Strange Beauty - A Remembrance Of My Cooper (11+ Years Gone)

[RhodyGreys]

The loss of familiar names and faces has spurred me to share. I wrote this for the CG contest on adopting again and realilzed after I'd sent it that it wouldn't match the topic. I think it's more appropriate here, and I was reminded to post it after reading the thread in EEG regarding dreaming of past hounds.

Strange Beauty
by Meredith E. Brady

 

There are some moments so earth shattering and so breathtaking that they are never more than a hair’s breadth from your consciousness, following through the days and nights, shadows just beyond the edge of sight. They are terrible and strangely beautiful at the same time, scars of your spiritual exsanguination, evidence of your ability to love.

I don’t even have to close my eyes to block out the mechanical whirr of the air conditioner and the fluorescent glare of my office lights. He comes when I call, and I am trapped in that moment, on my knees on the hardwood floor of my fondly-remembered house, bare toes behind me pressed into the fibers of the area rug, feeling the sand and dirt and grit under my left hand while I lift my right hand to stroke down his side, careful not to touch his distended abdomen.

The colors are all fall, cream and gray and browns in more hues than the largest box of crayons, deep, mossy green, red and gold, denim. The amber of his eyes as he looks up at me, hurting, confused, scared, reading ominous portents in the tracks of my tears.

I am there, on my knees, telling him that I love him more than anything in the world and begging his forgiveness that I couldn’t fix him, couldn’t even figure out what was wrong because I am starting a business and my partner (however poorly chosen, I think, with perfect hindsight) isn’t employed and we have spent more than seven thousand dollars trying to fix the inevitable for my partner’s greyhound, who died in my arms five months ago, to the day, to the hour.

I am there, on my knees, and the bald-headed man with the sharp face and the syringe full of all those empty days ahead, those drifting, awful days, is kneeling next to me, next to him, next to both of us. He is my veterinarian, and he doesn’t make house calls, but he made one today, telling me without grace or any softening compassion that he knows my Cooper has cancer. He can tell. His voice harbors no hint of uncertainty, no doubt. I cannot argue, as I stroke the same path over and over along the brindle whorls, for my veterinarian has personal, first-hand knowledge of the monster, cancer.

I don’t have to close my eyes, but now I do, and I am there on my knees, impotent to stop the inevitable as the needle breaches Cooper’s skin and he lifts his head, alarmed, feeling the beginning of the end, the severing of the connection, terrified to be separated from me, for we have never been far from each other as the years have rolled onward. I have not always been the perfect owner, sometimes redirecting my anger at myself for dubious decisions, but he has been my anchor and together we have seen and done and gone and dreamed and sheltered.

Is it better to measure our time as five years and two months or is that sixty two months? I could count all one thousand, eight hundred and eighty four days, or even the forty-five thousand two hundred and sixteen hours. I am there on my knees, and all those hours, days, months, years are not enough. Fear flashes and flies as his head sinks into the pillow of cotton comforter, fading even while his breath slows under my trembling hand, and then, nothing. There is no spark, no glimmer, no warmth, no laughter, no hope. Waves of grief break over the island I have become.

He comes when I call, and he goes. Rewind, replay, remember. I was hollow and utterly alone for the first while, unable to speak without calling out my grief, unable to sleep without searching for his ghost. He is still an unquiet memory, restless, carried back to me by a single whisper of wind. And yet, I was there, on my knees, and I touched him as he blurred, felt the last beat of his heart, shared the air of his last breath, wishing for something, anything other than finality. Strange then, how there never was finality. Strange, and beautiful, his gift to me.

I am there, on my knees, and the earth-shattering, breathtaking moment is instructive, constructive, not destructive. The end will always come, the waves of grief will always break, erode, reshape, and I will survive, will measure more time, will never lose the Cooper-shaped scar on my heart. It identifies me as belonging to a greyhound I once knew, who once knew me, who deemed me his guardian, his world.

I transition from past to present tense, knowing that Cooper and I had a beginning and an end, but the best parts of the story lie somewhere in the middle. Someone once asked me why I seem to adopt older and slightly broken greyhounds. I couldn’t answer then, except to explain that they all need someone. Now, growing up, growing older, having reviewed my history as a greyhound owner, the answer is simple: they each bear their own strange and beautiful gifts, each like a new book from a favorite author, and I greet them with the giddy excitement of the first day of school, first day at a new job, with anticipation.

There is a spark, a glimmer, warmth, laughter, hope. The earth-shattering, breathtaking moment teaches me to get down on my knees, to look them in the eye, to live with them for as many minutes as we are granted. Cooper’s gift of strange beauty is the bittersweet, the high and the low, the joyful beginning entangled with the awful end, the acceptance that you cannot have the joy without the (invisible) scar. I imagine Cooper flying to me across the field, tongue lolling, tail wagging furiously, amber eyes lit from within. What is life without such joy?

[RaineysMom]

Meri, I think that is the most beautiful thing I have EVER read. Tears are streaming down my face. You have captured every emotion, every thought, every heartfelt second with your words.

 

:cry1

[BellaBean]

Oh My, that is so well written. You do capture everything, I'm sitting at work crying my eyes out. Now, I just want to go home and hug my babies.....

[Guest undergreysspell]

I'm sitting here crying as I look at my sweet boy who just turned 14 and knowing that we're getting close to the end of our journey together . You're absolutely right that they each give us certain gifts and I feel humbled and hope I can and have given mine a measure of what they've given me. Thank you for sharing the beautiful story .

[FiveRoooooers]

Beautiful. Thank you.

[racindog]

Thanks for sharing.

[Guest dee]

How beautifully you said it all....thank you.

[schultzlc]

That was a wonderful read, thank you so much for sharing it with all of us!

[greytpups]

Beautiful

[Charlies_Dad]

You put into words what we all feel when their time has come. No matter what it is that takes them from us, they will always remain with us. Thank you for this.

[robinw]

Oh man, I can't stop crying. You've remedied me of what that moment felt like. Beautifully written.

[o_rooly]

Thank you so much for this.

[Guest cwholsin]

Beautiful. Just beautiful.

[Batmom]

What a beautiful and touching remembrance.

 

Rest well, Cooper.

[RhodyGreys]

Twelve years, today. Found a picture this morning from one of his first fun runs after adoption. He was staring across the field, looking into the distance. Just how I remember him.

[Remolacha]

[claudiav]

first time I see this and am crying my eyes out at work.... just want to go home and be with my senior pups.... Remembering Remy the exact same way... it's only been 3 months and I can't stop saying his name....

[galgrey]

Meri, I think that is the most beautiful thing I have EVER read. Tears are streaming down my face. You have captured every emotion, every thought, every heartfelt second with your words.

 

:cry1

Yes.

Edited October 24, 2013 by galgrey

[Guest Vers]

Meri. I missed this when you first posted it, but I am so glad to find it today even though it had and has me crying my eyes out. I kept coming back to this to say hw much your words mean to me, and I lose it. Every. Single. Time.

 

You make words dance and reach so deep inside to the heart of things. It reminds me so much of Carla and I still miss her terribly. Grateful for your words, which are your gift but remind me of her wisdom and her huge heart.

 

I am heartfelt sorry for every loss, yours, mine and everyone's. But thank you so much.

 

And I hope some day every greyhound, every galgo, every dog across the world is as loved and understood as well as Cooper was with you.

[jenners]

Oh my. Thank you. It's so many years later, and yet, I still feel the need to say how very sorry I am for your loss

 

Jennie

[sabrina]

You hit the nail on the head. Thanks for sharing your story with us.

[Batmom]

Many many hugs to you today.