For a long time you have been on my mind so I just have to write about my thoughts and maybe even feel a little closer. I won’t ask you the typical question: “How are you” because I know that you cannot answer it. But sharing my memories is another cup o’tea. Memories are the only way to connect and not let somebody you loved so much, die. I will not go into believes about an “after-live” and the hope to see everybody again: My granny, my parents, my sister Ingrid who had to die so young and several of my dearest friends. But I do have to admit: I have had moments when an almost wild joy flooded my veins that it might just be possible.
I will never forget how much you loved me. You were always there for me. I still wonder how you knew when I needed you most – but you always did. My tears were flowing copiously when I read the book about the two brothers sailing, their boat had keeled over and one held onto the hand of the other and finally the hand slipped away and only the younger one survived, sitting on top of the boat. The elder boy was the darling of his mother, she blamed the young lad and never forgave him, the marriage broke up, the boy needed counselling, – it was heartbreaking.
Cindy, my dear little Cindy, you sat close to my legs, kept cuddling closer and then you put your little head on my knees and when I did not stop crying you pushed it up between me and my book, looked at me and stopped me from reading. Another day, I came home from work, totally exhausted, made it up the stairs and lay down on the blue Tunisian carpet in the fetal position to ease my back. You lay down next to me and looked right into my eyes. When I turned around to ease my other side, you walked around me and again, lay down and looked at me. We did not need words.
Or all those mornings, when I would sit at my office desk, dealt with letters that my secretary had placed there, phone calls that came through, – and you were close to me, next to the radiator, sleeping or maybe pretending to sleep. Never failing, at 10.30 you put one of your little paws on my knee. I pretended not to notice, until after a while you put a second paw there, I still did not notice and then, with a deep sigh, you pushed your little head through under my arm and looked straight into my face. “It’s time to stop, – let’s go out for a bit.” This game became a daily occurrence and I still miss it.
Another thing I relive in my head seeing you sitting in my car at the steering wheel, your eyes fixed on the door into the bank where I had gone. One day there were about 10 people around the car and I almost had a heart attack seeing them all looking into it. I rushed across the street, expecting something terrible. But as soon as you saw me you jumped to your place on the old blanket on the back seat and assumed an air of innocence. You were not allowed in the front seats! I ask the people why they were standing there and they exclaimed:
“It was so damned cute seeing that little doggie with the paws on the steering wheel! But she never even looked at us, no matter what we did. Her eyes were fixed on that door across the street.”
Ohh yaah, Cindy, you were quite a character. When I came back from my annual trip to Europe after three weeks and my family was happy to see me, hugging me and I was looking at you, talking to you, and you would walk away several steps, sit down and put your nose into the air, not looking at me. I admit, the first time this happened I was really hurt. But then, after a few hours, when the excitement of the family had died down, you came to me and showed me sooo much love, you couldn’t even help yourself, wiggling, cuddling, making little noises- oh my God, it brought tears to my eyes and I felt bad to have left you for so long. I miss you to this day.
I was awful when I was called to the vet. My seven year old boy, Eric sat there crying, holding you on his lap. You lifted your head just a bit, looked at me, giving a big sigh to say: “I am so very sorry.” Then the doc came, carefully took you from Eric. You looked at me with very sad eyes and after not even another minute doc came back out and said: “She is gone. Do you want to take her body or should we look after it?”
Cindy, I cried for six weeks. You were my best friend. The best I ever had. You gave me so much love, unconditional love, during a time when my life fell apart. Without you – I honestly don’t know how I would have managed.
One thing I learned: “TAKE MORE TIME” for what is most important…
Just sitting there.
With big brown eyes you looked at me
to tell me – you are mine.
And I – pretend not seeing you,
there was no time.
Because there was no time?
You loved the car. You want to come?
One step – you stopped, then ran,
you couldn’t resist to be with me;
One nod was all – oh man!
When I lay down – you did that too,
you were so close to me.
Oh little dog, where are you now –
I want you here, you see?
I want you here. Just sitting there.
I’ll tell you, you are mine.
I’ll love you unconditionally
as you did all the time.
It is too late..
The car hit hard,
your eyes, they closed forever.
I’ll never see your wagging tail
invite for play me, clever.
You were all mine..
It will be quiet in my house,
no welcome bark nor whine –
Oh Cindy, why, oh Cindy why
did I not take more time.
Did I not take more time…
What a tribute to your Cindy and a lesson to us all! Take the time for those we love and who love us because nothing else matters more.
Tearjerker. I second what Claudette said.