Posted by: alegra22 | July 8, 2013

guardian

Some infinities are bigger than other infinities

Some infinities are bigger than other infinities

I’m sitting in the studio and writing. It is the first time I’ve done this since Belicia’s death. On Saturday night I was posting on FB about renaming my studio “the woman’s cave” and counting down the hours until my friend, Ellyn, arrived with her laptop, wine, pickles,  bacon, and the plans to write until we fell asleep. Now, on Monday night, my eyes are puffy at the edges and they sting when I blink. Not a bad sting, a weary sting. It is the opposite of the sting I used to get when opening my eyes in the ocean to watch a wave pass over my head. That sting was invigorating. This sting has a burn to it, like embers on the floor of a forest after a wildfire has stripped it back. I’m only just beginning to feel the edges of my body again. They feel singed and not quite safe.

And it is the first time that I’ve realized for the last two years Belicia has been a companion that curled herself against my body, but she also cuddled my mind. She has been listening to me in her way just as I’ve been constantly talking to her in my way. She was my witness. My writing buddy. She is no longer here to listen and so I don’t recognize my own internal voice.

I’ve felt Belicia’s presence in every room over the last few days. I stumble first into the memory of the presence – like the flash of a dream passing through my body, its whispers leading me to fall into the emptiness of the present. She is not here in the present. I can’t grab her mudflap lips and nuzzle her wet nose. I can’t take a break from my thoughts and stroke her belly. I can’t tell her thank you.

 My mind has been in conversation with her snuffles, sighs, tip-tap nails on the wood floor. The memories of my body, the ones programmed into my musculature and nervous system responses…they are all waiting for Belicia. It is as if I’ve lost an extension of myself in the truest sense.

If I breathe too deeply, feel too deeply, I see her leaping over the fence, circling around my car. I feel myself opening the door and saying, “Okay, come on, then.” I feel the memory of knowing I was absolutely, undeservedly loved by this kind and gentle creature. And I start crying again.

This year I have confronted feelings of shame, fatigue, fear, and confusion. Some of my cruelest internal voices have been reading detailed lists of my failings. I didn’t believe in their arguments that I was flawed or worthless because I’d look up and Belicia would be there, tail wagging, waiting for my cue. She loved me and I’d done nothing to deserve it. She loved me simply because I existed.

I realize now that she was my ongoing conversation with God.

I keep feeling like she is waiting for me to stop mourning and start listening.
And then I start crying again.
Because right now I’m in the in-between space, between heaven and hell, and she isn’t here to look me in the eyes.

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Responses

  1. I’ve thought about Belicia’s death for a while now. Ever since you posted on Fb about it. I thought about how devastated you, Dan and of course all the kids would be. I started to think about things you had shared over the past 12 months or so too. YOU have had many, many challenges this year. Which you have met with passion and vigor…To me though there seems to be one reoccurring theme…Death. I know this sounds really morbid, but it’s just something that really jumped out at me. Maybe it’s more about tragic loss?? You’ve had animals pass on in the past few months (don’t need to list those) You’ve had a separation as such with a sibling and the same can be said for some of your friends too. Me included in that list! This of course has inturn wound up your anxiety/stress-o-meter too. AND yet, none of this has broken you Alegra. NONE OF IT. You are still the person you were before Belicia was taken from you AND you know that God has decided to put you on this pathway of loss and death this year for some reason. A great reason of course. But when in the clutches of grieve and sorrow it can be VERY difficult to see through the haze of tears and pain. Sharing this pain with others is the best thing to do. And keeping up the prayer helps also 🙂 MUCH LOVE Alegra. Much Love.

  2. I can’t really say much more than “two years of healing” has already said. But, I can say this; we lost Daemon in January… Daemon, your first baby pup who we were lucky enough to have the past 8 years. It was devastating to lose her. Papa and I have not really gotten over it yet. We still light candles for her during the day. I still cry often. I think Daemon and Belicia would have liked each other…mainly because Daemon was an alpha dog and Belicia was a submissive little sweetheart, so Daemon would have had her way. These beasts are like our children to us in so many ways. Especially when they nourish our souls in the way children often do. So often I felt sad for Daemon because she no longer had you to curl up with. Now I feel sad for both you and Belicia because you no longer have her. I am hoping that their souls are romping together wherever it is that souls go when they leave the body. In the same way you made a garden for Daemon when she died, I know you will do something special for Belicia. It will take a while to adjust to this. Just feel what you have to feel and use your writing and your garden to help you get through it.

  3. Remarkably well written and precise in how much and why our dogs matter.


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