A Fatal Flaw
Her fatal flaw was that she wasn't immortal. Proof is the yahrzeit candle burning close by. The framed picture of her beautiful red face, the watercolor on the wall that Robert painted and the wooden box containing all that remains. But much more is with me. The photographs, the memories. I read today of a woman whose former boyfriend fell from a high tree and once he was put back together, he could not remember that the two had ended their relationship. Her job was to remember for him their time together so that eventually he could fill in that part of the puzzle. I remember Cinnamon, and I am sure that somewhere in her lemon sized brain, she knew how much we loved her.
I was in denial when she got so sick, over two years ago now. To find her unable to get off the floor one morning didn't sufficiently ignite the worry that would soon erupt daily in every corner. Over time, over weeks, not years, I had to modify my thinking. But I stayed in denial that mortality was any part of her DNA. There were the vet's visits by day and several trips late at night to the emergency room. Consultations with specialists and the finality of the diagnosis…cancer which had erupted in a tumor attached to her heart.
I finally had to compose myself enough to call a list of 3 vets who specialized in home visits to float our beloved off to wherever she might land. Tears and fear and worry and then, she was gone. I remember holding her tightly as the medicine to calm and then to end her life was propelled through her blood stream. Everyone assured me she didn't know what was happening. That dogs are blessed with living only for the moment, for the ball or a meal or a run in the surf. I do remember walking out to the vet's truck as the bag of her was so gently laid into the back of his van. Holding Luke and Robert and Nico and Nathaniel and Ellen, all those who loved her and anchored me in those moments of unbelievable sadness.
Her fatal flaw is that she left without us, but she left behind the memories and the pictures and her red and green food bowls that Asher now uses. She is more than just the candle burning yearly so we can focus our memories as if composing another eulogy.
She is the top stair where Asher perches and rests in between ball throws in the backyard or a walk with Luke. She was too big to rest comfortably there. So, she perched on the landing just above. I believe Asher chose the top step so he can be as close as possible to the memories of our beloved red dog.
This morning I walked alone up the hill at a pace I can't sustain with Asher, the puppy who still needs lots of treats and coaxing. A group of younger people walked towards me escorting a bouncy, red, Golden puppy. Of course, you can pet her they said. Her name is Maple. She warmed to me, not needing to modify her enthusiasm as Asher still does, the Shepherd in him needing more time to neutralize his worry and watchfulness.
"Where is she from?" I asked.
"Portland, Oregon," they said.
Cinnamon was living with her mother at the SPCA. She was two months old when we brought her home. Asher the same, so many years later. But he was in the time of Covid and a much different world. This purebred Maple was irresistible, but our mixed mutts needed us perhaps in a different way.
The fatal flaw is always the end of life, of anything which creates smiles and joy and boundless love. But the memories that go on and on, in the flame of a Yahrzeit candle or a photo album or a dog choosing the step as close as possible to the one before are what keep the flaw of mortality much less fatal. In fact, the memories might neutralize it just a bit.