Photo by Kristian Peters
Silently, one by one, in the infinite meadows of Heaven, Blossom the lovely stars, the forget-me-nots of the angels. — Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
I had a healing session this morning with wonderful and gifted Martina Schmidt and we talked about the cold that is hanging in my chest this week. No big surprise that it's grief — heavy, thick, stuck, congested — that I'm carrying around, as I process the loss of our sweet doggie.
(I'm grieving other things, too, as I'm more than two months into a candida yeast cleanse. The candida — and a bunch of emotional baggage — is dying off in record amounts in my body.)
One of my lessons over the past few years is noticing what a beginner I am at truly expressing my emotions. I thought I was emotional. But really what I was doing was just that — thinking about my emotions and not truly experiencing them.
I rationally know that there is no way to rush through or push through grief. Part of grieving is being with the process.
My tendency in the past has been to stuff my feelings and move on. But it's different this time.
And because this is new, I'm feeling a little lost with, well, how I'm feeling.
We have been keeping a vigil in our home for him. We are burning a candle and have pictures of our nine-and-half years together scattered about. It helps.
But my heart still aches every time I walk into the living room and he's not on the couch. Or I look to get him his dinner at 4 p.m. Or I turn to ask my husband if he's been let outside lately.
I miss giving him hugs and cuddling on the couch. I miss stroking his floppy ears. I miss tucking him in with a blanket every night. I miss his "talking" when we finished dinner, as a reminder that he would indeed like the rest of the food on our plates, thank you very much. I miss how just looking at him could make me smile, how he'd welcome me at the door, how he'd do a boxer "kidney-bean" when he was happy to see you.
Martina suggested that I have a private memorial service for him. Light a candle and tell him all that I appreciated about our time together. A sacred time to connect and, yes, cry.
I will do this.
And I have something else I intend to do, too.
A thoughtful note of condolence came from my friend Kim, who shared that part of her healing process with the loss of her four-legged friend came with sending out announcements along with a packet of forget-me-nots.
My plan is that come spring, when it's time to put his ashes out in the the far corner of our yard we call the "Happy Corner," I'm going to plant a forget-me-not there.
Because according to Wikipedia's entry on the forget-me-not, "legend has it that in medieval times, a knight and his lady were walking along the side of a river. He picked a posy of flowers, but because of the weight of his amour he fell into the river. As he was drowning he threw the posy to his loved one and shouted "Forget-me-not." This is a flower connected with romance and tragic fate. It was often worn by ladies as a sign of faithfulness and enduring love."
Because, Lord Bentley of Richards, aka Son, Pup-Pup, Mr. Floppy Ears, Bubba, Snaggletooth, and Buppie, I will love you always and I will never, ever forget you.
Peace be with you, dear friend, now that you are among the forget-me-not stars of the angels.
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Flowering Fridays is a weekly look at flowers through the lens of what they have to teach us about flowering fully in our life. Past editions are here.
Monday, December 8, 2008 at 6:07AM