Grief and Balm

Author Dean Koontz wrote about his grief after his golden retriever Trixie died. One day, he and his wife were walking and saw a perfect golden butterfly flying by. That butterfly sighting left them feeling at peace, as if the butterfly carried a message to them that Trixie was fine and they would be, too. 

When our golden retriever Hoover died, we told him to send us a golden butterfly, and he sent us Daisy. She was our golden butterfly for 11 years. 

In the week and a half she's been gone, the longest I've made it without crying is 24 hours. She's been by far the hardest of our dogs to grieve for. Cooper is grieving, too. After the first few days, he became mopey and sad. 

Friends of my son sent us this message:

We heard that you had lost your precious Daisy and wanted you to know that we are very sad for your loss. Many times the loss of a pet is the hardest of all as we know that they always expect their humans to make it all better and usually we can...until we cannot. Our final takeaway from them after all of their years of giving us their absolute all every minute of their short lives is that we were always in their best place to possibly be when they were with us. We were their everything and the most excellent life we lived with them is all they wanted. Their true Heaven was here on earth with us. Now, go get a puppy!

We are taking their advice. Meet our new golden butterfly.

My husband wanted a new puppy ASAP, and I contacted Cooper's breeder. She informed me that a female became available from a litter that's ready to go to their new homes this weekend. She's cuddly, sweet, and not an alpha pup. 

Miss Lilac (so-called for the color of ribbon she wears to distinguish her from her littermates) is coming to live with us the weekend after next. (This weekend is Jack's high school graduation...no puppy should have to deal with that chaos!) 

Neither George nor I can picture ourselves yelling "Lilac!!!" to call her inside, so the short list of possible names includes Clover, Lily, and Magnolia. Lily is the frontrunner, simply because it's close to Lilac and might cause her less confusion. I prefer Clover because it has "love" in the middle, and George likes Magnolia because we can call her Maggie for everyday and Magnolia (with a southern accent) when we're mad at her.

It's hard right now to imagine EVER being mad at that sweet face, but after she widdles on my shoes and chews a pillow to pieces, we just might raise our voices. 

A new dog never, ever replaces a dog in our hearts. The gaping hole left by Daisy will take a very long time to heal. But little Clover/Lily/Maggie will wiggle her way into our hearts and lives in her own uniquely golden way. 

Grief is love with nowhere to go, and I think Daisy, who was the embodiment of fur-covered love, will appreciate us pouring the love she can't receive right now into this new puppy. 

Cooper will have a playmate again. 

And Daisy will wait for us like the good dog she was, is, and forever will be. 

Mercy, grace, peace, and most of all love,

Susan

Thank You

Thank you all for your emails and comments and cards of comfort, and thank you to all who have cried with us and told me so. You have no idea how much that means to me. The empathy and compassion we've experienced in the past week have been a balm. We've loved all our dogs excessively, but Daisy was a once-in-a-lifetime dog. The loss of her will take a very long time to process. 

Today, I want to share the cards I've received. 

From Eddie

From Angela

From June

From Rachel

I'm displaying these beautiful--and meaningful--cards on our mantel next to the box of Daisy's ashes and her clay pawprint. Thank you so much. 

Mercy, grace, peace, love, and gratitude,

Susan

Goodbye, Daisy

Those of you who've been reading Simplicity for a loooong time might remember 2010 as the year of the Daisy. This little ray of golden sunshine entered our lives eleven years ago, shortly after our first golden retriever died of osteosarcoma. 

Look at those ears! I can still smell the puppy breath.

It wasn't too long before she looked like this.

Last Tuesday, we learned that a mass in her throat was probably melanoma and that it had likely already metastasized to her spleen. She was given two weeks but only made it to Friday night, when we drove to the emergency vet after her breathing became labored. The tumor grew so fast. It hadn't been there a month earlier.

Our beautiful Daisy has gone ahead. Our hearts are broken. This happened too fast. 

I know many of you love my dog pictures (probably more than the card pictures!). Here's one of my recent favorites of Miss Daisy, taken by my husband in our front yard. She loved soaking up the sun in the grass, wriggling on her back in the grass, and chasing Cooper in the grass. 

And here she is begging with her brother from her brother. 

And then there's this one of her cuddling up to me on the bed as I read, not-so-subtly begging for attention. Note the line of dialogue on the screen..."What a good girl!"

Daisy was the best girl, a big heart covered in fur. 

Grief is love that has nowhere to go. I don't know who said it, but it perfectly sums up how I feel. 

Mercy, grace, peace, and most of all, love,

Susan