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Rocky Gap State Park, Maryland
Fall is my favorite time of year, without a doubt. It is filled with things I love: crisp weather, pumpkin-flavored anything, warm drinks, sweatshirts, knitted hats, fires, corn mazes, pick-your-own apples and pumpkins, brilliant colors against vibrant blue skies, and those last ditch efforts of outside activity to enjoy the last bits of nice weather.
B, her sister, and her nephews at a pumpkin patch / corn maze extravaganza
October is also a bit sad for me, as I torture myself with the remembrance of Gracie’s death, and try so very hard instead to remember her life. I wrote as much as I could in the past about Gracie’s death, but I could only bring myself to read this one right now. Gracie’s ashes, collar, and one of my favorite pictures of her sits in china cabinet in my dining room. This cabinet, and the buffet that goes along with it that is also in my dining room, belongs to my great-great grandmom, so it was built in the late 1800’s. This may seem far off but her daughter, my great-grandmom, is still alive, so I feel very close to these wooden pieces of furniture. I can picture the life that lived around them, and I spent many hours in the home that they lived in. I like having Gracie’s ashes there. They are not in my face daily, but I know they are there. It just all feels so very right.
My nephew SG (my best friend's son) at the pumpkin patch
B graduated school around the middle of August, then applied for a job at her top choice company a week later, and then a few days later began the interview process, which was long. She was hired (hooray!) and by the 12th of September she started her training – which (un)fortunately for her, was mostly trips to D.C. and Baltimore – hellish for a truck driver, obviously, but great training nonetheless. Practicing in places like that means she should be able to handle almost anything. The most negative part of her training is that because there are only male trainers, she wasn’t allowed to do any overnight trips (company policy), and her job will be mostly all overnight trips. So, she wasn’t happy about that, but there’s not much she could do. Last week they released her from training with confidence, and she went on her first overnight trip AND her first run by herself to INDIANA. Which really seems so far away. The country pretty much falls off the map for me after Ohio, and starts back up again around Utah, so I had to get online to see where Indiana sits in relation to Maryland. What? I’m not embarrassed to admit it! We all know the east coast is the best coast so that’s all I try to worry my head with : ) Anyway, it was a straightforward run and she did great and all is well. She has more runs out that way this week. I’m excited for her and proud of her. She’s awesome.
I could never drive one of these things, but I sure do look cute in 'em!
Roller derby has been occupying most of my free time. It’s been quite a labor of love. It is some of the hardest exercise and skill building I’ve ever had to do. Learning how to do things on skates that I haven’t even done off-skates has been quite challenging. But I show up, every practice, and work. It’s been three months and me and another fresh meat skater are scheduled to take our minimum skills test on Thursday the 27th. I am so nervous about it that I feel nauseous, DAILY. No kidding. I know I’ll be fine… really, I will. They wouldn’t have scheduled us to take it if they weren’t confident in us, and I know that. Still, it doesn’t make it any less nerve-wracking. I’ve also settled on a derby name, which is quite a big deal, especially considering there’s a roster of over 10,000 names and you can’t take another skaters name or have a similar name. I won’t announce my name until things are official (I pass my test and get it registered with no problems) 
Some of my teammates and I at an all-girl's after school program <3 Here I'm demonstrating single knee falls
So, have you noticed the “Gracie Mac Photography” watermarks on the pics? I changed my photography website from Studio 24 Photography to Gracie Mac Photography. I wanted a change, and as you know, Gracie Mac is a more personal name for me. You can check out the new look on my website, www.graciemacphotography.com
On a wagon ride. Somebody's tired.
Friday was the year anniversary of Gracie’s death. It was good that I’ve been so busy and have had very little time to dwell in it. I have the box of her ashes out and waiting for a permanent spot in the house. Once things get a bit more settled, we’ll figure out the best place for her.
Dear Gracie,
I cannot believe it’s been a year already that you were taken from me. I think about you daily, as the pictures around this place are constant reminders of you, and thankfully most days the thoughts of you are happy ones. I’m still not sure what purpose your death has, what it was supposed to mean. I don’t understand how a healthy dog of 5 dies. Still, I try to be grateful for the time we did have together… but it is hard. I needed you more than ever in my post-heartbreak state, and your absence further ripped at my being.
