Crazy With Grief

“ And, greatest gift of all,
Odin gave them souls that live and never die,
though the body itself has turned to dust.”

- ODIN’S FAMILY: MYTHS OF THE VIKINGS
Retold by Neil Philip

I wake up hearing panting. The excited, Spring fever kind of dog panting :Woody running full force around trees in our backyard in Michigan, years ago when he could do that. No matter how cold it was outside, he’d run circles on the grassy patches in between the snow until, exhausted, he’d sit, and one of us would scoop him up, and bring him inside to rest and lap up some water.
This is just too hard. Thinking about him is just too painful.
So I started thinking TO him instead….
I closed my eyes as quickly as they opened this morning in bed, and tried to clear my mind. Slowly, I pictured him, content, in the lap of Peace….
Me: I miss you.
I imagine he would cock his head to one side, trying to understand.
He is suddenly a beautiful man angel, like a Nordic god.
He: But I never left. And you still haven’t left me. We’re still together.
Me: True. You are in my thoughts, always. I guess what I mean is, I miss your little body.
I picture him shrugging and the thought comes quietly to me, as if he said it directly to my mind.
He: That body caused me a great deal of pain for a very long time. I’m glad to be free of it. I couldn’t run for a very long time.
And suddenly I realize what he is saying is true. His arthritis left him unable to run in years.
He looks at me and without words spoken, and I know: he hung on for a very long time, longer than he might have willingly. Maybe he would have “gone” after his first syncopatic episode – a surprise, too soon, to be sure. In his unconsciousness then, perhaps, he heard the desperation in my voice, felt my wildly trembling hands, and he knew he couldn’t leave me like that, so he pawed his way back to us. Away from the freedom from pain and those grassy fields of Heaven that he finally could run through again. Through another heart attack and several mini-strokes, he stayed with the old ticker as long as he could.
I don’t know if this is true. But…
I also don’t know that it is not.
*


I miss the physical likeness of Woody. I miss his smell (wheat toast) and the feel of his fur (boney angora). I miss the way his head popped up when I’d pass him in his little dog bed; I miss the way he would hold a wedge of rawhide and chew it with gusto; the way he’d smack when he would eat Pupperoni treats.
But if I believed in Spirit, had an ounce (or 3.3 pounds) of faith, I’d know, indeed, that he is in a “better place.” Without the burden of a sick body, he can run again, breathe again, and finally, finally be free.
Thinking of Woody always brings me full-face with those last few frail days, with all the guilt of having him put to sleep, but at the same time knowing that I would never expect David to let me suffer any longer than Woody did. I just don’t know.


*
Me: When are you coming Home?
He: I am Home.
Me: But – I don’t –
He: I’m already with you.
Me: Please. I miss you.
He: Check more. Inside. Around you. I never left.
Me: How can I be sure?
He: You don’t have to be.
Just know.

*