Think Before You Speak, Suffer Before You Rise
As I “shopped”, (if that’s what you want to call it) for Lassie’s casket, (yes I bought a casket for my dog. I am far from rich but I think more of this dog than I do the vast majority of people, including myself.) It seemed so dastardly a deed. I felt as if I was giving up on a great friend. I drove 120 miles, spent two hours and $150.00 I didn’t really have on his casket. It was very odd. I have always enjoyed shopping but on this shopping trip I felt as if I had on lead shoes and was pulling a small house behind me. I also had trouble breathing as it felt like a Mack truck was parked on my chest. At the site of each casket I teared up a bit and the Fool in me wondered, at each casket which one he would be most comfortable in. The Rational me kept repeating “It doesn’t matter now Jon.” The Child in me kicked and screamed “Is he really dead?” “I don’t believe you!”
I found this shopping SO distasteful! My stomach was sour, my legs were like rubber, my hands were shaking, my throat was sore and scratchy, and my mouth had a bitter taste and was very dry. My eyes, in contrast were far from dry. My tears, those that slipped through my put on “I’m-a-man-and-men-don’t-cry-over-pets” face, stung badly as they passed my eyelids.
I narrowed down my “choice” (as if I wanted to chose) of caskets for this repulsive task to two. The Fool in me wanted a casket which would preserve his body the longest, the Rational me pointed out that my friend’s body WOULD decay no matter what I chose. The Child in me, now on the floor, kicking, screaming and crying, cursed the rest of me for lying about Lassie being dead. The Fool in me and the Rational me chose a beautiful casket while the Child in me lay sobbing loudly on the floor.
The Fool in me suggested to the Rational me that I design and make Lassie grave marker, the Rational me agreed, the Child in me only uttered mournful lamentations as the Fool in me and the Rational me carried the inconsolable Child in me to the car for a trip to the hardware store.
The Fool in me and the Rational me collaborated on a design to begin with a traditional cross as the Child in me began to question God. We arrived at the hardware store.
The Rational me said, in said in his typical pragmatic voice “It should stand up to the weather.” The Rational me lead the fool in me with a blubbering Child in me close behind to the section of treated lumber. The Rational me pick up a four foot board and began to inspect the board. The Child in me began to wonder if I could fit into the casket with my friend of 17 years. The Child in me wanted to die; the Child in me DID die in part. The Rational me was inspecting each four foot board for the best one. You must understand, in despite his pragmatic ways, the Rational me was hurting badly too. But he knew he had to be strong. Getting the very best board was the Rational me’s own way of contributing and mourning. There would be no warped cross for my friend! But the Fool in me wanted more. The Fool in me interrupted the Rational me’s loving inspection for the perfect board, and lead all three, the sobbing Child in me, the strong, silent Rational me to the twenty foot boards. The Rational me knew exactly how the Fool in me felt. Hell, the Rational me would have erected a neon billboard had it been practical. But with love, the Rational me pointed out the difficulty in getting a twenty foot board home in a 2003 Ford Taurus. The Fool in me and the Rational me struck a compromise as the Child in me continued his wailing. A twelve foot board should be safe enough to get home and the Fool in me agreed that it would end up being a tall cross as compared to other pet’s grave markers. This is only fitting as Lassie was a friend rather than a pet and he was head and shoulder above the rest in the canine world.
But remember, the Fool in me wants more. The cross should be mostly black a bit of white, just like Lassie. The Rational me acquiesced. The Child in me paused in his very vocal grieving just long enough for a much needed deep breath, then continues his wailing. The Fool in me proposes that I affix a decorative wood block to the end of each arm of the cross. (The Fool in me always wants more.) The Fool in me and the Rational me, with sobbing Child in tow work my way, with heavy hearts, to the Crown Moulding section of the store. In this section I find two wooden blocks with an engraved flower. Satisfied, the Rational me and the Fool in me begin to lead the Child in me to the paint section. The Child in me will not budge. The Child in me remains in front of the decorative wooden blocks in the Crown Moulding section. The Child in me struggles to control his compulsive bawling as he has something important to say. Between restrained sobs and hitching shoulders the Child in me says “the top, the top of the cross should not be nondescript nor bare.” Happy to see this pause in the mourning, Rational me asks “What should go on top then?” The Child in me points to a particular decorative block and says “a star.” After a quick, light sob the Child in me continues his words “Lassie was my star but now he has gone to the heavens to be with all the other stars.” With that the Fool in me picks up the decorative block with the star, a can of black paint, a can of white paint, a can of polyurethane and a few brushes and nails.
Rational me pays for items. Part of him is happy to the $60.00 for the memorial supplies; part of him feels like he has given up on a good friend. Rational me does not let this show.
The three of me carry the memorial supplies to the car, two in silence and the Child in me has resumed his vocal mourning. The three of me march though a few inches of snow and a swamp of guilt, pain and grief.
Later, on a tiny stretch of road called Stick City road, the faint sounds of shoveled earth can be heard mixed with a few muffled sobs.
That night, after I cleaned the mud and snow from me and warmed up a bit, the Fool in me and the Child in me curl up in bed together and begin to bemoan their loss. The Rational me covers them with a blanket and tells them to think of the seventeen good years I had with Lassie. The Child in me and the Fool in me cry their way to their appointment with the sandman. Rational me turns out their light, goes to the refrigerator for a bottle and sits in the dark. Rational me begins to cry silent tears laces with Jim Beam. Rational me croaks “Goodbye my friend, and thank you.”
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