The night is young and I am old.
Blissful slumber awaits with forked tongue and to bed I must go I am told.
Enya does not usually sleep at the foot of the bed and tonight she did.
Tammy didn’t stray from her routine of coming up to the pillow, falling asleep in a curl against my arm and scarfing my neck with her furry tail.
The next thing I know is both girls are in carriers and I’m smiling (to not alarm them) and repeatedly saying “good girls, good girls” while the animal rescue volunteer assures me a home will be found for them and not to worry about them being ‘put down’. I made sure they had their favorite dish of food as I took my leave and Tammy chowed down as I knew she would and sure enough Enya being older and wiser did not let go my look and my knee buckled as I backed away.
The next thing I know is I’m in Bette’s apartment and we’re side by side on her sofa. Our relationship is a few months old. My heart and mind are overwhelmed and melt at the thought of what is to come; years of love and happiness and the very rare “you and what army?”.
The next thing I know is I’m at Mom and Dad’s grave site. They loved Bette and one of the last things Mom said to her was “Our son is very lucky to have found you” That meant the world to Bette. I stand there and pray to be forgiven though I’m not sure why.
The next thing I know is the patio furniture that was gone is back and a framed picture of Bette is on the table. Her favorite house dress is draped over the back of the chair opposite me. It’s after midnight and not a cloud to caress the moon. I see the nearly empty bottle of bourbon and my mind stumbles to catch up with that reality. Our beloved stray feral is in the corner munching on dry food that wasn’t there a moment ago. The thought of bringing Bette to life will hurt I know but I will bear it considering it will be the last time. And there she is laughing at something I said and enjoying the pizza.
“What is that?” she asks.
“Don’t ask. A few more laughs, what do you say?” I plead.
“John honey, please God, no.” she implores.
“You don’t have a say and I told you not to look.” I say with slightly raised voice.
“It will be a year soon and I know it’s hard but you’re managing and the girls are doing well under your love and care.” she says with concern in her voice.
She left. I told her to go. And anyway I’m not sure she gets it, after all I’m the one left behind to Grieve. No one knows what that’s about not even if you’ve been there because your ‘there’ is not my ‘there’. We who grieve share the sadness but not what makes us sad.
Bette and I had wonderful exchanges; free flow of ideas and emotion.
I deplore impediments.
Cut. Release. Flow. A short lived mantra as the light brown table darkened.
The next thing I know is Tammy’s twelve pound body is pressing against my arm and in the alcove of my mind reserved for Bette I hear a faint “There, there. There, there.”
It is dawn and I suspect proof of God’s infinite capacity for love is to be found in the canyons of Grief.
Love To You All
johncrawford009 
I cannot find words to match your words, John. Hauntingly beauiful. I’m in tears. Thank you for the beauty of your open heart.
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I really don’t know what to write. I am fearful of the heaviness of your heart and the mantra at the end even though you have promised that you won’t. Our mornings and nights are very reassuring after reading this. I am also confused, I don’t really understand the last line, although its beautifully poetic, as is the whole entry. But the insurmountable sorrow makes it difficult to read, particularly through my own tears; sending the girls away, Mom and Dad’s grave site asking forgiveness for what you are thinking of doing, perhaps? Sending Bette away, as you come upon this one year mark.- an incredibly difficult year is not nearly strong enough words to express what you have gone through. And what we have gone through, your siblings, watching our oldest brother in the throws of such enormous grief and feeling so helpless. But it has also been a year of growth,a rekindling of connections with sisters and brothers, your writing of this journal filled with such profound emotion, memory, darkness and streams of light that do come through in Tammy’s “scarfing of your neck with her furry tail” and many other ways, and even humor, like calling God to complain that the leaves were turning color too early, and the line is busy…. i loved that. Keep writing John, it is the answer and the outlet for this massive Grief and I truly believe helps others who are also grieving. I love you Bro – and if that mantra starts in your head, remember how much you are loved, how much the world needs your voice in your written word, your promise to me. Love, Pat.
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