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Nov. 26th, 2006 03:12 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
oselleDaisy was cremated on Friday. I got to see her for a little while beforehand. I was worried about how she'd look after being dead for almost a week even though, of course, she'd been kept in a freezer.
She looked lovely. They had laid her out on a blanket with a little white pillow and white coverlet. I tied a St. Francis medal around her neck and tucked a bunch of daisies under her paw. They had folded her paws together, just like when she used to sleep. Her tail was curled up, and my sister said that meant she was happy. Friday was a gorgeous and very warm day and it was nice to walk around the cemetery and read all of the grave markers. The cemetery, up in Hartsdale, feels like it's in the country. Everyone working there was very kind and respectful.
I picked up Daisy's ashes a couple of hours later. They had put them in a little floral tin, like the kind that nice tea comes in. This went into a little white shopping bag. There seemed an absurdity to be walking away from there with a little shopping bag of my dog's remains. But I felt well when that was over, relieved. It was a beautiful day, and a peaceful event.
I've been feeling a lot worse since then, not sure why. This morning I finally looked in the little tin. I thought it would look soft and sandy, like fireplace ashes, but it was crumbly, like finely-ground cement. I've been referring to it as my "$10,000 box of dirt." Little gray crumbles, all that's left of my dog. I put a St. Francis mass card and a cut daisy in the tin and shut it up. I put that in a basket with her sweater and leash and toys, and put all that in my bedroom.
On my bed, I have a rolled-up blanket that was covering the couch when Daisy died. I can't bear to put in the wash. I also have one of her oldest and most beat-up toys, a deflated teddy bear that was stitched up so many times it looks like Frankenteddy. I have these things on my bed, even though they're dirty. This morning I noticed some very faint yellow stains on my bedspread and I think Daisy might have been peeing in bed just a little in the last days that she slept with me. It doesn't smell or anything, but I can't imagine what else those stains could be. Still, I don't want to wash my bedspread, just like I don't want to wash the blanket.
I feel like shit. I miss my dog. I'd go out for a walk but there's nowhere in this neighborhood I could go that I didn't once go with Daisy trotting along ahead of me, her tags jingling and her corkscrew tail bouncing from side to side. I miss her big goofy grin, full of tiny crooked teeth. I miss her funky little smell in the house. I miss her snoring and lip-smacking, even though by the end she wasn't doing any of those things anymore -- not snoring, not grinning, not even smelling. In fact she had no scent at all by the end, all of her dogginess had faded away.
Sorry for being like this. I want to thank everyone for listening and especially thank the people who sent cards and gifts. You've all been exceptionally patient and kind and I really do appreciate it. But I miss my dog. I have a box of gray crumbles where I once had a dog. And I'm superstitious and scared. Is everything good going to come untrue?
She looked lovely. They had laid her out on a blanket with a little white pillow and white coverlet. I tied a St. Francis medal around her neck and tucked a bunch of daisies under her paw. They had folded her paws together, just like when she used to sleep. Her tail was curled up, and my sister said that meant she was happy. Friday was a gorgeous and very warm day and it was nice to walk around the cemetery and read all of the grave markers. The cemetery, up in Hartsdale, feels like it's in the country. Everyone working there was very kind and respectful.
I picked up Daisy's ashes a couple of hours later. They had put them in a little floral tin, like the kind that nice tea comes in. This went into a little white shopping bag. There seemed an absurdity to be walking away from there with a little shopping bag of my dog's remains. But I felt well when that was over, relieved. It was a beautiful day, and a peaceful event.
I've been feeling a lot worse since then, not sure why. This morning I finally looked in the little tin. I thought it would look soft and sandy, like fireplace ashes, but it was crumbly, like finely-ground cement. I've been referring to it as my "$10,000 box of dirt." Little gray crumbles, all that's left of my dog. I put a St. Francis mass card and a cut daisy in the tin and shut it up. I put that in a basket with her sweater and leash and toys, and put all that in my bedroom.
On my bed, I have a rolled-up blanket that was covering the couch when Daisy died. I can't bear to put in the wash. I also have one of her oldest and most beat-up toys, a deflated teddy bear that was stitched up so many times it looks like Frankenteddy. I have these things on my bed, even though they're dirty. This morning I noticed some very faint yellow stains on my bedspread and I think Daisy might have been peeing in bed just a little in the last days that she slept with me. It doesn't smell or anything, but I can't imagine what else those stains could be. Still, I don't want to wash my bedspread, just like I don't want to wash the blanket.
