Gratitude Letter #15
To My Parents, On Christmas
The first without Bailey
Dear Mama Helen and Papa Bob;
I saw this in Mexico and bought it on an impulse. I know it’s frivolous and impractical — pretty much the exact opposite of anything either of you would every want or ask for. But even though it seemed the exact opposite of what you’d want, it also seemed like the exact thing you might need. So I bought it.
I know that a stuffed dog could never replace Bailey. I also know that neither will this note, nor anything or everything I could ever say or write. Losing her has left a hole in my heart, and I know there are matching ones in both of yours.
I feel that hole in my heart now, as I sit at my desk and type this to you. Last night I moved my pink chair away from my desk and replaced it with a stiff backed one. I no longer need that big, comfy armchair over by this window so Belv can snuggle with me while I work, or watch vigilantly out the window while I’m gone. I miss her in moments like this; or while peeling a banana and trying to figure out what to do with the ends; or when I realize I now have to rinse off peanut butter knives before I put them in the dishwasher. Her absence is never more obvious than when I’m walking in the door — whether it’s to my own apartment and she’s not here to greet me, or at your house. Because if she’s not walking into your house with me, she’s supposed to be there already — walking out onto the porch to greet me, likely squinting the sleep out of her eyes and wagging her tail. At the grocery store I now don’t have to rush to get home — I can linger a little longer in the aisles. No one is waiting for me. Nights are hard, too. Heating up the bed with the heating pad just isn’t the same as being warmed up by her, snuggled up next to me, but growling if I dare to move an inch or encroach on her space.
And I know you have moments, too. Those routines that are now lonelier, harder to get through without her. The parts of your day that seem emptier now that she’s gone, or maybe easier without her. I’m sure you’ve felt that same twinge of guilt that I have — the relief that you didn’t have to take her around the block in the rain, or the enjoyment of a few extra minutes of snoozing.
Maybe you’ve wished that we tried to get her through pneumonia just once more. Maybe you’ve done the math, like I have, to realize this is the first Christmas since 2004 that we won’t hang a beagle stocking.
And of course you’ve had these sorts of moments. Because while Bailey was my dog, she was also yours.
Belv became not just a part of our every day, she became a part of our family, our hearts, our souls. For nearly twelve and a half years she shared everything with us — from our beds to our tears — to sometimes even our plates. And I thank you both (and I know Belv does, too) for everything you did for her, and by default for me.
When I got her, I had no idea what owning a dog entailed. No clue how much time, energy, money and love would need to go into being a dog owner. And I’m not sure the two of you did, either. I’m pretty sure neither of you thought that being a “grandparent” of a dog would require so much.
But when I got her, none of us knew we were getting Belv.
Looking back on the time we spent together, I am in awe of how much that little beagle taught us all about patience, love, perservence, resilience and forgiveness. And I know those things went both ways. Especially the love.
So while none of us realized how much having a dog would require of us, I don’t think a single one of us could have imagined how much we would receive from a dog, either.
It’s impossible to capture in words or to quantify how much I know Bailey loved both of you. Sometimes I wondered if she loved you two more than she loved me; if she wanted to live at your house permanently. And while sometimes that made me sad or jealous (like when I’d be ready to leave your house and she clearly wanted to stay), it also comforted me and made me feel so loved and supported. I know you both loved that dog so much — almost as much as I did — but I know you also loved and took such great care of her because she was mine and you knew how much she meant to me (maybe worried how lost I’d be without her).
And now, here we are without her. In the just over two weeks since she’s been gone, I’ve found myself almost unable to accept that she’s not just at your house, checked in to Chateau Shawcroft for one of her extended visits. Putting away her things and placing the tiny wooden box that houses what is physically left of her has been devastatingly hard. And I know it will be hard, for a long time. Maybe forever.
But I also know that you made having her so much easier for me, and for her. I will never forget the debt I owe you — both financially and metaphorically — for all the time, money, support and love you gave both of us over the last twelve and a half ears. And I wish I could you repay you, but I know, at least for all the favors — picking Belv up, watching her, walking her, taking her to BluePearl at all hours of the day and night — I can’t. Won’t ever be able to. But please know, I am grateful to you, every day.
I told Soren a few days ago that Bailey had to go bye bye and that now she was in our hearts, forever. It’s simplistic, but I hope it’s of some comfort to you, as well. It has been to me. Whenever I start to miss her — really miss her in that sharp, painful way — I put my hand over my heart and tell her I love her.
And I can feel that she loves me.
And I can picture her now, with her big brown eyes staring intently at me, head cocked to the side, begging to go to your house and see you. I can imagine her perking up as the car slows to turn the corner off 95th into your neighborhood. I can hear her excited squeaks as she climbs your steps, nose to the ground. And I hope, in those moments when you really miss her in that sharp, painful way — that you can remember she’s always in your heart, and that we both love you and appreciate you so much.
Merry Christmas.
thank you.
