Kaylee, our black Labrador Retriever
Died two Saturdays before Christmas
Her paws and sweet face white with age
Tail thumping almost to the end
I still think I hear it now and then
She's underneath a maple tree in the middle of our backyard
With her leash and ball and Christmas blanket
We wrote messages on river rocks and laid them there
"Kind"
"Gentle"
"beloved"
My husband John inscribed in all caps; "THE WALK"
Early mornings with her favorite guy
Our granddaughter wrote,
"I love you with all my heart
My favorite things about you were
Your tail wagging when you were excited
Your hair getting everywhere
Cuddling
Meeting me at the door
Showing me your 'babies'"
Kaylee's "babies"
Stuffed animals with squeakers
Carried them in her mouth like a proud mama
Prancing around showing them off insisting they be admired
Until
The squeaker called to a primal part within
Stitching ripped, stuffing flew
And a forlorn pooch sat in the middle of the carnage
Hanging her head
Eventually, a new stuffed toy appeared and it started all over again
A squeaker sound woke me up last night
I mumbled to John,
"Uh-oh, Kaylee killed her 'baby'"
It doesn't sound cute anymore
Our son called during her last hours
Talked to her on the speakerphone
Told her how much he loved her, what a good girl she was
Her eyes brightening, tail swishing for the love of his voice
Our daughter canceled a trip to stay close
Tried to hand feed her
Whispered things in her ear
Bought a Christmas ornament with her picture on it
Eventually, Kaylee stopped coming into the house
John and I sat outside with her through the long night
And questioned our decision for home hospice
Instead of euthanasia
But her tired eyes held no accusation
Only love
After she passed, anger was a freight train
I clean when I'm angry
Cleangry
Scrub, mop, scour, toss
Not to erase her
Those black hairs are like Christmas tinsel
They'll be with us forever
One sat on my toast this morning
No, not to erase her
But to clear the way for happy memories
To return
I spilled crackers today
Waited for the longest time
But she didn't come
So I cleaned them up by myself
As I prepare our house for Christmas
She's not watching, not getting in the way
Her pleasure to see me is an
Empty
Aching
Space
We're looking forward to family
Lights and gifts and music
Noisy, messy, joyful
A feast of favorite recipes wafting through the house
Like an aromatic symphony raising appetites to a crescendo
Children and adults will sneak Kaylee morsels of food under the table
But she won't be there
We'll bring everyone to the nativity scene on the fireplace hearth
Where she used to knock down the three wise men
And show them that Grandpa put a plastic likeness of our Kaylee
In front of baby Jesus
Enjoy the journey, sweet girl
I'll see ya soon
We'll go for a walk without a leash
YOU ARE READING
Christmas Without Her
Poetry*** Weekend Write-In for Dec 20 2019 *** "journey": In 500 words, tell what happens on a journey