This will be her third night with us after spending more than three weeks alone in her house while her man was in the hospital in his last stages. A neighbor saw that she was fed and all, but she was obviously in shock when I showed up to take her away on Friday. She came right up to me... something she'd never done before. She willingly walked right out the door without looking back. She had always been a one man dog, and I think she must have figured out her man wasn't coming home. She now follows me around the house. She's at my feet right now as I write this. Hello, old girl.
Anyway, tonight she seemed to wake up from her daze. We found her sitting in the middle of our living room, just kind of looking around with a furrowed brow... sort of the doggie version of what the heck is this place and how did I get here? I know the feeling.
As a pastor, I dive into death a lot. It is almost always someone else's family, and it is my job to keep my head to guide survivors who lose theirs. I guess I am sort of like a grief fire-jumper.
But after nearly 14 years serving the church in which I was long ago born and raised, I am, often as not, a sort of second-ring survivor myself. In these cases, it is important for me to find some way to channel my churning into some sort of constructive, reflective activity. About five years ago I found it: I plant trees.
When a death hits close to home, soon after the memorial services have been completed, my family knows they can find me out on the property somewhere with shovel, pickaxe, wheel barrow and peat moss, preparing the ground for a new arrival. The clay soil makes for tough work, which makes it all the better for my heart, soul and mind.
I focus intently on digging a pit that will not be a grave, but a cradle of life. As I experience flashes of my own mortality, I enjoy starting something that will live and strive and grow far beyond me. A complaining back, dirt under finger nails and sweat soaked clothing demand that I acknowledge the gift of living that is still mine.
It is not selfish to love and relish one's life all the more for watching someone else lose theirs. It is a rather healthy response, and probably one of the very best ways to honor the dead.
Anyway, I'm thinking of breaking with my standard solitary practice for the next tree I plant. I'm thinking I might invite this old dog along. I'm pretty sure she won't insist on empty, distracting conversation. Since she is evidence of death invited into my home, I think I might need her to share in my conversion of an ending into a new beginning. I also like the thought of her having a moment in her own fading life to rest once again in the shade of her man's shadow.
How have you processed grief? I'd love to have you share.
