Hey brad --
I was glad to hear you had a service and buried Ben in the yard. We've always done this too. Your telling of that story reminded me of the first time I went through the loss of a pet when I was a kid. My Mom had a Pekinese when I was a kid who never knew she was a dog. I didn't really realize how unique and special she was -- we called her Tinka. I just thought all dogs were like her.
She was around when we all were born -- I think, in fact, she may have been a wedding gift for my Mom and Dad when they married.
Anyway, she was with us for 17 years before we lost her and I recall the day well. I came home from school for lunch and my Dad was there, working on something in the garage. That was not like my Dad at all as he wasn't handy in the least and for him to be out there working with wood, very serious and all, well I knew something was up.
Later that afternoon after we were all at home Mom and Dad gathered us around for family prayer -- again, very unusual for that time of day. And then Dad told us what had happened to Tinka. It was the first time we had dealt with the loss of anyone, pet or person and it devastated us all. It was a shock, a real world changer. I might have been only about 12 years old at the time but I felt like a big baby. I simply couldn't process my feelings. And I don't think any of my siblings could either.
We had a neighbor to one side of us who wasn't the world's friendliest. In fact he had this thing about his lawn and that he didn't want anyone touching it. We would, when leaving the house, jump over the corner of his lawn from our driveway in a mad attempt to drive him crazy, which it usually did. I must have been yelled at him a million times over the course of my childhood. He was a real meanie.
But on this day when Tinka died we gathered around the tiny little casket Dad had made for her. Mom wrote, in her beautiful script, her name, date of birth and passing, and a wonderful descrption of her. Then we carried her to the backyard when my Dad and my brothers and myself all took turns digging her grave in her favorite part of the yard -- her little spot in the corner. Mom already had flowers planted around where we were to put her so we had to be careful as we dug. As that job was done my family was all gathered around and because sharing the wonderful Tinka stories we had but never talked about before.
I talked about Tinka on the night my mom went into labor with my baby sister. I'll never forget it because Dad was at work and Mom let us stay up, likely out of fear for what might happen if Dad didn't make it home on time. It was the night that "Brian's Song" ran on network television for the first time. But Mom was really hurting, as I saw it through my kid eyes, and her water had broken. Tinka never once left her side. As Mom lay on the couch and had her get this and that Tinka wouldn't let us get near her. She was absolutely unsettled until my Dad came home and took my Mom into the hospital.
After Mom left the house -- and we were left alone, a very rare thing for our family -- Tinka changed her demeanor right away. She started to protect US, pacing back and forth in front of the door and following us everywhere we went in the house. She had become "friendly" again and watched us all very, very closely. She was not, at least to me, a demonstrative animal prone to cuddling but when Mom and Dad were gone I slept in their bed and she slept right there next to my chest, the whole night. If I moved, she moved. She was literally connected to me the whole time Mom was away.
When I awoke in the morning it was dark and Tinka was going absolutely nuts. She was not a barker by nature but she was greatly agitated. I couldn't find her at first until I realized she was at the back door where a family friend was trying to get into the house. She had heard from my parents the night before and was coming over to get us up and ready for school -- if Tinka would let her. I had to literally pick up Tinka to get her from tearing her apart. This was all completely out of character for Tink.
Later that day I came home for lunch and Laura, our family friend, suggested we called the hospital to see if there was any news. There was, my little sister was born. Laura nearly choked me in her celebration of the news and Tinka again started in on her. I had to take her away and lock her in a room the rest of the day.
Later, when my Mom came home Tinka was literally in tears -- I don't know how to explain it other than that way. She was so happy and literally weeping that Mom was there and safe. I could feel the tension leave her little body as Mom was home and all was well.
So as we were huddled out there, telling stories like that about Tinka, from the time she snagged all the M&Ms Dad was throwing out at us at the fireworks on the 4th of July to the time she jumped off the edge of the Grand Canyon and we thought we lost her, we had a good laugh and a good cry as we buried her. Finally it was done and we said another prayer -- as heartfelt a prayer as I've ever heard in my life. It is one of the handful of times in my life where I've seen my father weep, such was the impact on that little personality on his life.
Unbeknownst to us, our neighbor, the meanie, was witnessing this whole thing from the other side of the fence. As we finished I turned around and there he was, standing there on a foot stool or something, his head clearly over the top of the fence, tears streaming down his face.
"I've never known such love," he told my father.
"Neither had we," my Dad said.
That experience taught me that value of grieving and of remembering and not only for the people important in our lives. Our pets are FAMILY, they are monumental in our day to day, even if they cannot talk or express themselves as we express ourselves to each other.
They do speak to us. And they give a level of love I wish more of us had the capacity to give.
God bless you and your family, Brad, and the memory, too, of Ben.
Jeff
