Missing Molly

One year ago, September 4, 2014 I lost my beloved Molly.  She was fourteen and I knew we were on borrowed time. The hair around her face was getting white and gray.  She had lost muscle mass.  Her teeth were cracking despite a lifetime of regular dental cleanings and brushing at home.   It was difficult for her to jump up on the sofa or bed.  Steps were a struggle.

Nothing could have prepared me for her grand mal seizure.  The violence of it all is fresh in my mind.  Feeling helpless.  Seeing the fear within her as she lost control of all her muscles.  Even the slow recovery was painful.  She was terrified.  I was, too.

Molly and her sister, Jessy, are in the forest garden.  Their ashes are still visible.  I visit them often.  It is still too fresh to climb the steps to the garden without tears.  In some ways, I hope the tears never stop.  They are a testament to the depth at which they were loved.  Are loved.

Living things don't end.  They change from one form to another.  In this way, theyare always with me.  Whether in the car, or at night.  I can still feel Jessy's presence as she peers between the back of the car seats watching my every move as I drive.  Often I call out to her, "Mommy loves you."  Or, "we are almost home."  Those phrases always elicited tail waggings.  Perhaps it is just the tone used; I like to think they can feel the love coming from my heart.

Molly was sharp, protective, spiteful and sometimes cuddly.  The latter was rare.  I remember her always positioned sitting looking away from me, as though standing as a watchdog. She was twenty-five pounds, often a mere twenty-three.  She would have done anything to protect me.

She smelled the bear the night before I heard it.  Pacing back and forth across the oak floors, almost running.  Her olfactory senses were more keen than any dog I have known.  She could find anything given the command.  Once, after a heavy snow and then rain, she retrieved her favorite tennis ball from the top of the mountain where we lived.  It had been buried under mud.

"Find your ball, " I beckoned.

She did, almost instantly.

Yes, it has been one year since Molly's passing.  She is and will always be heart of my heart.  I was lucky to have been honored loving and caring for her.

"Mollyyyy.  You're home"