Barbara’s sudden death (was it yesterday or two years ago?) still shocks me, still brings intense sorrow, still brings tears. I am not accustomed to death. I was not taught how to encompass the fact of death into my life. I think of her often. I dream of us together, doing things that we did or planned to do. We laughed and said we would get tattoos… neither of us had one. She asked me to design a turtle for hers, and I designed a fish for myself. But before we got our tattoos, Barbara died.
I rescued my sweet black lab Chama from the animal shelter. Chama rescued me from loneliness. We loved each other, were so closely bound, had both experienced abuses from people who were supposed to love us. We were together for nine years. It seems now like such a short time. I miss her terribly and I still feel her nose softly, just barely touch my back when I sit at my desk. Her spirit, like Barbara’s, remains present and essential to my life.
Chama died in my arms only a few days before Barbara died 100 miles away. It was important to me to somehow mark the pain, the memories, the love, the sharing, the connections. So I got my tattoo of Chama’s pawprint to celebrate my two wonderful sweet friends who were and are so important and who each contributed so much to my happiness.
Casey Herman
You managed to write about your pain …. I just wanted to say I liked it. Keep smiling somewhere, somehow, because your friends are still with you in spirit.
Anne van Alkemade
It’s a beautiful story in itself and sweet sorrow to you as well I’m sure Fran.
I enjoyed reading it.