This morning I thought about the walks we’ve been taking this summer, how we go to the creek and the kids find large empty snail shells, and we pick brown eyed susans and queen anne’s lace and any other little wild thing that looks pretty. It has been so hot lately that we have to go early. It is beautiful then, and quiet. The goldfinches, with their swooping pattern of flight, streak across the path in front of us. Rabbits are everywhere, and Charlie is so busy sniffing the ground for rabbit tracks that he doesn’t even see the rabbits when they are right in front of his face. I have loved the walks this summer.
This morning I thought about the wildflowers, and remembered that the mason jar we use to put them in was empty, so I decided that when I walked Charlie this evening I would pick some new little flowers to put in it. Only Charlie isn’t here anymore. It actually took me a few seconds to remember that.
It’s funny how sorrow hits you in the simplest, prettiest moment, when you least expect it. It kindof knocks the breath out of you, the way your heart falls.
I try to think about how we gave Charlie a wonderful home for two months. How we helped him to trust again, even if just a little. I try to convince myself that we did a good thing. But I don’t really believe any of it. I honestly find it hard to even catch my breath, I feel so remorseful.
I never even ordered him a tag for his collar. I wish I had done at least that one little thing for Charlie. I just kept forgetting…
All of his things are packed up, now. His hairy little blankie still needs washing, though. There is something about putting everything away that makes it seem like he was never here. Even Mr. Loofah up there is gone. (And don’t let the cheesy smile fool you. Mr. Loofah is totally sad.) I think I’m going to leave that blankie out for a while, just to remind me of him, that he was here, that he was ours.
What all this sadness makes me realize is that in just 8 little weeks I loved that dog. I never would have thought such a neurotic creature could do that to me. But he did. Good old crazy Charlie. (Maybe I am crazy, too).
When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight.
Yes, Mr. Gibran, you are right. He was totally my delight.