How do you mend a broken heart?
Hmmmm. That's a lyric from a song in my favorite movie, Notting Hill, when poor Will Thacker broods over "the American." Well, he got the American back, but that was a movie. I just don't think you ever can, at least not once your loved one dies.
They take a piece of your heart with you. Maybe a piece of your soul, too. You can heal maybe; maybe happy memories lace up that fissure, maybe the pain will ease with time, but mend completely?
I don't think so.
This afternoon, I walked downstairs but Marl wasn't on her favorite rug, turning her sleepy face to see what I was up to. Yesterday after I called the veterinary hospital to arrange her last sleep, I broke into sobs.
She came running from another favorite napping place, in front of the fireplace, and immediately besieged me with loving whines and messy kisses to help me out.
I guess in the humane sense, I was truly helping her out...but it hurts so bad.
Whew. I'd scheduled a nice long massage today for just that reason, hoping to get some relief. I explained to the masseuse about my sweet dog, and she commiserated; when she spied my Lance Armstrong Livestrong bracelet, I explained my hero's journey and his 18th week of remission. Her reply: man, you guys have had one heck of a year.
We have, haven't we? But he's well now. Marl's running across the Rainbow Bridge with her big sister Tawny. And then the massage therapist placed hot rocks on the neediest parts of me. My knotty neck. My stiff back. Then soothed hot rocks over the rest of me. One even nestled in the palm of my left hand.
Oh, beautiful.
My hero rescued me as he always does. He took our sweet girl even in his own grief, just to spare me.
When she gently slept, he brought back her collar, still with her name tag and license. He'll hotglue it around her feeding bowl and make it a planter.
And I'll plant some forget-me-nots.
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