Bones | post 14

by Hope Smith

I sat and watched her gently pet his black head. Stationed on the floor next to his long limp body and an untouched bowl of water, she was silent. Our family’s oldest pet is dying. And Mama is sad. Because he was the one who stood by her every morning that she told my older sister and I goodbye as we went to school. He was the one my younger brother brought home from the local dog shelter. A couple pounds of fur, ribs sharp for all to see, a neon orange collar swallowing his neck. Bones is what TL named him. And he is teaching me a bit about grief. About death. About handling it well.

See, I noticed Mama sitting there with her knees up, patting his head and rubbing his stomach as pain waves hit his tired body. And my first thought was, “I couldn’t do that. I couldn’t sit there. I would put him in a corner and check on him every hour. And just wait.” Not that I wouldn’t be sad. I would be sad. I wouldn’t want him to die.

But I wouldn’t have the courage to sit next to him and watch the inevitable ending.

I wouldn’t be brave enough to be still and let myself ache in the presence of unstoppable loss.

But she does have that courage. She is brave enough.

So she sits by Bones. She watches his long legs twitch in pain. And she offers what comfort she can. She admits to us all that she is sad. That his life meant something to her and she wishes that it wasn’t ending. She didn’t put him in a corner.

She sits by Bones.