In Loving Memory.....

Funny, what your brain does for survival, how you can forget, the most precious things, because honestly? Part of you knows, you just can't handle it. At all. So it waits, until the time is right.

I know this.

I was looking for staples. I've boxes and boxes of them, stashed in places I'd never think to look for them again - a kitchen drawer, the art box, and I was so sure, some were where they should be, in an office desk drawer. I traipsed down there. There are several drawers, so obviously, I whipped open nearly all of them....until I felt my throat close.

Shoving around collections of old plane ticket stubs, scrap booking bits and bobs, my old passport, my hand closed around something both foreign and familiar: Horace's collar. His rabies certificate, lay crumpled nearby. Everything from that day, in October 2007, when I let my babies go - was forced to let my babies go, engulfed me like an undertow dragging me out to sea. I'm not sure how I ended up in the chair, or that that keening noise was coming from me; it all came flashing back...how Lucy Goose, went first, my holding her, as the first shot went in, and she slipped in my arms, peacefully asleep; how the second slipped in shortly thereafter, and I held her, whispered I loved her, how great she'd been to Fox, to me - I was afraid to stay, and terrified to go, so I stayed, with my hand on her chest, wrapped in my arms, so I could feel her heart slow down, finally stop. Baby Gauge was next; he knew something was up, but intelligence never was his strong suit, so he went gently, after Lucy, which left me with Horace.

We were so alike, he and I; all regal game face, big chickens on the inside. When things got...out of control....at the house, he'd hide - by saving him, I was really saving me. Lucy, bless her heart had saved Foxy, when he was very small; Gauge saved all of us that very last time, when it counted the most - and Horace, scared as he must have been, was right by my side. I tried to be brave for both of us. In the end, I couldn't. He knew something wasn't right; we cried together.

I took his collar off, the very last time, so angry that his regular vet was too upset to do the last one, and he had a stranger put my baby down; that I was alone when it happened, that I had to go get Foxy from daycare, right after; it was the beginning of living my life through court orders, that caused pain to those who'd already lived through enough, and free passes to those that cause it.

I told Foxy that they'd all gone to new homes; found excuses why we couldn't ever visit - and then, just recently, (like last week) he's at his therapists, and he wants to know why I don't love the dogs enough to talk about them. Why can't I do that? He misses them. If I missed them, I'd talk about them. How to explain that sometimes, missing someone so much leaves you without words, without breath, without the wherewithal to go on? That there were plenty of days, I wished I'd gone with them? That I can't think about them without hurting so badly I'm afraid I may shake apart?

He say's to me, Pucker doesn't take their place - if I really love her, it means I didn't love Lucy, and we were twins. We were babies together. Is that why we don't have pictures up mama? Yes, baby, it is. It's because mama's bereft without them; so for his sake, I'm trying to face it, finally.How I miss all of them, dreadfully. How I'd gladly skip the holiday's, and damn near did that first year; had my mother not arrived, I'm not even sure the tree would have gone up. That their gone, that while as a mom, you're never supposed to have favorites, you kind of do, and Horace was mine - he was me. I failed me. If I'd failed me, how could I take care of Fox?

Fox understands they are in Heaven now, with Sammy, Grampa's dog that passed away the past July; that they were old, and danes don't live too long, that Lucy Goose is most likely up there too, all running around. He wanted specifics. So I told him....how hard it was to take them away from the house that last time. He was too little to understand, but he'd kissed them goodbye; I promised. I promised too, that they were safe. His word choice, not mine; but yes, honey, they were safe, and loved, and happy. Still our family. Always our family.I explained that I boxed up their dishes, toys, and leashes; I gave away the left over dog food, biscuits, bedding, and accumulated stuff, to a shelter, in dire need of supplies.

I spent a fortune, having someone at a detail shop lay on their back with tweezers and pull the dog fur out, a year later, as I couldn't look at it without loathing B, loathing myself. I've remained angry, as angry remains so much easier than sad, that at the time, I couldn't afford to have them cremated together, to keep their ashes with me, so they knew, I did what I could, in such an untenable situation. So I knew, I wouldn't be the only one who remembered them. Remembered me.

Foxy popped that bubble; and he's right, it's past time to deal with it - for him, the light of my life, the person for whom I draw breath. I dug out a series of photos, of him and Lucy together - a series of my favorites, as he's taking a bone out of her mouth, putting it in his, they're both six months old, he's in a red fleece - she's grinning - well, if you're not a dog person, you won't understand. If you are? I needn't say anymore. You know those moments. Blew them up, to 8x10s, framed them, and hung them on the wall. He's so happy I'm kicking myself for not being able to do it earlier. For him.

Grief, along with it's identical twin, Blame, is a mapless journey; with road blocks leaping out without a moments warning; there's been so much loss - but that's our goal this year. Find our way through the miasma of despair I've locked away, come out stronger, safer, able to remember, in loving memory, those that I loved, and those, who loved me. They're safer now - Fox and I are too. That's what really counts.

Horace? His scent is still in my leather sofa, gracing my office, I still curl up on it, on my Bad Days, to be close to him; his collar, will eventually one day, go on a life size statue of a dane, in my house, Baby Gauge, well, we're not sure just how to remember him best yet, but we'll find it. Fox and I.

Pucker? She's our reminder, everyday, that when God gives you lemons, sometimes, he also gives you lemon and white puppies, to ease the abyss left by those that have come before, a reminder to fill the house with laughter, puppy kisses, and warmth. If I'm honest, she resembles each of them - Lucy's sheer adoration of Fox, Horace's regal stature, Gauge's enormous heart, boundless energy.

They saved me, when it counted the very most; now, we'll save them, in our hearts, forever.