I miss my childhood home: the one where I learned about
family and friends, joy and sadness, dying and death, but most of all, about
love. Our house was a ranch-style house
in a middle class neighborhood. It was
made of brick with a small front porch and a big back patio. A chain link fence where our black poodle,
Twice, liked to play fenced in our backyard.
Our front yard was bordered on two sides by a white, split-rail fence
that I learned to walk on and do stunts, pretending I was a tightrope
walker. We had green grass, big pine
trees, lots of shrubs, and flowers. I’m
sure my parents did a lot of upkeep, but for me it was simply idyllic.
My best friend, Callie, lived next door and across the
street lived our playmates, the two Jeffs and Jason. We rode our bikes together, played baseball
in one of the Jeff’s front yard, and had the same after-school sitter (think
Mrs. Figg, only with fewer cats). Life
was pretty great, but it wasn’t perfect.
My rabbit, Sunny the Bunny died first. It was the first time I had ever experienced
death and even though I remember being upset, I don’t particularly remember the
pain. We didn’t get another rabbit, but
I still had Twice and my goldfish, Romeo and Juliet. I don’t remember the death of my goldfish; I
think my parents told me they went to live in the sea (which I didn’t realize
was code for “flushed down the toilet”).
But Twice’s death was painful. I
can still remember every detail of that experience almost forty years later. She had dug a hole under our fence and been
hit by a car several blocks away. She
made it back to our front porch, where I heard her scratch on the front door,
and found her only for her to die in my arms.
I cried and cried on my parent’s bed.
It wasn’t long before we got a new puppy, a white toy poodle
that I got to pick out and named Buffy.
My gang of playmates came over and she was so tiny we would carry her
around in our pockets. Buffy was a great
dog and lived well into her (and my) teen-age years before dying of old
age. Though her death was hard, as has
been the deaths of all my dogs, none were as hard as Twice’s. I’m not sure what it is about certain people
or pet’s deaths that makes them harder than others, but I do know that when
they are sudden and unexpected, they seem to stick with you a bit longer.
Twice’s death was heart breaking for an eight year old. But it was also important in teaching me
about life. I learned that pets don’t
last forever and I value and appreciate them even more so because of it. Because of that loss, when my
great-grandparents died a few years later, I not only had a reference point but
I could ask some questions about death and heaven that, as a ten year old, I
wouldn’t have been able to frame otherwise.
I also found some comfort in knowing that my grandparents and Twice would
be together, since all dogs go to heaven.
As the years progressed and other pets died, I learned about
saying good-bye, about burials and funerals, but most of all, I learned about
love. I learned that even though the
amount of pain could feel almost unbearable, the joys of past memories could
bring a watery smile and with a little time, that watery smile could become a
beacon of hope, a remembrance of light when the world seems dark. I learned that the pain was worth it because
the joy and love were so much greater and that I could take the experiences of
our shared life together and make the world greater too. As I grew older and more pets died, I learned
to bury them with liturgy and plant trees over their resting places as visual
reminders of the hope and joy they had brought to my life; visible signs of the
resurrection I believe we are all called too.
It is a hard thing to know death, but it is a hard thing to
know life. Life always offers a certain
amount of gain and loss. But it is not a
hard thing to know hope. My pets, both
the living and the dead, are a constant reminder of hope. May yours be to you as well.
Candice+
We’re collecting
canned pet food and newspapers for the humane society this month at St. John’s. We will bless that food at our Celebration of
St. Francis of Assisi on October 4 at 5:30pm where we will also bless our pets. I pray you might join with us in giving a
little hope to our furry friends and join us in blessing those who bring us
hope as well—if not at St. John’s at a church wherever you live or attend.
