Bag of Dust

It’s been a little over a week since I put my dog down.  I won’t rehash that event, but you can read it here. I had her cremated.  They called it private cremation.  I got her ashes back yesterday.




And then I arranged to meet up with my family to share the final stage of her life.  They split a vegan sandwich. I sipped on coffee. We smiled and remembered the loss.  I held back any more tears. I don’t know if I’ll cry quite as I did on November 22, 2019.  But I’ll remember it, because it was also the day Kennedy was assassinated in Dallas, way back in 1963.


And then I arranged to meet up with my family to share the final stage of her life.  They split a vegan sandwich. I sipped on coffee. We smiled and remembered the loss.  I held back any more tears. I don’t know if I’ll cry quite like I did on November 22, 2019.  But I’ll remember it, because it was also the day Kennedy was assassinated in Dallas, way back in 1963.


Does this all seem very stream of consciousness?  It should.  That’s how it feels to write it.  But that’s also how it’s coming out.  Writing comes from all of these places, remember?  We’ve discussed this before. But now, with only some vinyl and wood separating me from my dog, I feel like something ethereal is at play.  Like the ashes can transform somehow, and rearrange into something whole again.


Have I lost you?  Things got weird, right?  But that’s the point with this kind of writing.  Sometimes you just need to get the words out. And get them out in any manner you see fit.  Including the oddly surreal kind.


We don’t ever think about when we’re happy or riding high.  We feel above the pain of loss. But when I held that box, with her name etched into the wood, it felt like I was petting her again.  I cried one more time, alone, in my car. I was listening to a podcast. It was chilly outside. The heater was on low.


But I digress.  This will probably be the last I speak of the loss of my sweet canine companion.  Much like when Buster Douglas beat the formerly unbeaten Mike Tyson. And they asked Buster what motivated him during that fight.  He claimed it was the loss of his grandmother. The two men would never fight again. There was no rematch. As for Buster, his grandmother could only pass once.

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