I've been pushing against a cold/sinus infection for a few days.
It is wearing me down.
But I usually find a reason or two to stay up and busy.
There is always so much needing my attention.
Daily devotional and schoolwork.
Work on the monthly budget.
Leftovers for lunch--homemade chicken noodle soup--yum!
Take the youth to the temple.
Scrape together leftovers and cold cereal for a quick dinner.
Haircuts.Must.Happen.
Dallin finishes cleaning the kitchen while Simon tenses under the buzz of the clippers and winces from the discomfort of hair splinters on his face and neck.
The bushy black and grey mane falls in clumps as Dallin finally gets a chance in the chair. His hair was SO long.
He cleans up the hair mess while I shower.
Just when I slipped into my pajamas, the two of us were asked to step outside by our oldest son returning from his scout activity.
I slip into my flip-flops, hoping my pajamas won't be a problem and Dallin slips a shirt over his own hair-splintered back.
Cars are parked in front of the house, still running with their lights on. They're carrying a crumpled form in the snow shovel.
No.
Not Max--please not Ruby's baby!
Blood running from his neck and jaw, his eyes open and glassy. His new green collar standing bright against his glossy black fur.
Yes Max. Is he for sure dead? For sure. I go inside to get a towel. She'll want to say goodbye.
I get him in a less-gory position where he can be stroked goodbye.
I find Ruby hiding in her closet. She must have guessed at what happened when I shooed the kids from the window and told them to keep the curtains closed.
And I had to be the one who said the horrid words that sent my girl into spasms of sobs.
We shook in each other's arms for a few moments before we went out to say goodbye.
I wrapped myself around her, trying to absorb her pain as she huddled over him, stroking his broken body.
The driver and his girlfriend reverently watched, wondering what could have been done.
Nothing. He ran out at the last moment. They were kind to stay and care and cry with us.
Then the other kids came out. The baby first, trying to figure out what happened to his friend "Mac". We had to pull him away because he wanted to poke and prod.
Sarajoy's dumbfounded look, Simon's wondering why we didn't take him to the vet, Daisy getting wrapped in Daddy's arms to sob over the loss of her "Maxen", the two big boys hovering over it all, holding the baby and feeling helpless.
Our family sat bowed around our little tragedy for some long moments before Ruby was ready to go in. As it was beginning to rain, she thought it best to have a burial ceremony tomorrow. We wrapped him and placed him in a box and she stroked him for the last time.
We bowed again in the living room, pleading for peace and strength.
She thought it best if we go ahead with our evening reading. When we were done, I was glad she could go find Mikey and have a warm body near her tonight. I'm sure he's missing his friend as well.
Meanwhile Dad and the boys threw the pickaxe and dug a grave in the garden.
Kids got hugs and kisses and tuck-ins and secret handshakes and I sat and sighed and the achy, swollen, stuffy sensations returned to remind me that I am still sick.
And I wondered who was in the shower and realized it was Dallin who had hugged and loved and swung and dug in the rain with hair splinters under his shirt.
The sensation must have returned after things
died down.
...
I'm sorry. So sorry for all of the dreadful hurting.
ReplyDeleteHow is Daisy doing? We had to put down our pet last fall, and though we said our goodbyes before Trent took him to the vet, not realizing it was the last time we'd see him, the news was devastating to our family. Especially to Jocelyn. We had the knowledge of his age, of illness, that our kitty was blind, that the end was coming soon, but it didn't seem to lessen the loss--and we knew he just slipped off to sleep.
ReplyDeleteAnd yet she ached.
We buried him in our rose garden next to his favorite catmint plant.
A year later, she continues to ask me to make a Shutterfly book about him. It's been too close to my heart to do it quite yet. But I'm getting there.
I don't know what will soothe your little one's hurts, but I hope they're growing less raw, that the imagining seeing Max out of the corner of their eye, their missing his special behavior will soften.
Your family is fortunately guided by a very spiritual and tender mother. They are so lucky to have you.
Kudos to the driver. There are good people left in this world.