Lucy
Lucy or AKA Lucille when she was naughty 
)
She had the most beautiful eyes: Greenish brown, with rust colored eye lashes, crinkling at the corners when she smiled. And yes, she smiled! At first E, my husband thought I was just having a proud parent moment. But she did it all the time: When we’d first say good morning to each other, getting out of the car after a long drive, seeing family–she smiled ear to ear! She also talked… and scolded… and complained… and commented on most things! She was a Vizsla. Honestly, our first child.
Lucy was only 2 years old when she recently left us, but it seems that she is still everywhere…
Last night, we had friends over and their 6-year-old daughter, Autumn, asked me about Lucy’s whereabouts. I was caught off guard! Well of course she would remember her! Autumn played with Lucy every time we went backpacking, camping or visited her parents! Panic! I hadn’t prepared for this question.
Thinking about Lucy still brings me to tears, especially writing the above info–but I realized last night how important it is to face that. Yes, there is pain, suffering and loss wrapped up in that reply; but there is also love. And love isn’t just the good stuff–it’s also the tough stuff. To not honor that is to not fully understand the meaning of love.
I answered Autumn as best I knew how. Yes, she died. Yes, she went to doggie heaven. No, we didn’t bury her in the backyard. Where?-Under her favorite cedar tree in the mountains. Where is doggie heaven?-This one got me! In honor of Satya (truth), I answered to the best of my knowledge–Ya know Autumn, I’m not really sure. Because who am I to “know?” Thankfully, it was her bedtime and so I was saved from anymore interrogations from a 6-year-old!
Today when I was out on my walk on my lunch break, there was a Vizsla! Right in front of me, looking oh so much like my girl (except he was obviously a boy!) And the other day, I was at the yoga studio (It’s All Yoga) and someone was showing a picture of their adorable little girl. Guess what her name was? Yes–Lucy.
She is all around, though not physically here. And I thank Autumn for teaching me that love doesn’t just manifest itself when it’s physically present: Love appears in whispered questions (or interrogations) from a 6-year-old, or shows up on a walk or in a discussion at the yoga studio. It’s all around us and whether we choose to embrace it or not becomes the question.
This is such a touching story or life and love, fully experienced. Our pets teach us so many things about life and living, even when they are no longer with us. Allowing the pain and sorrow that you must feel to flow through you is life. Resisting or blocking it only creates more suffering. Your post has given me a moment to open my heart to the memory of lost pets, and to share in your loss. This is life. XO
August 31, 2010 at 15:01
What a bittersweet post. Having a dog in your life opens you to a particular kind of boundless joy, and therefore a particularly poignant loss. Take care.
September 3, 2010 at 04:30
c- big hugs to you for your loss. your girl, she was a beauty.
i recently lost my cat, Matt, and returned to class the next day only to be surrounded by my little friends offering hugs. it was both crushingly sad and heartwarming.
pets are truly our best friends and this is a wonderful tribute.
September 5, 2010 at 21:26
oh candace… what a sweet dedication to your girl. i’m so glad that mixed with the hurt of missing her are happy memories and heart smiles. loss is soooo hard, my heart goes out to you. i will look for hints of lucy too… xoxo
September 6, 2010 at 15:12
How sweet, comforting, and beautiful. I loved your story. I still see/sense/feel this one beloved orange kitty(Charlie) that I lost over 12 years ago. It is amazing to me how his spirit stays with me and still brings a smiling memory to me in the most unexpected moments. There have recently been a lot of people in my life that are experiencing the passing away of their loved ones, and whenever I am face-to-face with them, I am overwhelmed with a guilt and anxiety that I don’t know what to say, or how to make them feel comforted. Death is something that seems to be a big “no-no” to talk about in our culture. Thank you for writing such an intimate and truthful tribute that had to do with such a difficult subject.
September 13, 2010 at 13:36
I can’t believe we have been in class this long and this hasn’t come up. So touching and a tender recitation of one of life’s moments. Gifts that are given to us in each moment – whether we are able to see them as gifts at the time is another topic for long discussion. I am so sorry about Lucy. I can see her smiling, talking, objection, negotiating…because i have one of those little creatures too! I have 1 1/2 Vizslas (the other half is a lab). They are really funny guys (i can’t really call them dogs as they are really more like people.) A book i read recently, The Art of Racing in the Rain, made me believe they absolutely understand us and have a lot to say. The book is so, so good and though you don’t have time now, after TT it would be a good, cathartic read for you. Thank you for sharing this intimate glimpse into your life.
September 16, 2010 at 19:42
My dear Candace…what a tender, lovely telling of a gift – both your interaction with this curious 6 year old as well as Lucy. I am so sorry for your loss, but both the love you have for Lucy and the ache and pain you feel in her absence are a gift…maybe the latter is not as easily recognizable as the former as a gift, but what depth of feeling she has allowed you to have. I can hear her talking, objecting, negotiating…I have one of those too! I have Vizslas (one is half lab) and they are amazing creatures. I can’t really call them dogs as they are way too close to human. I read a book recently (definitely before TT!) that i would recommend highly…The Art of Racing in the Rain. You will likely connect immensely with the story since Lucy was a talker. Thank you for providing such an intimate look into your world.
September 21, 2010 at 05:03