Leaning on those who have been here before me

Again I must give credit to the many who have gone through this sort of thing for helping me get through this with as few scars as I am as of yet left with. The wounds are definitely healing and the memories that have been so painful to remember are becoming endearing again.

I realized that we, or at least I, have really been mourning for a long time. With every bit that her conditioned worsened, my heart sunk more and more, despite my trying to ignore what was inevitable. But I will speak more on this when things are a little less delicate.

For now, though, I am reading soothing words. I picked up a book called "Goodbye, Friend" by Gary Kowalski, about helping cope with the passing of an animal friend. The author is a Unitarian minister who has done a marvelous job of collecting thoughts, words, and experiences of people through time and culture in dealing with the prominence of animals in people's hearts and how they dealt with this situation.

Though the overall conversation is good so far, the most powerful part of the book is the collection of rituals and writings in the back. One particular poem (in the book its teeth are taken out, but still powerful) by Rudyard Kipling stands out so strongly for me:

THERE is sorrow enough in the natural way
From men and women to fill our day;
And when we are certain of sorrow in store,
Why do we always arrange for more?
Brothers and Sisters, I bid you beware
Of giving your heart to a dog to tear.

Buy a pup and your money will buy
Love unflinching that cannot lie—
Perfect passion and worship fed
By a kick in the ribs or a pat on the head.
Nevertheless it is hardly fair
To risk your heart for a dog to tear.

When the fourteen years which Nature permits
Are closing in asthma, or tumour, or fits,
And the vet’s unspoken prescription runs
To lethal chambers or loaded guns,
Then you will find—it’s your own affair—
But . . . you’ve given your heart to a dog to tear.

When the body that lived at your single will,
With its whimper of welcome, is stilled (how still!).
When the spirit that answered your every mood
Is gone—wherever it goes—for good,
You will discover how much you care,
And will give your heart to a dog to tear.

We’ve sorrow enough in the natural way,
When it comes to burying Christian clay.
Our loves are not given, but only lent,
At compound interest of cent per cent.
Though it is not always the case, I believe,
That the longer we’ve kept ’em, the more do we grieve.
For, when debts are payable, right or wrong,
A short-time loan is as bad as a long—
So why in—Heaven (before we are there)
Should we give our hearts to a dog to tear?

Anyone who has called a dog friend can answer that question. Me, now better than before.