Down at the end of my gallery, I found pictures of Penny and Bryan on the front porch, sitting side by side, both squinting in the sun as I called their names to take a photo. After that she had crawled on his lap and licked his nose, a slobbery dog kiss, and he’d wiped his face on his sleeve. But she kept kissing, and he never pushed her away.
81
Three days melted away, three nights spent wide awake. I was still sleeping on the couch. I spent a long time sitting on the kitchen floor in the spot where Penny had lain waiting for me.
I realized staying home brought no relief, and work might be a distraction. That, and I was using up all my sick time.
I got dressed and drove in to work on auto-pilot.
The men were talking when I went into the office, but quickly fell silent.
“Good morning, Jess,” Sal said, standing up to greet me.
Wes, Paulie, and Joe also stood up and for a terrible moment I worried they were going to hug me, and that would send me right back out the door.
“Morning,” I said, not meeting anyone’s eyes.
I went behind the counter to hang up my coat.
On my desk was a small bag from the bakery. Inside was a fresh cinnamon bun. “Your favorite,” Joe said.
It was true, cinnamon buns were the one thing I couldn’t resist when the guys made a run to Brew Coffee. Next to the bakery bag was a card in a pink envelope. There was a pawprint with angel wings on the cover. Inside the card was the message: Your dog is wagging its tail in your heart—that’s why it hurts so much. Please accept our deepest sympathies. It was signed by Joe, Wes, Paulie, and Sal.
It was the most touching card I’d received since the kids were little and brought home Valentines for me made with doilies and construction paper hearts cut with safety scissors.
Tears sprang to my eyes and I tried to choke out a thank you to the men.
“It’s OK, missy.” Wes waved away my attempts to talk.
I noticed a member of the group was missing.
“Where’s Beef Jerky today?”
Wes looked uncomfortable. “Thought I’d leave him home for a while. Didn’t want to upset you.”
“It wouldn’t upset me. It would make me happy to see him.”
“Then I’ll bring him tomorrow,” he said, smiling widely.
I went into the back office to find the birth certificate folder, which Joe always misfiled, banging my elbow on the cabinet as I slid the drawer open. It was suddenly too much effort to stay composed. I leaned my head into the musty genealogy books, pulling my cardigan closely around my chest where my broken heart was.
“Hey, girl, you OK?” Sal asked from the doorway, peering inside.
“I’m good,” I said, trying to steady my voice.
“Okaaaay,” Sal drew out the word. “Can we do anything at all to help?” He gestured out toward the table, where the other men were staring intently at us.
“No, thanks. I just need a minute.”
“You need to talk? We’re good listeners.”
“Maybe later.”
“OK, you just take your time.”
I didn’t get much paperwork done, but just making it to 5:00 felt like a big step, and the men were actually a welcome distraction. But as soon as I got inside my car, the rage spilled over again and I pounded the steering wheel with my fists, screaming and yelling at the universe.
Was I going to make it without my girl? I had no idea how.
82
Eddie went online and found a pet bereavement support group. It met twice a month at the animal shelter in Ashton, the largest ASPCA in the area.
“I can go with you,” Eddie said as I got ready to go on Wednesday night.
“It’s OK,” I said, putting on my coat. “I’ve gotta do this alone. I feel like I should.”
The shelter was a long, low brick building, mostly dark at night, but one room was brightly lit, so I headed there. There was a large circle of metal chairs in the room, pictures of pets all over the walls, and the floor was tiled with white squares and purple paw prints. A tall woman with crazy curly hair clapped her hands to get our attention.
“Please take seats, everyone,” she said. “I’m Sandra, and I’ll be facilitating the group tonight.”
I took a chair and settled in. The chair was cold, so I sat on my coat. When I looked around, I saw people of all ages—mostly couples, but a few singles like me. I squinted at Sandra to see if I could decipher her aura, but everything looked gray.
“I see a few new faces in the group, so I want to welcome you,” Sandra said. “For starters, I want to review the way our time together works. You can talk or just listen. I’m an MSW specializing in grief issues. I’ll do my best to address your questions and concerns. Most importantly, trust that this is a place to share anything you choose to about your pet, because we’ve all experienced loss.”
I was grateful we didn’t have to go around the circle and say our name. I wasn’t ready to do any talking yet.
“When our pets pass over the rainbow bridge, they join the animal spirit of the universe,” Sandra said. “There, they meet the Divine and are fully renewed. The animal spirit is everywhere, across the land and oceans and sky.”
I never liked that “rainbow bridge” metaphor, but the possibility of becoming a part of a larger spirit was a comfort to me.
Most of us in the small circle of chairs had been crying when we walked into the community room at the shelter. Most of us still were.
Sandra had brought along her dog, a black lab she named Mr. Leprechaun, because he liked to dance. The lab padded around from chair to chair for neck scratches, but when he came to me, I couldn’t touch him. I didn’t want any dog but my Penny.
“If you’re
