death is in the details

We buried Jack this afternoon,
down where the trilliums used to grow.
My daugter's boyfriend came over
and went out with D. and they dug a huge hole
in the bucketing rain.
Following our vet visit Thursday evening,
Jack was put in some plastic,
and placed in caskety-looking cardboard box.
We had no protected place to keep him -
so we left him in my car where he was safe
from other animals and protected from the rain.
This morning, while the guys did their digging,
I went to a meeting and things being what they were -
Jack came along.
Word had preceeded me, so sympathy was rampant
(addicts are crazy for that unconditional love).
Everyone was talking, the room was like a hen house
and one woman said to me, "Don't worry dear.
Jack hasn't left you - in fact he's with you now."
Her eyes almost flapped clear out of her head
when I replied, "I know! He's right outside -
in the back of my car."
Once I got back home, D. and I milled around for a while,
unable to go out and get it done, but unwilling to commit
to doing anything else. Finally, we both stood, put on our coats
and headed out to take Jack to his final place of rest.
After hideous rain the skies had almost cleared, and there was
something close to sunlight shining through the trees.
Neither of could bear to just bury him in a box -
so I found an old red cotton sheet, and we laid him on that.
D. wrapped a blessing cord around Jack's neck,
tucked a prayer card under his chest -
then we lowered him down and let the red cloth cover him.
We shoveled for a long while in total silence,
then I asked if we could burn that box
so I didn't have to see it again.
D. put it in the hole, coaxed it to burn -
and we watched until dozens of little ashen hands
drifted up into the air and moved slowly away.
We filled the rest of the hole, stood for a moment,
and left Jack out there, where he so loved to be.
Beyond bringing him home, we had made no plans -
which I suppose allowed things to unfold as they did.
The entire experience was, and will remain,
a collection of incredibly pure moments:
D. (who had never had a dog before Jack),
kneeling in the mud to wrap that cord around his neck.
Moss-covered branches soaked with rain,
touched by an unexpected finger of sun.
And Jack, curled into his usual C of sleep -
still velvet,
still dog-love,
still.

Thanks to all you bloggers
for your kind words and sympathy.
I am bereft, but feel better
and I know that this is true:
I loved loving him and I am so sorry to see him go -
which is a fine epitaph
for a friend.