therapeutic

retriever heaven - perfect stick fetching conditions

Yesterday morning when Winn and I arrived at the beach for our early morning walk it was warm and perfectly still. When we got to the lighthouse and the top of the first red clay cliff and looked down onto the beach, the water was as smooth as glass, and all I could think about was Jake. Such a perfect morning for stick fetching, how can it be that our beautiful spring beach weather has finally arrived and he's no longer here with us. Most mornings when I first step onto the beach I feel sad, I usually have a good cry as we walk along that first beach and lately most mornings it's just Winn and I and I'm free to be as sad as I like, to cry as long and as hard as I need to. It's my grief ... and it needs to be felt, unfettered.

I heard a piece on CBC radio the other morning on grief and how people who've lost someone crave keeping them alive through words and conversation. They want to say their name out loud and to someone, they want to remember them, again and again ... because they still can't believe they're gone. Most people stopped long ago mentioning him to me, if they ever broached the subject at all. Grief and sadness feels very taboo. I'm lucky though, I have two friends who understand how deep my sadness is, who know how incredibly big my love is and was for that dog. That I need to occasionally talk about him and how much I miss him still. I am so thankful also for this blog, that I have a place where Jake lives on in a big and bold way. Just like his big and bold red self.

So yesterday was tinged all day with sadness and by evening, compounded by a level of frustration I was feeling with my production drawing pace, I had a bit of a meltdown. I went back and read the month of January from the archives of this blog. The month of Jake's decline and death. I believe that all of this terrible aching sadness must come out of me and certainly reading through those days of January and looking at all the photos of his handsome self had me sobbing, almost uncontrollably...

Outside my makeshift office (guest room) window the sky had turned black and stormy, and a sudden and intense downpour of rain had soaked everything. But I could see blue sky and bits of sunshine so I washed my face and grabbed my girl Miss Dixon and said to her "Lets get outta here". She and I walked down into the park, along the harbour's edge, and the sky and clouds were beautiful, some clouds big, fluffy and pure white and others stormy grey and ominous. I stood at the waters edge looking up at the sky and out into the harbour and I breathed in deeply. Miss Dixon was already spellbound by her aroma investigations and paying no heed to me at all- off in her own little world of enticing dog smells. It was quiet and peaceful and beautiful. Quite suddenly a crow in a tree behind me made a loud cawing ruckus and I turned around with a start. And there in the sky, glowing bright against the dark storm clouds was a big beautiful rainbow ... I wouldn't have noticed it if the crow hadn't spoken, I wouldn't have turned around ... and I know without a doubt that the rainbow was meant for me, it was a message from my boy ... to not be so sad, to let me know that's he's OK and to remind me that he will always be with me.
I love ya Noodle.


should say "we" heart Jake ... and check out the front paws. smile.