Loss

The other day, as the sun began to rise into the sky, I took in the turquoise color and half regretted not bringing a jacket, and yet was glad I hadn’t. The brisk chill of early morning made me shiver, and yet made me feel alive. From my treetop perch I watched the morning birds search for their breakfast, and the calm silence of the hour was as always, a reminder. I had made it to another day.

I began this ritual years and years ago, more than I can recall actually, of watching the sun crest into the sky. Taking in the colors, and the soft silence that settles about the earth as if the earth itself takes a deep breath and watches the tapestry of color unfold above it. It is a never-ending marvel to me, something as simple as a sun rise, and yet I have never seen two that look the same.

As I climbed down from my perch above our land and walked with my Foxhound back toward the house, she stopped, and turned toward the small pine grove that has begun to grow. The pine grove, planted in memorial for each of our loved ones we have lost in the past few years, one tree for each loss. It started with a single tree, and now, it has become a grove, far more expansive than I ever wished it could ever become. Twelve trees, of varied size and breath form a U shape around the side garden, each with a small sign and dedication to the life that it represents. The first small tree I planted was for my canine partner, who spent his life with me in far more loyal service than any human being deserves.

I watched her climb up the stone stairs to the area, and sit, simply looking. I’m not sure what she was looking at, but when I joined her, looking over the small memorials of those who had gone before us laid out before me I lost my breath. Memories of days past when each of those no longer present was here in this spot, either offering their prayers to those who had gone before them, or simply sitting, looking, as my Foxhound was now. Friends, family, loved ones, and companions are all represented there. We’ve lost so many in such a short amount of time.

There are times when the loss of so many I loved drops upon me and I can barely breathe. So much has changed, and none of it for the better. We’ve become a home without a cat, for the first time in over 20 years. That in itself is awkward, and strange. I often think to call my father, to ask his advice, like today when we replaced the kitchen sink, but he is not there to call anymore. Our friend Pat, who we spent many a night, and many a sunrise with, he too is now gone. My cousin Kim, taken at 45, it seems like just yesterday we were celebrating Christmas together, my Uncle Danny who was my Godfather, gone only days after we had spoken on the phone and had made plans to get together for dinner, two aunts, both gone within a week of one another, merely a month before the death of my father. Dee and Andy, passed within five days of one another, one to a heart attack, another to cancer. All twelve in the last few years, gone, but not forgotten.

I often feel I have no grief left, the well is dry. There is almost numbness, a vague and sad acceptance that no matter what, life ends. No matter how much we wish to hold onto it, capture and care for the flickering flame of life, we simply can’t. I have no more wise words and condolences anymore. I have none left to offer.

As we sat simply looking at the trees, and the earth came to life around us, in spite of us, as the sun continued to rise into the sky, I could only hope that maybe I could capture that moment forever, store it away, and hold onto it for all my days, however many or few they may be. I leaned upon my aging girl; I know it will not be long before she too will be represented there on that hill with a small pine tree to mark the life she shared with me. As she sighed deeply and looked back at me I wonder if she has any idea of what that hill represents. She’s been with me as I’ve buried her companions there, our cats, and Cooper, who she continues to mimic in every way possible. She’s been present for every single planting of every single tree on that hill as well. Does she understand? Likely she does not, but there seems to be some understanding of the reverence of the place, probably taken from me, as it always makes me melancholy.

Time heals all wounds they say, but I do not know if I have enough time to heal the multiple wounds in such a short period of time. Loss they say is a part of life, and other platitudes I stopped listening to so long ago ring in my brain as if to fill some inner void. They bring no comfort, because they simply sound artificial. This morning as the dusky powder blue broke from the dark of night, and the almond and gray clouds spanned across the sky I looked to the dew covered pine grove, my inner emptiness echoed in its curved expanses.