letter to a friend (11/19/97 - 11/21/07)

dear cyra,

i can’t sleep.

of course i can’t sleep. i’m too used to having you in bed beside me. it was hard enough to sleep during our temporary separation. now that it’s permanent, i wonder when i will sleep soundly again.

i can’t believe you’re gone. how is it that something can feel so real, and yet so completely impossible? i keep thinking i will wake up.

when i got you, about 10 years ago now, it was the first adult decision i’d ever made--choosing to be responsible for another living being, and knowing that it would mean making certain sacrifices. it’s hard to admit that sometimes those sacrifices were difficult to make, but never once did i regret the decision.

you were named cyra because it means ‘sun’, and your fur was so shiny and red. when i first became acquainted with patterdales, i thought i would end up with a black dog, since 95% of the breed has that trait. but you were the last of the litter, and the minute i saw your picture, i knew you belonged with me. your name was more appropriate than i ever would have imagined, and if you knew how much light you brought to my life, you would understand.

i was going to pick you up at christmas and bring you back with me, to resume your normal place at my side. you would have loved it here, and i was so excited to take you for walks on the beach, and let you enjoy the warm california sun. you always were a sun baby, lying for hours in the warmest spot you could find, whenever given the opportunity. in that regard, we were greatly alike.

they say that dogs take after their owners, and in your case i like to think that’s true. you were tough (remember picking that fight with riggins?), and yet so tender. playful and snuggly, always wanting to do things your way, and too smart for your own good. your sense of adventure and need for ‘escape’ has always paralleled my own. you know as well as anyone how much i hate feeling confined. i was always the type that, in three feet of snow, i’d go driving because i needed to know i could. you were much the same, always wanting to discover and explore, and i often felt guilty that you didn’t have more freedom to roam. but those restrictions came only from my own fear. fear that you would get lost, and that i wouldn’t be able to protect you. in the end, i guess that is exactly what happened.

i can’t help but feel guilty. about all kinds of things. i feel guilty that i am handling this so badly, when people i love have lost people they love. i feel guilty about imposing my sorrow on others, when they have their own sorrows to contend with. i feel guilty when errant thoughts pass through my brain like ‘it’s going to be a lot easier to find an apartment now.’ and i can’t help but think about what i could and should have done differently. i think about how i never intended to leave you for this long, and how maybe if i had told mom and dad to shake the treat box if you ever got away, you’d come right back, that maybe you would still be here. and of course, i can’t help feeling that i should have been there. even if there was nothing i could have done, just to have been there for you to know you hadn’t been forgotten or left behind. you hadn’t been abandoned, simply placed in the care of others who loved you, until i could make a place for us both here.

this is a day i have been dreading for many years, and never did i imagine it would come so quickly or abruptly. the more attached i became to you, and you to me, the more i worried about how i would cope when your life on earth came to an end. and to tell you the truth, i always thought that i would be married and have children when the time came to say goodbye. you have been with me through every major life change i’ve encountered, and i can’t quite reconcile that you won’t be here to experience the changes yet to come. it’s not fair.

you have been the one constant in my life. i already feel like my bearings are a bit ‘off’, and now i feel like the rug has been pulled out from under me. i would have done anything to have you with me. i would have moved back to va, if i couldn’t find housing. i would have spent whatever money necessary to keep you here and in my life. if i knew that this unexpected, but relatively quick death, would save you from sickness or prolonged suffering in the future, there would be some comfort in that. and i am grateful that i never had to make a decision. i never had to decide if it was your time. i know now, that i would have been incapable of that decision. i would have wanted to keep you with me for as long as possible, under any circumstances. so, i suppose i’m glad that your quality of life never deteriorated...that you lived a healthy and happy life.

i hope that your last moments were not fearful ones, and i am so grateful that your little body remained in tact. the doctors at the emergency animal hospital seem to think that you suffered a concussion, and that your passing was nearly instantaneous. i hope with all my heart that they are right. the thought of you being scared or in pain is simply too much to bear.

i did my best to make sure that you felt neither of those things while we were together, but instead, somehow relay to you that you were loved and safe, and that your happiness was important to me. did you know just how much? did you know that every moment we spent together was a moment i was thankful for? that i never took for granted how much you enriched my life? that when i knelt in prayer, and expressed gratitude for my many blessings, your name was always spoken?

i have always felt you were a gift from god. that you were selected especially for me, to be what i needed you to be, just when i needed it. and i don’t know how, but you did always know what that was. every day, i could count on coming home to that expectant face and wagging tail. there was never any judgement when i got home later than usual, and you had to wait to go outside. always excitement and anticipation. whether it had been a good day or bad, it was always made better by walking through that door. and when life was especially hard, you always seemed to understand. no matter how much i wanted to wallow, or to be left alone, you simply wouldn’t allow it--not on your time. and now that i face a deeper sadness than i have yet known, you aren’t here to comfort me.

doggy self-portraits...just a few days before i left virginia

there are so many things i’ll miss. i’ll miss how much you loved to ‘sing’ along with sirens that came within earshot and how much you loved being near the water. i’ll miss our tug of war and always being amazed at how high that little body could jump! i’ll miss you licking my toes for what seemed like forever and how excited you got whenever you saw a squirrel. i’ll miss burying my face in your fur and resting my head on your stomach. i’ll miss your curiosity about the world around you and how fiercely you tried to protect me from strangers. i’ll miss having you slide under the covers with me. maybe that most of all. having you curl up into a little ball at my side, feeling your warmth, and knowing that tomorrow would be okay.

i have few fears in life, but one of the worst has now manifested. i no longer have to wonder how i will feel, how i will cope. i know, and it’s a knowledge i’d rather not have. there was no time to prepare, no gradual acceptance. my heart broke into pieces when i heard, and the healing of it is going to take a very long time. i feel your loss acutely, and wonder why. why now, why like this. but, i believe in a loving god, and i believe that no life is snuffed out without purpose. so i must trust in that, and give thanks for being entrusted with your care, even if it was shorter than i would have liked.

i believe that life exists beyond this mortal plane, and as such, that we will meet again. i have always loved the book ‘what dreams may come’ simply for the passage in which the main character arrives in heaven, and is immediately met by the faithful canine companion who shared his life. over the years, i have thought of that passage often, and simply cannot imagine a heaven in which such things don’t happen.

thank you for being such a loving and loyal companion. you loved me unconditionally, even when i didn’t deserve it. one day, i will be able to look back on our decade together wihout tears, and without sadness. you gave me so much joy in life, and one day, that will be what i remember, not how hard it was to lose you.

mom and dad will be picking you up this weekend on the way back, so they can take you home and bury your body in the backyard, under the bench. it’s the only thing i feel sure of. your body will be safe there, in a place that is familiar. i understand that your spirit no longer resides in that shell, and that it has returned to it’s true home. it seems fitting that your body should find rest at it’s home too. and of course, i need to somehow say goodbye. i wish that i had been able to hold you in my arms in your last moments. to rub your ears (you always loved that) and to tell you once more how much i loved you, and how grateful i was for you. i tried to tell you often in life, and pray that you understood what surpasses these inadequate words.