Goodbye Dear Friend

Alfie, my black Labrador, has been my constant companion throughout my writing career. ┬áHis place is on the carpet to my left, snoozing, while I tap away on the keys of my laptop. He has several “places”. The kitchen doorway, where he bounds into the room to greet me in the morning. Sitting by my chair at the kitchen table at meal times, with an expectant look on his face. Taking on the role of my shadow as I go about my daily chores. Walking beside me on one of our many walks together.

Alfie has many places … or at least he had.

Unfortunately, my writing buddy passed away this week with a suspected brain tumour. He died peacefully, in the sunshine and in our company. It is still hard to believe that only 24 hours before we were enjoying a long walk in the countryside. We were ill prepared for his passing, despite knowing that one day his death would be inevitable.

So now we are learning to live with the empty space at our table, the absence of his joyful greeting in the morning and the empty space on the carpet as I write. It is impossible to explain the grief one feels at losing a beloved family pet, especially when there is so much greater suffering in the world. However, the grief and tragedies of others make our own feelings of loss no less easier to bear for the memories of his love, devotion and boundless joy is everywhere and are both a comfort and a reminder of all that we have lost. One day I will be able to write again without noticing the empty space on the carpet to my left, but it will take time and I have the strange feeling he is still beside me, even if I cannot see him in the way that I would like.

Tribute To A Best Friend
Author Unknown

Sunlight streams through window pane
unto a spot on the floor….
then I remember,
it’s where you used to lie,
but now you are no more.

Our feet walk down a hall of carpet,
and muted echoes sound….
then I remember,
It’s where your paws would joyously abound.

A voice is heard along the road,
and up beyond the hill,
then I remember it can’t be yours….
your golden voice is still.

But I’ll take that vacant spot of floor
and empty muted hall
and lay them with the absent voice
and unused dish along the wall

I’ll wrap these treasured memorials in a blanket of my love
and keep them for my best friend until we meet above.

© 2017 Victoria Cornwall