I wish you could be a part of this new change in my life. There would have been a whole house for you to explore and get into trouble in. There are mountains here with lots of dog-friendly trails; places to bike and run as well. I see other owners with their dogs walking around town – sniffing exciting grass or bushes or poles – and I know you would have loved it. We take drives around the country, one of your favorite places, and check out the cows and fields and streams. I’ve never been here with you but still, I think of you.
I miss your kisses and the smell of your doggie fur. I miss your happy greeting whenever I came home or even came out of the bathroom. I miss the clicking of your nails on the hardwood. I miss your tricks and your bark and the warmth of your body as you layed near me at night. I miss the family that we were.
I know that your death means that one day I’ll rescue another doggie, and this will be a wonderful thing and I think you’ll be proud of me. Until then, it’s still your picture and your ashes and the memories of you. It hurts more than I can say, but I think you already know.
Still missing you and loving you like crazy,
Your Mama
Rainbow Bridge
By the edge of a woods, at the foot of a hill, is a lush, green meadow where time stands still.
Where the friends of man and woman do run, when their time on the earth is over and done.
For here, between this world and the next, is a place where each beloved creature finds rest.
On this golden land, they wait and they play, till the Rainbow Bridge they cross over one day.
No more do they suffer, in pain or in sadness, for here they are whole, their lives filled with gladness.
Their limbs are restored, their health renewed, their bodies have healed, with strength imbued.
They romp through the grass, without even a care, until one day they start, and sniff at the air.
All ears prick forward, eyes dart front and back, then all of a sudden, one breaks from the pack.
For just at that instant, their eyes have met; together again, both person and pet.
So they run to each other, these friends from long past, the time of their parting is over at last.
The sadness they felt while they were apart, has turned into joy once more in each heart.
They embrace with a love that will last forever, and then, side by side, they cross over… together.
This has been a difficult month for me in regards to missing my dog. I don’t know what it is but I’ve had so many triggers and I haven’t really been able to direct them into positive emotion. I have wept – that hysterical, can’t breathe, painful crying – twice in the last few weeks. Once alone in my room and once with B.
I still sometimes can’t believe she’s really gone. Still.
I mentioned that fact to B when I was vomiting my emotion all over her the other night. She sounded surprised. And in summary, when talking about my grief, she mentioned to me that “It’s been almost a year,” – implying that it’s been enough time to grieve. I filled with anger. Anger that I don’t tap into very often. Rage almost. And hurt that she could think that – let alone say it.
The way she said it was almost as if I cry about Gracie every day. As if I can’t function or mention her daily in the 9 months since she has passed away. That doesn’t happen. My moments are occasional (to me) and usually really mild- like a “Hey, I really miss Gracie today.”
Who is to say how long we have to grieve? Where’s the fucking rule book that says after 9 months I shouldn’t have a good weeping session, shouldn’t find it hard to believe that my best pal is gone? You know, this is why I don’t mention it much to my friends or my family anymore – because she has been gone for some time and I’m too exhausted to have the judgment of how I grieve being given to me. And then there my girlfriend goes and does it.
It’s hard enough not to feel psycho on my own with the sometimes astounding sadness that can overcome me. Over a dog. But you know, it was just me and her. She was my family. And I can’t help it – I miss her.
I am feeling more and more ready to love another, although my living situation won’t let it. That’s probably a good thing for now.
The latest revelation though that has gotten me sad is that I can’t remember what she smells like. It bums me out more than I can say.
It has been 5 months today since I received a frantic call from my mom, who was stopping by my house to drop off the Bissel to clean the carpet on my steps. (I called her that morning and asked her if I could borrow it because Gracie had gotten into some powered cocoa that was in the trash and grounded it into the rug. Oh, Gracie. lol)
My mom, trying not to cry, told me that I had to come home immediately, that she thinks Gracie might be dying, that something was terribly wrong. I hang up the phone, gather my things, and leave work. I’m calling people I know, asking anyone to take me home. I’m crying. I don’t know what’s going on. I’m scared.
I secure a ride and start walking down Market Street, on the phone with B who is in Idaho, crying hysterically. It is pouring rain and I have no umbrella and I don’t care.
My mom calls again.
When I pick up, I immediately ask how she’s doing.
“Oh Jen. She’s gone,” my mom tells me.
I wailed that she was wrong. I screamed at her to take her to the vet. At the top of my lungs, I yelled and cried and screamed. I told her she couldn’t be sure that she was dead, to stop talking to me and just take her. I begged her to please, please take her. I could hear her crying too, but I didn’t care. She was wrong and I didn’t believe her.
