A few things brought this to the fore. If you’ve heard about our dog, Pepsi, you know she’s at a stage of her life where quality is lacking and she suffers. It’s not at the stage yet where she’s ready to give up and she fakes her ability to move and run and jump (she thinks), but it brings up the problem of that space in our cupboard where they all remain as memories (technically, ashes in urns with ribbons and words).
What will her urn be? Timber, ceramic, glass? A little hollow filled with her ash in a piece of jewellery?
The decision looms, but I can’t do it. Not until she tells me in her own way that she’s had enough. So many deaths recently. Too many. I don’t want to think about it, but death knocks at every door sooner or later.
So, I went to the pictures and reminisced. Then I realised that we don’t have many of Pepsi. The camera is useless – batteries last a few minutes and the shaking hands of a person with a thyroid condition makes for poor pics. The SO is worse, and doesn’t see well enough to get definition. And we don’t have those phones that do everything while you sit on the toilet and compose.
We have only a few pics of her.
The photo albums from years ago (most were lost in a house fire – Ash Wednesday is a constant memory of pain in so many ways, including the loss of irreplaceable memories. Children, animals, places.
Oh, how much pain is there in those lost moments that turned to ash and snowed grey over the land?
Is that why there are fewer pictures of the pets since that time?
Memories, and where they take us …