck does not cling to my being. as i write, i know that i have been bawling more about all of that than about my dog’s death.
i know that victimhood is not the best option here. maybe grace is. humor probably.
today: eschew victimhood. embrace what is.
s
