Random ramblings . . .

I went to the emergency vet clinic the other day, to pick up Gaia's remains. I was crying—no make that hysterically sobbing—almost the entire way, once again, could barely see the road. I thought about  reigning it in before I got there then thought, What the hell? They must see this sort of scene at their clinic on a regular basis, so I just let 'er rip . . .

Once again, the staff at the Animal Emergency Clinic in Oakdale was so kind and compassionate, allowed a grown woman to blubber and babble over her beautiful old dogs ashes is just another day at the office for them . . . of course, I cried even harder when I saw the velvet bag that held her remains, embroidered with the words, "till we meet again over the rainbow bridge . . ." If you've never read this before, The Rainbow Bridge, get a box of kleenex now, before you start. Only someone with a cold stone for a heart would be dry-eyed after reading it . . . first time I heard of this poem was when our beautiful Liddy had to be put down, 4 1/2 years ago now; someone had given us a card with the words printed in it. Even had Bob in tears, "cursing" the card-giver for making a grown man cry. . . I couldn't read through this whole poem for the longest time after she died . . . still chokes me, and now, has even more poignancy to its words . . .

Along with Gaia's remains was a flyer for a pet support group held at the vet clinic. I had to laugh, in spite of my tears. Just what I need, more therapy. Between grief therapy, post traumatic stress therapy, widow support groups and all my informal little get-togethers with new-found friends of the "lost" world, who has time for a real job . . . no, I am not going to the pet loss support group, by the way. I could have used that when Liddy was sick and had to be put down, but I believe I said in my posts dedicated to Gaia, she lived and died about the best way any living creature could have . . . I miss her immensely, but I once she died, I felt immense peace. . . she had a long, beautiful life, she held on as long as she could for me, I know that in my heart, and when she was ready to go, she was ready . . .

On a totally unrelated note, I was just informed that the old house in St. Paul has been rented out! I was so relieved to hear this news, I would have kissed my landlords full on the lips, had they told me face-to-face. As such, it was over the phone—lucky for them. They have been so understanding and compassionate with my situation, and accommodating in helping to find a new tenant, allowing me to be totally relieved of my obligation, even though I signed a two year lease (I was that horrified and determined to be out of Wrenwood, I would have moved anywhere—even a cardboard box under the 494 overpass would have been a reprieve. . .)

The old house in St. Paul was definitely a reprieve, necessary for self-preservation, I know this now. It was a safe haven, in endless ways, but I knew, initially as the tiniest pinprick of "knowing," that I wouldn't be there long. My only regret was signing a lease for so long, but there's that crystal-clear hindsight . . . what's done is done and now, it's a little bit of weight off my shoulders, one less thing to keep me awake at night. Just keep plodding forward. . . If there is one rule to this widowhood shit, it's that there are no rules—wait a minute, isn't that a line in a movie? If it's not, it should be . . .

I have been loving this spring weather, I have to keep reminding myself it's March, not May. . . have the yard 75% cleared of leaves, the last 25% is clogging up that god-forsaken "rock garden" that the previous owners put in. I hate that thing, always looks like a mess, river rocks tumble into the front yard and I often don't see them, so I end up mowing over them . . . I'm surprised I haven't taken out a window yet. . . but with the nice weather brings another season of change, more reminders . . . this f'n journey never ends. . .