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I could write about driving down the driveway and walking into the kitchen where my mother was sitting at the table, her dog Holly in her bed without the energy to stand up or utter a muffled bark, without the energy to even lift her head.
But I can't. It's too sad. Maybe I'll write about Cecily's computer arriving, the one we were going to get her as a graduation present since she is a high school senior with plans to head to college in the fall.
I could write about carrying Holly and placing her into my mother's lap, her body limp and without the usual protest of a ride in the car.
But I won't. It's too sad. Maybe I'll write about Julia's video instead. The one that's on Facebook with her college soccer team doing silly things in their homes as they connect through this quarantine.
I could write about waiting in the parking lot and watching the masked, gloved technicians deliver a happy-to-be-alive golden retriever to her owner who struggled to keep the fabric mask over her face and shared a laugh about the absurd necessity of all the precautions everyone's taking.
Maybe I could.
But I could also write about bringing my mother home.
"What's the package?" I asked.
"No idea," Mom said. "I haven't ordered anything."
She picked up the small package that leaned against her garage. "It looks like it's from Larkin." she said.
(Some of you know my Larkin, my oldest daughter who lives in Denver.)
Inside the house, my mother cut open the envelope. Her hands were shaking, but she didn't want help, so got busy picking up Holly's bed, her dishes, her bag of food that was on the step into the garage.
When I came back into the house, my mother was on the phone with Larkin, wanting to know how she knew, how unbelievable the timing was.
One of my mom's good friends had commissioned Larkin to make cards of Holly, and that's what was in the package. Beautiful notecards of Holly, looking more like the clear-eyed girl who hopped independently onto the sofa when a lap was available with a pattern of holly sprigs and puppy biscuits as the background.
"They're perfect," Mom said, standing one on the counter.
Happy Slicing,
Ack, the ups and down of emotions here. It is a hard time to be sick, for dogs too. My son is stressed that he can not get his sweet kitten her shots on time, so I guess it's lucky that your mom's Holly was able to see a vet at all. Wishing you all health!
ReplyDeleteI love how you told your sad story by interjecting other things you could write about instead. That's just how our minds work in times of sorrow. We try to think of "other things" but the undercurrent is still there. What a gift Larkin's note cards were on that day. Kismet.
ReplyDeleteLovely piece, Melanie.
Oh, I'm so sorry about Holly. During this time all losses carry extra weight and the loss of a beloved pet is a huge one already. I'm so glad you were able to be there for your mom, and how wonderful that those cards arrived at the precisely right moment. On another note, I really liked how you structured this piece. Well done!
ReplyDeleteOh, look at Holly's sweet face. Just precious.
ReplyDeleteBTW: I think you picked the perfect piece to write about today, Melanie.
I just loved the structure of this - capturing how our writing minds work. I think of all those students that want to be vulnerable and go through this same process - should I - no - by maybe - no... this is a great mentor piece for them. Thank you for being vulnerable!
ReplyDelete