I went alone, and I drove in my Subaru event though it is brand spankin' new. I listened to my Leo song, From the Sky by Peter Bradley Adams. If you know someone who's died before you would have liked, this is the song for you.
I sat underneath the aspens and I told him all of the things that had been crumpled and folded into me since last May, when he died.
I told him that Hank is lonesome. That he actually comes to me looking for love and will let me pet him.
I told him that I'm leaving for college and that I'm relieved that I don't have to leave him behind anymore.
I told him that I sleep, every night, with the stuffed moose with plaid antlers that the vet brought me the day we called her to come put him down, because she knows how much he meant to me.
And I sat there for so long... curled over and hugging my knees, rocking myself back and forth and remembering. Crying and remembering and loving and hurting. I was so very glad that there was no one there to hear me say, over and over again Leo, please, begging for me sitting there to not be true.
I looked at the flowers and I listened to the bees and I watched the wind make a wave of the leaves. I killed heaven only knows how many ants and I took a walk and circled back. I played with my camera to take a break from talking to my missing friend.
Finally, though, I sat back down. I told him I was so sorry, that it's so hard to know when is the right time to call it quits for a dog. That he was so good for not letting anyone know he was sick, for just chugging right along through it there until the end, and for trying to play with me in his pond on his last morning.
Then I sat there, and I prayed some which was more angry than sad. Words that were meant to smart more than they would be if I were sitting and having a cup of coffee with Jesus. Distance is safety right? And angry-Jessie decided that if this feeling of maybe-I-did-the-wrong-thing hung around any longer she was going to wish ill upon God's dog.
So I sulked and I thought and I wished hellfire and brimstone upon God's poor innocent dog. I wished he would get a dog just so I could curse it.
When I made the decision, though, I didn't think twice. I knew, right then, that he needed a free pass. That it was my responsibility to dial the phone for him. I remember him sitting and looking at me in so much pain and he just looked so sorry that he didn't have it in him anymore.
Maybe God's dog isn't so bad after all, and surely God had been waiting for me to ask for some help in starting to chip away at that regret.
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