Two Years at the Bridge
Two years. Two years? Two? So long ago and far away that day and as clear as if it was yesterday. I can instantly summon mental video of almost all of it. I will never lose the image of your body in the vet’s truck. Maybe that’s what a haunting is?
My sweet girl, your memory has faded some, so that makes me think some length of time has indeed passed. The feel of your ears in my fingers has been supplanted with a different set of ears, more immediate. I hate that I can’t remember exactly anymore. I do remember the perfectly straight strip of black down the top of your nose and the scars on the tip from various escapades.
I was looking at old pictures the other day, some from Boise and some from when we lived in the perfect place in Taos and could go play regularly in the river. The other reason it was perfect was I wasn’t working, and we were together most of the time. I had promised you that when we left Boise – I wish it could have lasted longer but human reality is what it is.
I’ve been remembering how, when you were laying on your bed, I’d lay down facing you, propped up on my elbows and you’d put your head under mine and partway under my chest and I’d lay my head on yours. I love that you would cuddle with me like that. I miss that.
I was also remembering in Boise, when Lauren was little (6?), and she got into your crate and had me latch the door. She had your (then favorite) stuffed turkey and you grabbed it though the bars and drug her and the crate all over the room playing tug of war. She thought that was the best game ever. I think you did too.
I know you’re still here with me, keeping an eye on me and how this whole new house thing is progressing. It was more or less your idea, of that I’m quite certain. This was your end game in sending Roxy to me. Because so much has changed for me since this move and continues to change. I am growing and healing on so many levels, I am constantly and consistently astonished. You started the healing when you were in your earth clothes, you learned me love, thoroughly. These are simply my next steps in bettering my humanness.
This past week has been … challenging. I finally figured out that some part of my brain had decided that two years was “enough”: “should” be enough time to grieve and “supposed to be” time to let go. I suspect a corollary to the ever-popular “just a dog.” And I have done nothing all week but physically hurt myself – from a paper cut to slipping and falling on ice to banging my head into a shelf. Clearly that part of my brain is very, very wrong. There is no “should” or “supposed to” – it is what it is and what it will continue to be: heartbreak.
I’m not broken the way I was when you first left, the gaping hole that was the entirety of my chest, utterly hollowed out. There’s still a hole, there always will be. You took a piece of me with you when you left. Inevitable.
I miss you, baby, even as your immediacy fades. I continue to be sorry for all the ways I think I failed you, before you got sick and after. I’m sorry I was not home more, that we didn’t have more adventures together. I utterly failed at being more dog. I haven’t forgiven myself but have stopped beating myself up. Baby steps.
I continue to be thankful you are out of pain. That’s probably the most important piece.
I ran into this Eskimo proverb a little while ago. An idea I will cling to when I look at my star-studded new home. “Perhaps they are not stars, but rather openings in heaven where the love of our lost ones pours through and shines down upon us to let us know they are happy.”
I know you are happy now, having the best time ever rolling in all the horse poop and/or dead things you want without me washing all the wonderful smell off you. That was a drag for both of us, you hated baths and I was often only partially successful in eradicating the stench (IMO).
You’re my heart dog and I will always, always love and miss you.
Run free, my sweet girl. Until we meet again.
Happy Angelversary Isa.
Teri, I know these days are so hard. It doesn’t matter how much time passes they still hurt and you still have that whole in your heart.
Now with that being said I am going tell you that you DID NOT fail at being more dog. You didn’t fail at anything. You did the best you could and what could be done for Isa. She doesn’t think you failed either.
I am glad we got a chance to know each other and spend time together. I do hate the fact that our memories lessen a little with time. I know we all have feelings similar to what you do.
hugs
xoxox
Michelle & Angel Sassy
Teri,
I read Isa’s story back when I first joined Tripawds, you were and are an amazing pawrent. I know how hard this time is when you are missing your heart dog.
Happy Angelversary Isa, such a special pup. And listen to Michelle Teri, you failed at nothing. Isa was lucky to have you as her heart person.
Hugs,
Jackie and Huck 💖
Your words sound like they came from my own mouth…I hate the fading of memories! Sadly, it seems the only memories I have are the last 3+ years of Nitro’s life, not the 8+ that came before. I’ve learned that most of us feel regret and remorse for things we did or didn’t do – and I think each and everyone of us did the very best we could do at that time. Certainly our heart-dogs knew and felt this….they without a doubt knew we gave our all. Isa is no different. The greater the love, the greater the loss. And there is definitely no time frame for grief…mine has lessened, but will ALWAYS
be there. Take care, enjoy your new house – the house that Isa built.
Paula and Warrior Angel Nitro
Paula, that is so beautifully said.
Lisa
Awww Teri, sweet, dear Teri, this is so beautifully written, so full of heart, so full of love❤
You have recalled some wonderful memories that capture so much of rhe bond AND the fun you two shared. Yes, like you, like others, the “journey” that brought us all here and the aftermath, is what stands out in our “memories”. It’s hard to remember our lives with our pups before the amp journey. Such an intense time where we took nothing for granted like we may have done before the amo. Plus, we all took a lot more pictures after amp too!
I loved the visual of Isa pulling Lauren around!! OMD! So funny! And so sweet the way Isa snuggled with you.
That’s such a good picture of you and Isa. Her coloring on her face is just so darn unique. I’ve always loved that face.
Ues, as Paula said, this is the house that Isa built…and sent you Roxy to help with destruction….er….I mean, to help with construction!!!😂🤣😂🤣
Love you dear Teri💖
Sally and Alumni Happy Hannah and Merry Myrtle and Frankie too!
PS…..and I love that little Eskimo thing. I actually have the little quote framed.
Beautiful. Thank you for inviting us to your heartfelt tribute to your one-of-a-kind heart dog. She was so special.
I remember that day too Teri, and it’s hard to believe she’s been sporting those sparkly wings for two years now. I’m sure she charms all the boys with them, pretty girl. I send all my love to her and you both, and of course Roxy. Together, the three of you are supporting each other on your individual yet united journeys. What a beautiful thing.
Funny thing but all week long I was thinking about you and wondering how things were going with the house build. That Isa must have been sending some energy down here. I hope that you don’t have any more mishaps and things are going well. Take care of yourself, Roxy Roo needs you and so do we.
xoxo
what Paula said. It’s funny how much we are all alike. Even when Manni was still here I knew what would happen when he died, how the crispness of the memories would fade and I knew I would hate it. Feel guilty for it.
I try to push to the back of my mind all the ways I think I did Manni wrong.
I, too, have been thinking about you. How you’re getting on in the winter, how the Roxinator is doing and so on.
Hugs my friend.
Tina
In so many ways, Teri, our journeys continue to parallel. Two years is just impossible, isn’t it? Unthinkable. Unimaginable. And yet, true. And at nearly two and a half years out since I lost Pofi, I’m not nearly past the heartache. Nor past the self-recrimination. I get sad over some really foolish things – like 3D photos I see of other dogs, because I won’t ever have one of him. The things we did not get to do. The Honky Pig toy I never got him. But you are honoring Isa and all she gave you with your commitment to Roxy and Wallee and by building the life the three of you need and deserve. And the smiles I see on both of your faces in that beautiful photo – will never fade. Love does not fade, nor does that happiness showing in both of your faces. Real and golden. Not fade away.
Lisa
oh yeah, 3D photos. I feel exactly the same. I wish I had those.