I feel like shit. I miss my dog. I'd go out for a walk but there's nowhere in this neighborhood I could go that I didn't once go with Daisy trotting along ahead of me, her tags jingling and her corkscrew tail bouncing from side to side. I miss her big goofy grin, full of tiny crooked teeth. I miss her funky little smell in the house. I miss her snoring and lip-smacking, even though by the end she wasn't doing any of those things anymore -- not snoring, not grinning, not even smelling. In fact she had no scent at all by the end, all of her dogginess had faded away.
Sorry for being like this. I want to thank everyone for listening and especially thank the people who sent cards and gifts. You've all been exceptionally patient and kind and I really do appreciate it. But I miss my dog. I have a box of gray crumbles where I once had a dog. And I'm superstitious and scared. Is everything good going to come untrue?
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Date: 2006-11-26 07:46 pm (UTC)I wish I had something wise or profound or helpful to say. But I don't. All I can say is... I never met Daisy, but when I read your memories of her, I miss her too.
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Date: 2006-11-26 08:04 pm (UTC)But I hope a thousand good things come prove your fears wrong and help ease your grief, a little.
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Date: 2006-11-26 08:18 pm (UTC)I will tell you the best advice I was given when I was newly widowed and grieving so painfully for my husband. Don't try to avoid the pain, let yourself grieve as you need to, let yourself cry and remember her. You can't go around it, you have to go through it, and, much as it hurts, you will find yourself remembering all the good things, and cherishing them more and more, and there's nothing wrong with that at all, just as there's nothing wrong with keeping her things near you, where you can touch them and they may make you feel a little closer to your dog. I pray you will receive comfort in your sorrow.
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Date: 2006-11-26 08:42 pm (UTC)It sounds like she did have a wonderful good-bye. Things will be hard for a while, but they will get better.
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Date: 2006-11-26 08:46 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-11-26 09:25 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-11-26 11:32 pm (UTC)And please don't feel you need to apologize; Daisy has been a light in your life. There's no awkwardness with missing and remembering someone that you've loved so much and has brought you such joy.
And us too, for that matter.
I've loved reading your happier posts and feel your sadness with her passing. I wish I could offer more comfort to you, but I do know that so many of us on your f-list felt a closeness to her through your journal.
Your description of the last time you saw her and of the cemetery is somehow not so much sad as heartwarming, because the love you have for her shines through in every single word.
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Date: 2006-11-27 12:15 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-11-27 03:16 am (UTC)I went through something similar with my cat Chloe. The way I had to look at it is that she could come back in a better and healthier body - and I truly believe this. I keep Chloe's ashes in a little wooden box, with one of her pom-poms, a piece of tissue paper that she lay down on the last couple of days, some of her fur and a whisker. And it's topped with a very tiny picture of her.
Daisy had a good life with you and now that she's free of suffering and pain.... she'll be able to come back and live again. And that's what you'll need to do when you're able. Live again.
*huge hugs*
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Date: 2006-11-27 05:13 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-11-27 03:40 pm (UTC)I still keep my Sammie cat's "Mr. Mouse", a rolled up ball of string with a string 'tail'.
(((((Oselle)))))
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Date: 2006-11-27 04:16 pm (UTC)*hugs tight*
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Date: 2006-11-27 07:43 pm (UTC)Keep her close as long as it helps, and don't worry about it. Grief evolves. There's a torn place in the fabric of your life now, but you'll slowly embroider a pretty flower over it--a Daisy, of course. ((((((oselle))))))
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Date: 2006-11-28 03:41 am (UTC)It sounds like it was a lovely arrangement. How lucky you were to pick up her ashes right away like that. I have two little boxes of ashes myself. I have them on a little shelf in my bedroom where I also keep some water-rounded stones from the lake shore of my hometown. Sometimes I light a candle there and sometimes I have small bouquets there. Not often, just when I feel like it.
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Date: 2006-11-28 11:15 pm (UTC)There is no hurry on washing or putting away Daisy's things. You take as long as you need to. It's not unusual at all. Of course you miss her. That's allowed.
As to your last question... No, it isn't. But it's certainly understandable to feel that way. Take your time - try a little of that patience on yourself.
no subject
Date: 2006-12-04 12:05 am (UTC)Thank you. Thank you for telling us in your wonderful way with words.
I've been offline, and I'm sorry I missed all of this as you were going through it. I remember how much you enjoyed Daisy, and how exasperated you got with some of her antics, and the funny way you shared all of it with us.
Allow yourself to grieve, and know that we're thinking of you.
Is everything good going to come untrue?
No. You *know* that life includes misery, (and how eloquently you've expressed that!) but the good is still there. Remember.
*hugs*