Finally, to get through to me, she yelled back that she wasn’t breathing anymore. She just wasn’t.
I found out later that Gracie had already died when my mom first called me at work. She had been barking a little at my mom when she was unlocking the door to my house – the windows were open so my mom was telling her, “It’s just me Gracie, we’ll be in in a second!” Gracie always got very super excited when people entered the house, usually slipping on the hardwood floors as she scrambled to greet you at the door. My mom could hear her doing that, and then a thud, almost as if she ran into something. When she got in Gracie was laying on the floor. My mom went over to her and she could tell something was wrong – she thought maybe she really hurt herself when she hit the furniture. Within the minute she started involuntarily excreting bodily fluids. My mom was petting her and talking to her.
She let out one last breath, and she died in my mom’s arms.
I pretend like I could adopt another dog, but 5 months later my heart still aches. How can I love another, I think? I only wanted her.
Gracie & one of her favorite past times: licking my face.
“There is no psychiatrist in the world like a puppy licking your face.” – Ben Williams
I have sometimes thought of the final cause of dogs having such short lives and I am quite satisfied it is in compassion to the human race; for if we suffer so much in losing a dog after an acquaintance of ten or twelve years, what would it be if they were to live double that time?
- Sir Walter Scott
Death ends a life, not a relationship.
- Jack Lemmon
I miss you. I miss you so.
Sometimes days go by where I don’t consciously think about you. I see the picture of us by the door, everyday when I leave, but the pain is less than it was. I take this as a good sign.
B finds a piece of your hair sometimes; on her clothes or her coat or the bed – and she’ll show it to me, “Hey babe, look, a Gracie hair.” Sometimes I’m OK but sometimes I can’t even look at it, it’s so painful to have your hair here but not you.
When I drop food on the floor, there is still a second, maybe two, where I think you’ll come get it before I remember that you won’t.
Today when I came home after working 11 hours, I felt upset, stressed and overwhelmed by work. I cried walking into the room because I just wanted you there to greet me. It’s usually easy to walk into the house here, to walk into my new room, because you were never here with me, you never lived here. But tonight I pictured you here and tonight I wanted you here but of course, you are not.
I walked over to your space on the shelf and traced along the edges of your collar with my pointer finger. And then, like a crazy person, I picked it up and tried to smell you. I think maybe I did.
I cannot believe how much I miss you, my friend. I wish you stayed longer with me. I wish I wasn’t so lonely without you. I hope that you’re OK, and that you know I love you.
Love, Mom
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I don’t care how crazy it is that I write to my dog because this is what I think about sometimes and sometimes I talk to her, in my head, like this, as if she could hear me. I know that the death of a dog is nothing at all of a real tragedy. I know this. I know I’m lucky and that compared to all the things people suffer with and through, this is all I have going on.
But still, my heart hurts. Even if worse things happened to me I would still be heartbroken for her – because she was such a good thing.
Tomorrow will be 3 months and so I think about her and love her and miss her. And I write her this letter because I don’t know what else to do. I’m sure it won’t be the last one, but maybe next time I won’t cry as hard.
Maybe.
Two months today since Gracie has died.
I couldn’t stop thinking about her this weekend. There was snow everywhere, and geeze, did she love snow. We didn’t get a whole lot at home, but when we did, she was in doggie bliss. She would have LOVED it in New Hampshire. Miles and miles of trails, open fields, animals and trees – all blanketed in snow. It was a winter wonderland and I wanted to share it with her. I ached for her to be there. B has said more than once since Gracie has died that she never had the chance to see her in the snow, and how sad she is about that. I’m sad about that too. It’s not fair.
Gracie,
I think about you every day. I often still talk about you as if you were still with me. I think about what we would be doing together in a certain moment if you were here. If you would be lying beside me or curled up by the pillow or on your regular spot on the couch. I do things without you and I wish you were there to do them with me. I miss coming home to you. I miss walking in the door to your exuberant greeting, your happy happy contagious self. Who could remember a bad day at work after coming home to that? I miss so many things – so much of which I still can’t even bring myself to reflect on – and though time has made it hurt a little less, I can’t imagine never hurting, even just a little. Life will never be the same without you.
I love you.
Mom
The Others Have Spoken