Fuzzy, it’s been a year since your passing. I miss you. How time flies. Such a cliché. But so true. I remember that final day so clearly, so vividly, I remember what I was wearing. How I woke up that morning, my body feeling simultaneously heavy and light. How I stared back at my face in the bathroom mirror, skin pale, a drawn look. Me, rasping out at my own reflection, “God, give me the strength to see this day through.”
And the thing is…I did. For you see, Flash, your final, parting gift to me was PEACE. That morning I had prayed, kneeling in the grass while you ate your last meal, for strength, and for a sign that your spirit would be at peace; that you were going to be alright. I drank in the sight of you: a calm and content horse munching away, in our beloved little valley in the foothills. My first home and your final home. That last morning, I was so painfully and blessedly present, that every sense was heightened: vision brighter, scents sharper, sounds louder. When it was finally time, I chose not to watch; I did not want, nor need, to see the absolute end. I wanted to remember you standing. Happy. Ears alert. I did not want to see the literal, final, devastating result. I said my final words to you, wished you god speed, kissed you hard on your furry face. Tore myself away, started walking. Looked once, then twice over my shoulder. Saw the vet wielding the first syringe. Snapped my head back forward. Marched into the small barn office. Felt despair. Resignation. Then: lightness. A force pulling me upwards from the couch, and toward your pasture. And as I walked out into the sun light, I felt PEACE. And I knew you were ok. That your spirit was no longer part of your failing body. That the transition was and is of itself, peace.
Tears were still cascading, but were no longer of dread. No, the opposite in fact: serenity. Any and every synonym for the word peace: I felt this. You were free. I was alright. I was going to be ok. Of course I will always miss you. But I know you are in my soul. I felt it that morning. I feel it now.
Make of this what you will: religiosity, spiritual mumbo jumbo, a plain desperate yearning for relief. Maybe it is, maybe it isn’t. Skeptic or believer, the absolute calm that I felt was real. I still feel it. Whether God/ Creator/ It/ Whoever heard me, or rather I found the strength within myself and answered my own prayer: it doesn’t matter. In the end, I attribute the peace I felt and forever feel to Flash. The love and friendship we shared: death does not that change that. I said so in my parting words to him. Death cannot take that away. The memories are mine forever. No one can take them. As is the tranquility I feel. I have no regrets regarding our final time together. That final summer lives on. As does your legacy of love and happiness and caring, my furry friend. And so Flash, my beloved Fuzzy, I say once again: THANK YOU. I miss you and I love you forever.
~LMC