Zinnia

Grief

Zinnia

Notes From Zone 4

August 13, 2024

***

I don't want to end up simply having visited this world. –  Mary Oliver

Zinnia died.

We were in Newburyport to close on the condo, when her mild cough worsened. We took her to emergency. They thought she was ok to wait until we could see our vet Monday.

That night she got worse. Weakened, spending most time in her crate.

Yet, when one of Louise’s kitties went across her bow, she shot out, gave chase, in full cry.

We took heart. But made another urgent care appointment.

***

Next morning, she wouldn’t eat. First time ever. Just before we were to leave for her appointment, she crawled back into her crate, coughed hard. Cried out. Lay down.

So quiet.

I lay down in front of her. She wasn’t breathing.

In that awful moment I wished I might stop breathing.

***

Zinnia owned us.

When it was time for her to eat, she demanded that we feed her. Same for treats. Not begged. Demanded.

I was sometimes embarrassed for our friends to see how untrained she was.

We love her as fiercely as we dare let ourselves love.

***

We brought her little body back to Vermont, where she loved to escape out an open door, lead us a frantic chase.

How long will I watch for 4pm, knowing she’ll harass me if I miss her dinner time, by even 5 minutes?

***

Daughters, Heather, Louise, Carson, granddaughter Maddie, had been planning to come help us begin to clear out the house. Which they did.

And dug a grave by the grape arbor.

***

I sobbed through intoning the Burial Office:

I am resurrection and I am life…. Though this body be destroyed, yet shall I see God, whom I shall see for myself, and not as a stranger…

We brought nothing into this world, and it is certain we can carry nothing out…

The Lord gave and the Lord hath taken away. Blessed be the name of the Lord.

***

There are wars, and rumors of wars. Our nation’s convulsing.

For whatever time it takes, Zinnia has eclipsedevery ounce of energy we might have spent on all that.

In her brief 10 years, she often did that, to our chagrin. Now we remember with sweet sorrow, every moment she claimed our undivided attention.

And love. 

The miracle that is Zinnia, that joined her to us, feels as if it has been catastrophically severed.

It can never be erased. 

Our hard, unwelcome task, is to discover how to embrace that miracle, in its new expression.

Thank you, Penne

Lord, now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace