Cinnamon's Spicey Life

Be forewarned !  This blog is going to just be full of raw emotions and there’s nothing that I can do about it.  The most control over what I’m going to say here will be that I will use spellcheck.  And that’s about it.

I just got back from picking up Casey’s remains from the crematorium.  He died a little over 14 hours ago.  I haven’t been to sleep yet since the day before yesterday.  I’m running on caffeine infused with alcohol.  And that’s just to keep me hydrated.  I can barely see through my swollen eyes.  And every time that I look at the black “velvet-like” material bag that his little fake cherry wood box is in, it’s as though someone has “thrown a lighted match into my soul” to quote Trisha Yearwood.   All that he was, all of my love for that wonderful little dog has been burned and pulverized and scraped into a  quart size ziploc  bag of dust and crumbs. I keep expecting to look behind me on my bed and see him stretched out watching me as I write my blog.  For over 12 years he’s been my companion.  He has seen me through 8 moves, countless relationships with people and ALWAYS had a smile on his face.  He never judged me.  He never told me what the “right” thing to do was.  He went along with every dumb thing I could think of.   He slept beside me in bed (especially in this last month when he was sick).  He could sit up and beg for a piece of whatever you were eating.  He didn’t care what it was.  His favorite food in the whole world was fresh green beans.

Casey loved everyone.  He never met a stranger.  It used to make me so mad because I was so sure that he’d go off with anyone if they wanted him to hop in their car.  He had a few really long hairs on the top of his head that I would twist into a point after moistening my fingers.  I’d call him Unicorn Casey then.

Who will greet me at the door when I come home now?  Who will I cuss because I have to rush home to let them out to use the bathroom?  Who will carry his little plastic cup around and beg for beer and wine?  Who will I catch with a guilty look on his face because I saw him humping my pillow or a favorite shoe?  I can’t hug that bag of bone fragments.  I can’t stroke that wooden box behind the ears and look into the biggest brownest eyes and tell it what a “good boy” it is.

God above knows I loved my Dad.  I haven’t cried like that till today.  Till I sat up all night with a little dog that was clearly in pain, and yet refused to show it. Who only thought of me in his last moments when he laid his head on my arm and shuddered and gasped his last breath. 

I can only hope that I told him how much I loved him enough to see him through the pain. I hope that when my time comes, I’m half as brave as that fearless little dog.  Here’s a picture of the bag with his little box inside.  I do love the embroidery that’s on it.  And it is so true.  I love you Casey.  Thank you for all your life and love.    

Cinnamon

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