Recently I read a book called Denali: a man, a dog and the friendship of a lifetime.
The story of a young man’s unique friendship with his beloved dog, Denali. Following Denali’s death at 14, Moon struggles as his grief is ‘so sustained and intense’. On sharing his grief with a friend he is told: “that’s because your bond was so strong. When you lose your canine soul mate, you not only lose the dog that has been your companion and friend, but you also have to let go of that chapter of your life. It forces you to grow into what you’ll become: it’s the last parting act of friendship.”
I thought of my own grief from losing Oscar, and as I continued to read, I felt comfort in the author’s words. I too have to let go of a chapter, and I know Oscar would want that. Yet moving on to the next chapter does not mean I’m moving on from him. It simply means that I cannot continue to live in his chapter, for he is no longer there. He has completed his journey and now I need to complete mine. And as hard as it is do so without Oscar, it is something I have to do to ensure my happiness.
Bear Dog would want me to run, be free and be happy, just as he was. He would want me to grow and I truly believe it was Bear’s last parting act of his love and friendship. It was the completion of his journey.
So as I now step into this new chapter, I now know I can reread, I can embrace photos, and I can allow my heart to be filled with only love as I relive the beautiful memories of our chapter together. But I cannot go back.
So I shall go forward.
Sometimes I feel the reason we cannot move forward is because we do not want to let go. In moving forward, it is as if that previous chapter did not exist and there is an element of guilt associated with that. We feel we are betraying their being, their memory. I personally feel in moving on, Oscar is left behind. But rationality reminds me that this thought process is completely irrational. Oscar has not been left behind, he is firmly imbedded into my being. He will always be here.
He loved me, I was his person. If he could speak to me now he would be saying, in his gruff little voice, these words:
Remember how special our relationship was. remember the warmth of our closeness. Yes, I have now crossed the rainbow bridge, so please be happy that I am ok. Please laugh again, smile again and do yoga again. That was our thing, remember? I loved it when you would lie on the floor, particularly when you did downward dog, I loved that one the most as it was my cue to chin chew. Without my help you would not have been able to do those complicated poses.
You would also not have been able to go in the right direction without me sitting upright in the car. And the funny way I would walk when I was in a hurry. Particuarly when we were on the way home from a walk. It was as if my back legs had to move faster in order to propel my whole body up the hill. I had a very important walk. But of course there were moments when I had to suddenly stop to sniff. That happened frequently. You would sometimes get mad, well not really, but then we would continue on.
When I was navigating in the front seat, I’d get mad when we stopped. I didn’t always understand that you stopped because you had to: i.e. traffic lights. But I would whine in my own unique way and I would tilt my head to the side, tongue hanging out whilst I looked at you, willing you to keep moving. And as soon as we stopped anywhere other than traffic. Id really let you know I needed to get out and explore the surroundings.
And my Stanley is here, by my side. His loyalty is heartfelt. His calmness his aloofness, his professorship ways as Mum says. He does not bounce like Oscar, he is unassuming, quiet and totally devoted.
Together we now have this new chapter, we don’t know what is written, we just need to be present, with each other and enjoy what may come.
Bear would have wanted that. I know he would.
stanley & bear 