My dear Sister died in 2008 after a years-long fight with cancer. She
was determined, valiant and tiger-hearted. She taught kindergarten
until practically her last day. I can't do her justice here, but you
need to know or the rest seems more unlikely. I was lucky, lucky to be
close (after a career collapse, but who knows what is good and what is
bad, ultimately) so I could be with her every day. Her struggle was
mine. I could never be part of her pain and physical struggle but I
would have taken it on if I could.
When she died, I lost the
mainstay of my life and went through a grief that left me on the
"blasted heath" with King Lear, buffeted by winds and weather. She was
such a part of my emotional life but also my everyday. And everyday
life is what propels you forward.
A year later my little dog Cleo
passed away, she was sweet and completely devoted to me. She would
follow me from room to room laying on the rug in the bathroom when I
showered or under the table when I sewed. No beauty, a little snaggled
toothed with cropped pointed ears and a touch of gargoyle around the
eyes. She hated riding in the car but on the rare occasions I took her
out people would ask "What kind of dog IS she?" I loved her.
So
when both my parents fell ill at almost the same time, I was just
starting to feel the cascades of grief had started to ebb. My Mother in
the hospital after cancer surgery, my Father getting a pace maker for a
faulty ticker and Cleo starting to make an appearance in the kitchen or
under the table.
This stressed me even more. I would see her out
of the corner of my eye all the time. Under the table where she loved to
hide but still keep an eye on the world or in the kitchen by the water
dish that was out for my mother's dog. I would tell her I had nothing
for her, she was beyond my reach. It felt like another needy soul and I
was tapped out. I started to have the stabbing feeling under my left
shoulder blade like I had when my sister was sick.
I kept this
mostly to myself, knowing it made me sound crazy. I was very aware that
the level of stress I was under could very well be the cause. Super
natural experience or hallucinations of a disordered mind- it's a toss
up.
After my Mother came home from the hospital she wanted a
little company and asked her friend Elizabeth to dinner on Sunday. After
a few hours when dinner was over she asked me "Where's your little
dog?" I told her, reluctantly, that Cleo had died the year before, she
said "I saw her under the table when I walked in the house" I said it
was my Mother's little dog, Amorsito. She said "No, he was on the sofa".
The jig was up.
I
told her I saw her all the time. She gave me such a look of incredulity
and said the hair on her arms stood on end. I told her it was fine, she
was just keeping me company. And you know after that I felt comforted
by her. I realized she didn't want anything from me, just to keep me
company. After that I saw her less and less, and then not at all.
My Father died two months later, my Mother is fine. Cleo stays wherever she lives now.
I
do wonder if our bias for words is what keeps us from understanding the
depths of attachment and emotion of the animals who share our lives.
Are they self-aware vis-a-vis our relationship with them or on their
own? It's a little arrogant to think so, I know.
Happy Halloween from me and Cleo, wherever she is!
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| Spectral image to the right of her is an actual spot on the Polaroid, don't be alarmed |
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Ever Your Thimble Servant,
Miss Brilliantine
