by Nalani Mattox
My best friend died last week. People tend come forward at death and
say time will get you through this. But words can't account for the
emptiness left by her death.
Somehow I feel responsible for losing her. I will never know if she
considered me to be her friend. I hope she knew I loved her. I hope
she understood.
Star was always there for me. She protected me when I needed it. She
listened and made me feel better. She played with my children-even
living through a disgusting episode of dress-up with peacock feathers.
She took long walks with me, always like to go for a ride and never
turned down a Vienna sausage sandwich. She saw me through most of my
adult life and friends like her are hard to come by. We can't pick
them out; they arrive as gifts, mysteriously and magically.
What is it when we grieve? The smell of death lingers for awhile and
we get used to it. I held her so hard before burying her and for days
I would cry without anyone knowing it. What my family saw was only
the surface. The pain loomed, grew larger, uncontainable and finally
so overwhelming that I hide it out of fear I would be ridiculed for
not recovering.
How silly of me to grieve over my dog. How silly to move on.
She guarded me, moving from house to house with little worry except
her feeding bowl. She slept by the side of my bed, before I found
Junior. And when I got married to him, she choose him as her second
master and rode the big back hoe between his legs. (She was a working
dog.) Her fur was soft, her eyes huge brown and her sense of humor
better developed than most people. She toleranted ear tugging, name
calling, being left behind and stil welcomed me home. She came when
called, even when the high fracture in her hind leg required stoic
tolerance. Someone on the farm had hit her with a car, the doctor
said. She was bleeding internally. She was in pain and it was time.
She was too old. Peggy, my sister, came to help me through it. She
was rubbing my back but I didn't know it. I was the one who remained
to hold her, as the doctor gave her the last shot. She died with her
eyes open - looking at me with her big browns, hearing my last words
"I love you". I am so lonely without her.
Star Died on the 12th. We buried her with her bowl, in a deep, deep
hole, in front of the Punalu'u house. She always liked the front
yard. The grave is marked daily with fresh flowers my youngest
daughter places there. She doesn't remember a time without Star. I
don't want to remember what is could have been without her. I love
Star.
I'