A Definition of Grief:
The emotional depiction of great loss accompanied by a sense of hopelessness, anguish, denial, anger and confusion.
Hmm. First reaction for me: "Oh, Crockett, I'm so sorry." Along with effusive I love yous. And needing to know he forgave me for not protecting him from the car in the highway by leashing him.
Hopelessness was fleeting; after all, I'm 60 years old. I've lived through worse and I know that no amount of tears and bargaining with God will bring anyone back from the grave.
Anguish, oh yes. I know that I'm responsible for the protection of my pets. I failed Crockett. It's not an "I should have known" but more a "why didn't I prepare for all contingencies" kind of anguish. When the Shuttle blew up in the sky, I'm certain there were NASA employees who skipped over hopelessness and got directly into anguish.
Denial? I can't deny that my dog is dead. He's buried and I took my rock collection (sometimes I appear to have rocks for a brain) to the burial site and placed them around and on Crockett's grave. I lost a part of me when he was killed. Now, he has a special part of me as a memorial to my love for him.
Anger? I could get very angry, grab my shotgun and do a lot of damage to every vehicle which races past my driveway towing a metal flatbed trailer. And what would that accomplish? It wouldn't bring Crockett back. And if I'm in jail, how do I take care of Casey? Besides, my revenge is not nearly as appropriate as God's. I did write a letter to the editor of the local weekly paper. (See previous post.) And in it, as you know, I turned the judgment of the driver who killed my dog over to God.
Confusion? I was never in any confusion, although I've returned to my normal state of "dazed and confused" this morning. Besides, I thought the last stage of grief was "acceptance."
I know that there will be days when I revert to anguish. I believe the final stage of grief is more like "self-forgiveness" because I know Crockie loved me and wouldn't want me to blame myself for his running across the street -- he was a dog, he got on a scent and that superseded everything. But I know he was coming home to safety (and a leash) when he was struck by the vehicle and killed.
Some may read this and think 'how maudlin;' why don't you get over it? It was only a dog! Obviously, those who think that never met Crockett. He was not "just a dog" or "just a Cocker." Crockett was . . . Crockett. He was the sweetest Cocker Spaniel his groomer ever met (and she's not overly fond of Cockers). And he was and will remain in my heart my "sweet little boy."
Special thanks to N.W. and K.W. for the CD with the photos of Crockett.
St. Francis of Assisi loved animals and animals found him to be a tender friend and protector. St. Francis of Assisi has another dog to care for.
Found here.
And it may rain today and wash away the "trail of blood" on the highway. God's way of saying, "I have Crockett up here and he is the sweetest Cocker I ever had the pleasure of welcoming home." (And He may have to explain to St. Francis that Crockett really liked raw beef and chicken to eat while he was on Earth. I think that all animals revert back to their 'grazing ways' of the Garden of Eden when they enter their heavenly reward. In other words, they eat grasses for protein and not other animals.)
I love you, Crockett. My baby boy, I miss you. I will always love you.
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