Interstices ~ The Spaces In Between...

"Life lurks in the interstices..."

~ Maria Reinecke ~

"Accept Loss Forever."

~ Jack Kerouac ~

Dear Ones, 

I am sorry that it has been so long between posts but it has been a very hard time in my personal life and just when I thought I was recovering I was blindsided by another loss just a couple of days ago that I am having trouble recovering from.

Everyone who knows me, and those who have read my pieces here, know that I live a very quiet contemplative life, seldom leave my cottage, and that my animal family are my daily companions that help me walk through life. I take in rescue animals and they rescue me as well. 

Three weeks ago Tuesday, after having lost my wee little black pug Babs, my first little pug from the rescue, who died last June, and then in January my precious little Coco died on the operating table, my "Big Dog Moe," the leader of the pack, died. He was 18 and had had cancer for some time, having all kinds of treatments and pain medication that gave him a few more months but he had been our family dog, adopted as a puppy from The Humane Society, and though he has lived with me since 2002 he was our family dog and the whole family took his death very hard. He died, as all of my dogs have, with me kissing him and telling him how much I loved him, and I sang "Somewhere Over The Rainbow" to him until he closed his eyes for the last time. I cried for days and just ached inside. Having lost Coco such a short time ago and Babs just 6 months before that, it felt like too much, but just a few days ago, on Tuesday, three weeks to the day that Moe passed, I lost my beloved little Harvey, the precious funny little pug that I simply adored. He, too, died in my arms and I sat with him for some time after he had passed, his little head on my chest with his eyes still open gazing into mine, though he was gone. I stroked him and cuddled him and kissed him and sang softly to him, telling him what a wonderful boy he was and how much I loved him, and when I finally handed him into my vet's arms I thought I would collapse. I don't even remember driving home. Sampson, my sweet "velcro" pug, and I drove home shaken, and still, there was more that would make the grief expand to fill all the spaces so that I could not see the places in between, the places where there is no loss, the time when there is hope and light and greeting each day with gratitude and a smile. A dark cloud has descended here. 

Anyone who knows little Sampson, now 13, who has been with me for 3 1/2 years, knows that he is practically glued to my body most of the time. If I'm here in my big over-sized chair he is in it with me, snuggled closed and sleeping, his soft little snore making me smile with a tenderness I had never known before these little pugs came to me, one by one, four in a year. I have had just about every kind of breed imaginable from some rescue or other all through my 57 years, and I loved them all dearly, but it wasn't until I gave that first little pug a home did I fall so in love with a specific breed. I will have pugs from the rescue (Mid-Atlantic Pug Rescue) for the rest of my life. Sam sleeps with me too, and to go to bed with a small boy who feels like a soft warm teddy bear and snuggles all up to me making me feel warm and loved in a way I never have, is precious beyond my ability to express it.

Sam was the only pug that Big Dog Moe would have anything to do with. They played together, they laid together, and when Moe went outside through the doggie door into our big fenced yard, Sam followed him, the two of them meandering around the yard like "The Jolly Black Giant and The Little Nibblet." It was so cute. My heart danced every time I watched them together...

You can't see Moe here but he was just
opposite Sam...

Sam, who never leaves my chair if I am in it, took to jumping off from time to time just to lay in Moe's bed. It was so sad. But three weeks later he seemed to be recovering. He and Harvey were very bonded and often snuggled and slept together in Harvey's bed...

Tuesday, after having gotten up seemingly fine, eaten his breakfast and gone out to the potty with Sam, Harvey took a nap next to me but when he woke up he was not right. His back legs collapsed out from under him, he couldn't hold himself up and he was breathing funny. By the time we got to the vet he was very bad, breathing terribly hard and in obvious pain. I couldn't see him like that and so it was time for his passing as well. I loved that little boy so much...

Though he had passed on I couldn't stop hugging him and kissing and kissing him, crying so hard that my eyes were almost swollen shut, but worst of all was little Sam. I tried twice to get him up in the chair with me but each time he jumped down and went over and laid by Harvey's bed, just staring into it, finally, climbing into it and burrowing his face into Harvey's cover and going to sleep. He slept for 5 hours and I couldn't rouse him. Finally he got up and got in the chair with me but he hasn't been the same since. People who think that animals don't have feelings should witness what I have been witnessing. This little pug is experiencing full blown grief.

Time will pass and I have already made arrangements for my first adoption so that Sam will not be alone. Pugs need each other for company and Sam who a year ago was one of a tribe of 5 is now alone. I have been committed to adopting the seniors but my daughter and others begged me to adopt younger ones, at least for awhile. My heart cannot take so much loss. To that end in about three weeks a little boy named Tanner is coming to live with us. He is 2 and just adorable past belief. He will be a little energetic person for Sam to play with now that he has lost his Big Dog Moe, the only one he played with. Here is little Tanner...

In my commitment to open my heart and home to the little ones in need, this is my mission, and my heart is full of so much love, and little Sam, the pug that is part of my soul, needs our family to expand as well. And so by the end of the month a wee little boy will join us and I know he will bring us much joy.

There have been very few interstices in the last year when grief fell upon grief, closing the path before me, but one must always open their heart for others in need, make space for those to come. My heart is still aching, tears run down my cheeks at odd times, and little Sam follows me and cries if he can't see me, something he has never done. We are both clinging to each other during this sad time, my little pug and I, but we will shoulder on and the sun will once more glisten through the spaces in between.

The lessons of love, loss, letting go, and finally moving forward seem to be some of the most powerful in life. I am still transitioning slowly through these phases, but the door to the cottage is opening again. I am ready. It is time.