Norm
A donation was made in memory of Norm on May 05, 2015.
Last Thursday, January 8, we had to say goodbye to our precious dog, Norm. He was ten years old and had advanced heart disease. I knew his time was coming, but I was nowhere near prepared when it arrived. Norm was Brett and my first kid. He taught us how to be parents, and Brett pointed out he introduced us to the idea of caring for our aging parents down the road. Over the last year, Norm’s health declined. It was so hard to watch our robust Olde English Bulldogge waste away. We were together 24/7 when I stopped working outside the home. He was by my side as I wrote my first book. My office feels so empty now. It’s going to take some getting used to. I gently cared for him, always checking on him throughout the day as he became more frail, just like he did to me when I was pregnant and suffering from undiagnosed Celiac Disease. There were days when he drove me crazy, but with a quick wag of his little bun tail, he had me smiling again. It was impossible to stay mad at him. We were so blessed to have Norm for ten years, when so many of his breed die several years younger. The best way for me to process grief is to write. This afternoon I put together a comforting poem talking about the day that Norm and I will be reunited in heaven.
Restored
Jowls flapping, I see you running across the grassy meadow.
Your eyes locked on mine, I brace myself in case you can’t stop.
Fawn coat shiny and flawless, your frame is strong and full, the tongue still dangles.
Throwing out your front feet you skid the last few yards to my feet, as always bumping into my knees, but I’m ready.
Bun tail waggling, little bum jiggling, your joy is contagious.
Kneeling I wrap my arms around you, ignoring the drool. I can’t believe I’ve missed it.
Hugging is okay for a minute, but then you spin around for a butt scratch. That was always your favorite.
Tears of relief run down my face. I knew you’d be here, restored and vibrant, but I’m a human and there’s always that worry, that sliver of doubt it won’t look like I pictured.
The man in the white robe approaches us, and I step into his arms.
His embrace lifts every trace of pain from my body and mind. I thank him for taking care of you until I arrived.
The sun is shining, and the air is perfectly warm. We used to be so cold. We will never be cold again.
Together we stretch out in a perfect sunbeam beside a clear creek. Reunited for eternity.
http://www.kayladawnthomas.com/2015/01/farewell-friend/
Kayla T.
Restored
Jowls flapping, I see you running across the grassy meadow.
Your eyes locked on mine, I brace myself in case you can’t stop.
Fawn coat shiny and flawless, your frame is strong and full, the tongue still dangles.
Throwing out your front feet you skid the last few yards to my feet, as always bumping into my knees, but I’m ready.
Bun tail waggling, little bum jiggling, your joy is contagious.
Kneeling I wrap my arms around you, ignoring the drool. I can’t believe I’ve missed it.
Hugging is okay for a minute, but then you spin around for a butt scratch. That was always your favorite.
Tears of relief run down my face. I knew you’d be here, restored and vibrant, but I’m a human and there’s always that worry, that sliver of doubt it won’t look like I pictured.
The man in the white robe approaches us, and I step into his arms.
His embrace lifts every trace of pain from my body and mind. I thank him for taking care of you until I arrived.
The sun is shining, and the air is perfectly warm. We used to be so cold. We will never be cold again.
Together we stretch out in a perfect sunbeam beside a clear creek. Reunited for eternity.
http://www.kayladawnthomas.com/2015/01/farewell-friend/
Kayla T.
