flames and dances

a week today since the dog's passing.

remembered this morning all of the things i used to do to give him love, all the gestures i made towards him during my daily movements through the house: when i used to bend down and pat him when he asked for attention, scratch his back when he wasn't asking for it, bring him outside with us every time we went into the backyard, tap him with my foot whenever he was searching, blind and nearly deaf, through the house for me. all of these offerings that gave him love. they came to me all together this morning, and showed me that he was surrounded by our love, even if i can see a version in which he was alone and discarded.

i have been bringing him spirit plates this week, sharing our meals with him whenever i felt called to, and placing them on his grave, then in the compost when another was ready. felt strongly the drive to do this for several days, and entirely free of any concern for what others might think of me doing so. after a few days, the drive began to dissipate some, and i wondered how long i would do it, how long it needed to be done, how i would know. concurrent with this waning direction, i began to feel more self-conscious about what my neighbors and family out back were thinking; their judgments of me began to have sway over the time i spent at his grave, how freely i moved there.

today, a week since he left his body and us, i wanted to be out there, on the land where he died and where he now lies, in the afternoon when last week we were loving him and putting him to sleep. i lit a candle and a lantern, left the candle on the counter inside and brought the lantern out and placed it on his grave. the boy was attentive with the fire, showing me the "fire" sign with his hands, fingers waving and moving up, up. he and i moved about the yard, and i picked dandelions, violets, gil-o'er-the-ground, and other wildflowers while keeping the boy's adventures within arm's reach. laid the flowers on Fritz's grave and sat beside it in the grass. the last week of rain has made lush the grass where he was euthanized, made it long and tussled, no trace of where we sat, where he lay, the story all grown out of it.

it was good to sit there beside his grave. the boy sat beside me putting rocks into a bowl, adding grass, stirring it with his little hand, dumping it all out and starting over again. it felt companionable, not like Fritz needed me there, but as though we both appreciated the nearness, the intention to pass this time together. after some time, i suddenly was free of the anchor holding me there, and at the same time, the boy said "bye-bye", and walked away. i emptied what i felt clearly to be his last spirit bowl into the compost out back. we looped around the garden, gathering some johnny jump-ups, oregano, and sage, laid them on his grave as we passed by it on our way into the house, and i brought the lantern in with us. it burns now beside me with the candle, the only two lights in the house aside from the computer screen. they give the warm, rich, comforting glow of fire, unlike any electric light. i'll leave them burning until my husband comes home, and we will blow them out together.

the candle and lantern burn in the window that looks out over our back yard. high above them, at the top of the window, a paper decoration rocks and dances in the warmth they send up. two little flames alone in the world, and a dance they don't know they inspire.

a ritual of celebrating and letting go, coming from the direction and guidance i feel. i have always felt the tug of what steps i should take, though most of the time i shush it in order to continue to blend in with those around me. during my time with the cherokee and lakota people, they walked in this same way, and showed me that i have company, sisters and brothers. they reminded me how right it is, how it is the only way, to move as we are called, to move as Creator leads us.