I wasn’t ready.
I wasn’t ready for how white Fergal’s ashes would be. For the unexpected tears as I started to scatter his ashes around some of his favorite spots at MaryMoor. For the understanding looks of others out walking their dogs as they noticed me cradling the small cedar box in my arms.
I wasn’t ready for the mix of feelings: happiness to be touching some physical aspect of him; sadness that he’s gone; laughter at the memories of our Vizsla circus each weekend; and confusion about leaving some part of him behind.
The tears and emotions felt good. Validation of my love. A release. Healthy.
The ashes swirled in a beautiful pattern when I scattered them on the water’s surface. Then they started to slowly drift away with the current. They weren’t in a rush and in fact seemed to linger. I sat in the rain on a bench overlooking this spot for a long time, imagining the ashes traveling downstream…away.
It’s been over a year since I said goodbye to Fergal and I am in a place where I can embrace the sadness as a positive thing. A statement of the power of our friendship.
How lucky we are to experience this kind of emotion.