I was going to write this post about seasons in the vineyard, prompted by the little buds that have just broken through what previously looked like dead wood. I was going to write about how after bud break comes fruit set, then the march onward towards veraison and harvest, and then into winter and spring when the cycle begins all over again.
But I’m not. Not right now, anyway. Because there’s another season passing in my life right now that hits far closer to home. Our dog, Talisker, who has been with us for 10 years, is dying. He’s fought a long, hard fight against cancer and has astounded us with just how courageous he’s been. But we’re in the last days with him. I can feel it, and I know he can too.
I went on a walk the other morning in between Tal’s blood work and chemotherapy and just sat down in the middle of a meadow and cried. It felt so foreign not to hear him panting beside me, and my hand kept curling into itself for lack of his warm, furry body to pet. He was at home, sleeping. But I knew in that moment that a part of him was already gone, and I was learning how to mourn that loss.
My challenge now, I realize, is to honor Tally in this last season of his life, rather than hold on too long for my own sake. Gluing leaves back onto vines or pinning fruit back into place wouldn’t do anyone any good. There is a time for the buds to break through, a time for the fruit to ripen, and a time to let what needs to be taken away go. And the more open I am to allowing that natural rhythm of life to occur and being as ‘there’ as I can during each stage, the more at peace I myself will be.
I’m grateful, in a way, that this is happening at the height of spring. Each bud and unfurling leaf helps me focus on the life that is still to come; they don’t allow me to become mired in what is ending for too long before they wave at me in the breeze and say, “remember, there’s new life all around you.” And while this house will feel like something’s missing when Tally is gone, certainly, the gargantuan personality of our little peanut will keep it from feeling empty, which I consider a major miracle in and of itself.
So there will be a post on seasons in the vineyard . . . soon. But, like the seasons themselves, there will be a right time for it too to come.
16 Comments
I’m so sorry to hear about your beloved pet. No words can ease the pain you must be feeling, so I won’t try. I’ll just extend my deepest sympathies.
I’m so sorry. We lost two cats this past year, and it is so hard. Even when you are prepared for it, it’s hard. I’ll be thinking of you.
(((hug)))
I’m sorry for your loss Lia. steph
Oh my dear, I am so sorry. The images you created with your words were so loving — I could feel him there with you.
He always will be, because of the words.
I will devastated when Stella, my 11-year old border collie, passes. She has had arthritis for about 2 years. She was recently diagnosed with cancer, too. It is so sad when such a close friend leaves.
Hugs and sympathy Lia!
I have tears welling up in my eyes. The image of walking without him is almost something I can feel - if that makes sense.
It’s so hard to say good-bye to our loyal fur-kids.
Oh no. Losing a pet is one of the hardest things to go through. You never imagine the pain is going to be so great. I’m sorry for what you’re going through and what’s coming. Hang in there.
I’m so sorry, Lia! What helped most when our sweet dog died was knowing he was feeling none of the sadness–he was OK, the tears were for ourselves.
It’s obvious from your post that your dog has very much enjoyed his time with you!
Oh Lia, I’m so sorry to hear about your dog. Hugs to you for the days ahead.
Oh, poor baby! Both of you!
It’s so hard loosing those big babies… I don’t even want to think about ours - both getting up in years.
It’s hard to let go, I know. I’ve done it.
Hugs to you both~
Thank you, you guys, for all your thoughts and hugs and compassionate words. I can’t tell you how much they help right now. It IS hard. But I know it will get easier with time.
Such sad news.
I’m so sorry to hear about Tally. I am crying as I write this. I just went over to where my golden retriever Champ was sleeping on the floor and gave him a big hug. You see,Champ has lymphoma and has been in remission for around 6 months. Those months have been wonderful and I have been grateful for every day. This week his lymph nodes swelled and now we have to make more decisions about treatment. I know what you’re going through. You described it all so eloquently. Thank you.
Robin . . . On one hand, I’m glad to hear you relate to this post and can take comfort in it. On the other hand, I’m so sorry you have to be going through it. It was one of the hardest times in my life going through those weeks . . . and it’s still hard now that they’re past. My heart goes out to you and Champ, and I’ll hope for as much time together as you can get and that you’ll have peace around decisions when the right time comes.
I am sorry to hear about your beloved ridgeback…I have had 2 and you couldn’t ask for a better, and more loyal friend