Aries Moon

We have Dixie's ashes back and we've changed our minds about burying her. The box is surprisingly big and imposing - 4.5 x 3.5 x 7.5 - and it has a plaque on it that says "Dixie Huntzinger". I don't fancy leaving that for some future gardener to find, and I don't think the wood box is going to decompose very quickly, so I have a new plan. I've started working on the Tiki corner, chiefly by dragging Dixie's old pallet over to it and plopping it down on top of the weeds to discourage them. When I get it set up it's going to have some kind of trellis covered with clematis or some other climber to make the "roof" and I'm going to put a fountain or pool back there as well as a sitting area. I'll make a little platform with a shrine of some sort (which I was going to do anyway) and I am going to put Dixie's box inside it. I'll get her a Tiki for company. This is fanciful, I know, but she really loved looking around the garden and it comforts me to do this. Let her rest in light.

Last night I read through two books on dealing with the loss of a pet and they made me cry. But the crying wasn't that terrible, shredding-my-heart kind. Instead, it was all mixed up with love and sadness and loss and warm memories. It was a healing kind of crying. It still hurts that she's gone, but I am more interested in remembering that she lived instead of remembering that she died. Which is the last stage of grief, I think. And I'm glad to be at this stage, though I think there will always be tears in the years to come. After all, I still sometimes cry for the people I loved who have died. Now I add Dixie to their ranks.

But I don't usually cry for those lost ones. I remember, instead. I carry them inside me, their legacy an abiding sense of love and affection. They will be with me all of my life.



Past Life The Index Next Incarnation