Anniversaries...
...and not the good kind.
Tomorrow, 27 February, is the anniversary of my Dad’s passing through the veil. Saturday is the anniversary of my wee dog, Maddie, crossing the rainbow bridge. To say that I’m a little melancholy is an understatement.
My relationship with Maddie started as a surprise. My wife and daughter found someone who had Jack Russell puppies and got me one for my birthday. I just needed to pick one out of the litter. So, we drove out to … somewhere, I don’t know where … and there were all these wee puppies waddling around. And then, the littlest one, the runt, waddled right over to me (none of the others did) and that was it. I named her Maddie from Cybill Shepherd’s character from the TV show Moonlighting. I loved that show and we had a dog once named Addison, Bruce Willis’ character on the same show. So Maddie seemed fitting.
She was a spunky little bit of energy, as most Jack Russell’s are. We had her for 13 years. My wife was gone on a business trip and when she returned she noticed that Maddie had vomited her dinner. “Has she been like this all weekend?” my wife asked. “No. She’s been fine.” But she wasn’t fine. We started looking at all of her usually bedded areas and found more regurgitated food. I took her to the vet. They said she was dehydrated and wanted to keep her over night for observation and fluids. I went to work the next day.
I got the call in the afternoon, right before I left work. “It seems that Maddie has had a stroke during the night.” I knew what needed to be done. I called my wife and told her to pick me up at the bus stop. We went to the vet’s office and they brought Maddie out to me. I cradled her in my arms for about 20 minutes. I just kept crying and petting her and calming her. The doc came in and put her to sleep.
A little while later, I got a nice box with her ashes and a plaque with her name on it. A friend, who used to dog sit for us, dropped off a framed picture of Maddie with a tennis ball by her feet. You can’t hardly make out her tail because it was wagging so fast. That’s how I picture her. Full of life and energy.
She was so funny, too! During the Summer, we would be outside water plants or working in the garden. Maddie would be there with a ball and chasing it all over the place. When she would get too hot, should would climb into a galvanized bucket. Not a tub, but the standard sized bucket. Her little head would be poking up on the side of it. It was hilarious! She would do that all the time to cool off.
And don’t be a squirrel anywhere near our back yard! One time, we had the windows open and Maddie and I were home watching TV (seriously, she would sit next to you and stare at the TV). All of a sudden, her little head perked up and tilted. She got of the couch and made her way into the bathroom. Now the bathroom window didn’t have a screen on it (that’s a different story). All of a sudden, all hell breaks loose! A moment later, a squirrel races out of the hall way and into the living room with Maddie hot on it’s tail! It was running straight towards me and I jumped up out of the way. Well, that was all the advantage Maddie needed. I called my wife and told there had been a murder in the living room.
My Dad was 84 when he passed. He survived two wives, although he wouldn’t have put it that way. My saint of a Sister and her family took care of him the last few years of his life. He was comfortable and full of life right up until the day before. My Brother-in-law was spending the day with Dad, but Dad just couldn’t shake his cough (he was diagnosed with stage-4 lung cancer in March of the previous year). The nurse said Dad had a taken a turn. My Sister called me and my wife and I went to visit him. My daughter and grandson drove over, too.
When we got there, my Sister told my Dad we were there. “Jack’s here?” Dad asked. “I’m here,” I said and took his hand. He pulled it up to his lips and kissed it. He’d never done that before. He got to hold his great-grandson again (they were born on the same day). That was the last time I think Dad ever saw us. When we got back from lunch, he was in his bed and having difficulty breathing. My family stayed for a few more hours and I vowed to stay the night. Dad passed that evening. My Sister and I held his hand with her family surrounding us.
Dad’s funeral was just what one would expect. There was tears, of course, and great songs and stories told by the preacher. Of course, my Sister put in a couple of fast songs at the end because that’s what Dad wanted. He would have liked it. I told her the only thing he might have liked better was if everyone started dancing!
Dad was always sharp and funny. I get my humor from him. And my rhythm and taste in music (well, the earlier stuff he liked). But that was about it. We were not much alike. I was … am … an artist and wear my heart on my sleeve. I like being outside if I’m not having to work. Dad just loved being outside — work or fun didn’t make a difference to him. He would drag us all camping and me hunting (which I didn’t really care for, but I wish I could’ve had one last hunting trip with him). Dad really didn’t get me and I didn’t really get him. But he loved me. He loved us. He told us and showed us all the time.
As I sit here writing this, it’s weird. Like all of the stuff I’ve written lately, I start without any words other than a few at the beginning. But then, the words just start flowing. Instead of drinking these feelings away, I’m going to sit with them and feel them. I’m going to ask them if they have anything to say to me, anything I need to hear, anything I need to know. I know that both Dad and Maddie loved me and I loved them, too. Echoing the words of St Paul, U2 says, “Love is all we have left” (U2, (2017). “Love Is All We Have Left.” Songs of Experience). And that’s the most important of all.
“And now faith, hope, and love remain, these three, and the greatest of these is love.”
1 Corinthians 13.13; NRSVue1
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In the Love of the Three in One,
Br. Jack+, LC
Unless otherwise stated, all scripture quotations and references marked (NRSVue) are taken from the New Revised Standard Version Updated Edition. Copyright © 2021 National Council of Churches of Christ in the United States of America. Used by permission. All rights reserved worldwide.
Dear Jack+, these are hard feelings indeed. And anniversaries have such a powerful way of pulling those hard feelings right up to the surface. In each case, though, it seems that your memories of being with each of them, your dad and Maggie, are good ones, which is a blessing. I will pray that the joys outweigh the sorrows over time, and that you remain well and strong. Blessings!