Grief Support≡
Memorials≡
Boutique≡
Angels, Animals and The Children
by Lacy Cotton
A Reminder - A True Story - A Sharing
I know that so many of you, of us, have been thru trying and seemingly, insurmountable problems, esp in this past year ... and yet, we keep going on, and on, taking the often agonizing steps forward each day, or at least forcing the attempts to do so. Why, and why do we not break ... Fold up, and fold out a shield against the world, as we sometimes feel we'd like to do? Because of "hope?" No, because of "faith." For without "faith" there is no "hope." It matters not what denomination your faith surges from, but, it's there. The undeniable, unwavering belief in the beauty and strength of the human spirit, all it touches, encompasses, enfolds, and its ability to "endure." The knowledge that, yes, a new day is coming, and we want to be there to see its dawning. I've had such mixed emotions this past year ... I do escape sometimes ... but I try to escape back to the reminders of my faith ... and, yes, it works, it strengthens me to "go on" ...... I just wanted to share one of those reminders with you today. It is one of the most agonizing, but special times in my Life.
Love, Light and Laughter to you always, my Friends and Family
God Bless xxooxx LC
Angels, Animals, and The Children ... A True Story
Many have seen the pictures of Bingo, my duck. Only a few know the circumstances behind Bingo "leaving us."
It was 1996, around Easter time, and I was at work. My husband called me at 4:30 PM and urgently demanded I come home. He said Bingo was sick, he didn't know what to do, please come home. Bingo acted like he couldn't breathe, yet, there were no visible signs of cold.
Bingo was fine when I left for work that early afternoon, but I know how fatal respiratory problems are for fowl, so I rushed home. Bingo was 4 years old and "best friend" to Chelsea Marie, our youngest Boston Terrier, and to Flint our year old Golden Retriever. He swam with and raided the gardens with Chelsea Marie. He snuggled up, each night, to Flint in what was supposed to be a dog house on our back porch but became their "dog-duck house." He hated most people with a passion, never let anyone get close to me, attacking all [other than Chelsea, Flint, and me] who dared enter his back yard kingdom. He avoided Punkin, our oldest Boston, but terrorized Lyla, the Pekinese, daily. He'd chased and attacked Punkin once. She removed half the feathers from him and he gave her a wide berth after that. My husband and kids claimed to hate "that duck" but he kept them in constant laughter with his antics. Neighborhood parents would bring their children to the wooded path by our side fence, just to watch Bingo chase Lyla, or play chase with my husband. My husband would run around Bingo's pool and Bingo would surge out of the water, wings wildly flapping, to chase him around the yard. When he couldn't catch my husband, he'd turn on poor Lyla and beat her up. Lyla could certainly out run Bingo, but she seldom did. She seemed resigned to this fate in Life, and would suffer Bingo until I'd firmly order him away from her. He'd sulk off, giving me sideways glances, looking about for another victim, then waddle back to his pool as I continued to scold him. He was so funny. I really don't think he ever knew he was a duck.
I knew, that afternoon, as soon as I saw him, that Bingo did not have much time left. My husband had him on the porch, force feeding him fluids as Bingo lay, listlessly, beside Flint. I gathered him in my arms, wrapping him in a blanket, went in and sat on the living room couch, feet curled under me, rocking and murmuring to him. Chelsea Marie curled up beside us. Flint lay at our feet. Every so often Chelsea Marie would lean over and lick Bingo's face, as if trying to clear his respiratory passages. Flint would raise his head up and whine. We stayed like that for hours, until Bingo died quietly in his sleep ....
and then the horrible phone call came.
At 4 PM, that same afternoon, my youngest son's girlfriend had been in a car wreck. She usually picked my son up in the afternoons, on the way to their after school jobs. My son did not work that day and so she, Cathy, was alone. Her injuries were fatal. She died in the hospital that night, the same night Bingo died in my arms.
It was a horrible night. I have blocked most of it out, but the next morning my son came to me, in his grief, and said something I shall never forget. I will never, ever forget.
I was in the kitchen when he entered. His eyes were swollen, but he came up to me and tentatively said "Mama?"
I had been so worried about him, that long sleepless night. I had no clue how someone of his youth and temperament would, could handle this horrible blow, why any child should be called upon to handle such a thing. We strive, with every fiber of our being, to protect them. I had no experience in handling anything even close to this. I looked at him, waiting for him to speak, trying to gauge his feelings, his pain, wishing more than anything in the world that I could take his pain away.
He said it again "Mama?" and then, "Did Bingo go with Cathy? Mama, I know he did, but do you think he went because I could not go with her and she was so alone?" He spoke again, so softly, almost as if he feared my answer, "Mama, is Bingo with Cathy?"
Oh, God! I grabbed hold of him, held on tight and whispered as I cried with him. I said the first thing that entered my heart, a Truth I knew to be.
"Yes, Bingo went with Cathy, to help her find her way, and he will stay with her until she doesn't need him anymore."
My son was in such an inner rage, a fury, trying to understand what, to him, was a senseless, uncalled for death .. and why, oh why, had she been alone and he not been there? My answer seemed to calm him.
"Mama, that makes me feel better, knowing that, but mostly, knowing that you know it, too."
Within a month, Bingo, was back in the gardens with me. It had been one of his favorite pastimes, rooting for bugs, while I turned the earth, each spring, to begin the new planting. Rooting and then doing his little stomp dance on the freshly turned ground. Ducks innately do this to bring bugs to the surface. I thought I was seeing things. I'd turn, quickly, to look directly at him, and he'd be gone. This happened several times. Then I realized, as a deep, comforting peace washed over me. He'd returned. He'd come home to us, his family and friends. It had not been his time to go.
Bingo remained with me until Flint died near Easter time of 1999, at 4 years of age. Flint, like Chelsea Marie, had been a rescuee, but Flint had severe epilepsy. My husband buried Flint on a bank, over looking the Ocmulgee River, their favorite walking place. He planted a wild dogwood on his grave. I am not sure when I realized Bingo was no longer with me. I felt an emptiness, until I realized .... He was with Flint. He had gone with Flint. The thought amazed me at first. Then it made such perfect sense. I knew, then, exactly why he'd come back ... to wait for Flint. I miss them both, so badly ... But they taught me a secret, a secret I will forever feel blessed to know. Angels take on many forms. Sometimes, many times, we worry needlessly. The angels "know" ... and they will not lead us astray. And ... yes .. you may often see me glancing quickly over my shoulder ... but not from fear. I am peeking for the Angels I know are near.
~Lacy Cotton~
LacyCotton@aol.com
Warner Robins, GA
Feb. 13, 2002
Comments would be appreciated by the
author, Lacy Cotto
321-784-1468 Tech Support
