It has been raining every day since she left. The poetic might think of it as the sky crying its heart out in empathy. But right now, I hate the sky for pouring down. All I can think of is of the rainwater seeping into the freshly dug soil. She must be feeling so cold and wet in her grave, I think, My rational mind immediately takes over and tells me where she is she does not feel a thing. Still I wish the rain would let up. What if the sun shone, would that have made me feel any better? The answer is an emphatic ‘no’. I would then have hated the sun for drying up and hardening the soft soil while she lay in it. I chide myself for being foolish and fanciful. You should know better, I tell myself. Yes, I should, but somehow I don’t. Not now.
In the dark of the night I hear her crying in agitation like she used to do the last few weeks. She is not there downstairs, I know. It is just my mind playing its trick on me. Unknowingly my ears strain to hear her loud snores. Where is she, I am tempted to ask when the L&M comes up the stairs with my evening fruit. She used to follow him at a much slower pace, dragging herself up one step at a time. Passenger train, her dad teased her. Zombie walk, was what I called it. Why do you have to come upstairs, I used to ask her. Stay where you are, I will come down. She wouldn’t listen. I took to spending more time downstairs these past weeks so she needn’t drag herself up all the steps. When she did come up, I postponed whatever chores was needed to get done downstairs just so she didn’t have to go up and down again.
Yesterday when the L&M came back inside at night after locking the front gate I impulsively asked, ‘Where is she?’ thinking he had left her outside. That half a roti from the two I have for dinner has no takers anymore. Now I get to eat the whole custard apple with no one pawing me for her share. All the good seedless bits from them were hers, while I labored over the bits with seeds. But now the whole fruit is mine. I make sure I don’t have to go to the ‘work area’ behind the kitchen after dinner because she is not there to do a reconnaissance for me and give the all clear. No mice, mom. You can step in. Returning home is a sad affair. No deafening barks in welcome, there is only a deafening silence.
Her dad cleared away all her medicines from atop the sideboard, there was a bagful, also removed her mattress and blankets, put away her bowls. No, my heart cried silently. Don’t! I want them where they are, to see them. I am not ready to see them go. But people grieve differently, so I let him do it his way. Instead I flipped through my phone, looking at all her photos and videos, remembering, smiling. Her voice, just the sound of her breathing in the videos, calmed me. Her water bowl in my room remained where it was for days till the thought of mosquitoes made me throw the water away. On my table I have her orange duck, the only thing I now have left of what belonged to her, apart from the memories. A keepsake for all the good times we had together.
© Shail Mohan 2021
Now I have cried both for you and your darling Luci and for our own loss only a few years ago …
How attached we get to our fur babies and then it is heartbreaking when they leave us. xoxo
Limp Cabbage and Soggy Chips said:
So so sorry for your loss, Shail.
She has left a void.
Hugs! This is hard stuff.
Enjoy your days with your fur child, not that I need to tell you, I know you do. Hugs right back.
I am so sad your lovely Luci is gone. I know how much she meant to you. She appeared so often in your posts – I will miss her too. Sending love and comfort
Thank you, she was so very dear to me. Luci did star in many of my posts. As one of my friends remarked, she had a larger than life personality.
Deepest condolences to you. This is a really tough time.
Thank you. It has been hard not having someone around who was with you twenty-four hours of the day.
Ken Powell said:
I feel your pain and look at my beloved companion and realise we are, at best, a third of the way there – more likely halfway – to going through all this (again) too.
Don’t begrudge the rain though. The metaphysical scientist in me says rain is good. Slowly, over long time, her amino acids (the life force) will become the cells of your plants and trees and grasses, transported by that same water. And so she will eternally be part of that which you love so dearly. Outliving even you ❤️❤️
You are right of course, Ken. I too believe the same. Thank you for your wise and kind words. For a few days I couldn’t help going through some intense guilt for abandoning her. She who used to loll on my bed and sleep on the sofa was now in a muddy grave. It was more than I could bear. I knew even then that I had it all wrong, but there you have it. It was a struggle of sentiments against facts.
Ken Powell said:
I can very much understand that my friend. These feelings you have are right and proper and completely natural. I will be thinking of you as you grieve 💔
Thank you, Ken.