In memorium

Although I abandoned you 18 years ago, little Terry, you are not forgotten.

I never did write to or about Terry. I created a book about him for Gilad once. It was part of an assignment for a children's literature course I was taking - writing a small children's book. Some months prior to that we received word that Terry had died. I acquired a new dog, Jenna, but how did I imagine she could ever replace our Terry? Gilad's reaction to Jenna was not exactly welcoming and as I watched them interact, Gilad entering, Jenna running for her life to the bedroom, I decided to write my children's book about Terry and dedicate it to my son. It was designed as a children's picture book, using photographs of both of them accompanied by short sentences.

The book is called: Gil and Terry by Tamar Meyer. It goes like this:

This is a story about Gil and Terry

Mom said they were brothers

They played together

They were angry together

And slept together

They shared joys and sorrows

For many days

Many weeks

And many years

About eleven years, almost

One day Gil moved far away

Terry stayed behind

And then he died

And Gil was sad

Very sad

For many days and many weeks

And more than a year, almost

He said, “Mom,

When I die, I want to be buried with Terry.”

Mom said, “You will never forget him.

You were brothers.”

The end, for now.

Each line or phrase was accompanied by a photograph of Terry, Gil or both of them together. At the time, the book was dedicated to my sixteen year old son.

Lately I have been thinking about Terry. He comes into my brain suddenly, out of the blue. I might be driving down the thruway, walking into class, or taking laundry out from the dryer. Today I suddenly awoke at 2:00 a.m. and there he was as clear as can be, vividly staring at me from my mind. I was remembering how he would scratch at the window frames and tear them to shreds when I would be away at work. I would come home to find devastation and destruction throughout our apartment. Terry so hated to be alone.

A little, white, furry terrier mixed with who knows who else, I had acquired Terry when he was one year old. The woman who had found him gave him his name. She could not keep him because she had many cats and Terry never did like cats. I read an advertisement for him in the newspaper and he sounded perfect for our family. One year old, small, and in need of a good, loving home. Gilad was almost four and, previously, I had, forcibly, had two abortions. Most likely, I was in emotional pain about them but did not know it then. That would come back to haunt me many years later, and with the kind support of an experienced grief counselor I was able to bring those feelings to the forefront and confront them at last. When my son was four, I had made a decision that seeing as I would never be allowed to give Gilad the siblings he deserved, I might as well find us a little dog who could become his companion instead.

Terry and Gilad became firm friends. The little dog obviously had an excruciatingly abusive first year of life as he never quite recovered from intense fear of separation. I tried everything to cure him but nothing worked. Whenever we went off to work or school he would tear our place apart. If we left him in the car to run into a store for a moment, we would return to find the upholstery in shreds, fabric hanging from the ceiling of the car like funky, hippie drapes. It seemed as if I was forever repatching, repainting, refilling, cleaning, sewing, hammering, fixing, fixing, fixing up after Terry, carpets, drapes, window frames, and doors, often weeping in frustration as I did so. Terry was a grumpy little fellow, growling and barking at the slightest noise. At night he would race around the apartment growling, rumbling and barking at sounds outside. I would run around after him in the middle of the night trying to calm and shush him so as not to wake up my son. Once, he bit a neighbor passing by. He was a handful! But, oh, how I loved him. He was the baby I never could have. Terry became a sibling for Gilad.

In January of 1988, one day, it was decided that Gilad and Terry should move in with Gilad's father. I was undergoing a difficult, rapidly becoming aggressive and violent second divorce, and the environment was not suitable for teen boy or terrier dog (nor for 38 year old woman for that matter). For the following six months as I prepared our long journey away to the New World, I would visit my children daily. And each time I left them, Terry would howl loud, long and sadly. I would walk back to the car, heavy heart aching, tears streaming down my cheeks with longing, guilt and fear. The final days arrived and we had to decide what to do with Terry. With everything that needed to be seen to, divorce, packing, farewells, I could not imagine taking the little dog with me. Considering his longing for me and sensitivity I thought that we probably should put him to sleep. Instead, we left him behind with Gilad's father, and traveled across the world to a new life.

Terry died anyway. Within the year.

I look across the room as I write this post, snow on the ground, birds at the feeder. Ada and Molly are curled up one on the couch, the other on a chair close by. I wonder, the mind boggles at how I could have left that little dog behind. I know now that during that period of my life I was emotionally numb, blocked from understanding what I felt about anything. I only knew I had to get away, craved to study almost as much as I needed air to breathe. I ran but I cannot hide. Terry has found me. His little face, grumpy growls, rumblings and barks, mournful yowls as I walked away. I remember him sitting close to me while I cooked and how he loved to eat cottage cheese mixed with a raw egg. He even loved to eat carrots! Dear little dog soul. I wrap my thoughts around your memory and grieve the loss so many years later. I do not know why you have come to visit me lately but here you are. I welcome you, pain and all, and hold you close. Terry, you represent so many things to me: Unborn children, my inadequacies, incompetence as a kind and caring parent, fear, guilt, past transgressions, low self worth, and feelings of undeservedness. You have taught me to love all animals even as I work passionately for children's rights - always keeping my own unborn children and inner child close at heart. I see you in the eyes of my cats. When I return from work I hear your cries, but instead see little Molly and Ada roll around the floor silently, scraping at their pole happy to see me again, and again. In your memory I will never desert them.

As my past visits me, I learn that I did things then that I would not do now. It is not easy. And now and again I am kind enough to forgive myself. Am not sure about this one, though. Am not quite ready to forgive myself for Terry. He might have to stay in my mind and heart awhile longer.

Or just here, on the pages of this blog, as I feel this through.

Comments

[mary]

This one brought tears to my eyes, Tamar,and brought me out of lurkerdom as well. What a touching description of your little dog.

But we can only do what we can do at any given time with the knowledge and resources we have to hand. And sometimes the resources are thin on the ground, and the best we can do is simply to stay alive and stay sane. But these type of memories are hard to lay to rest, I do know.

[Huw]

Dear Terry, I heard about you from Tamar. She really misses you and I reckon she feels really bad about leaving you. She's turned out real good, helping a lot of people, sharing her wisdom gained from "Full Catastrophe Living".
Whyn't go over and lick her on the nose 'n take her for a walk.
I think she'd like to do that with you and she really deserves it.
A friend of Tamar's,
Huw.

[Floyd F. Vaughn]

You know as I read this one Tomar I remember the little dog I had to leave,because when I lived in the Mid-West for so long some apartments did'nt accept dogs. But he was'nt just a dog that Pug,was my friend,,and I miss him
yet.

[Tamar]

Mary, Welcome to my blog!

Huw, Thanks for hearing.

Dear Pug, We miss you too ...

[Gemma Grace]

Dear little dog with a mighty spirit ~ thank you for touching my heart today.

[Jean]

Not feeling very verbal at present. But you always move me and make me think.

[Fran]

An incredible tribute to Terry, who is with you still, as you well know. Death does not end a relationship. As for feeling badly that you left him behind, I can see 38-year-old Tamar, not the Tamar you are today, who did what she had to do to save herself. We mourn our pets, those of us who love them, with the same intensity we mourn our people when they die. Thanks for sharing this.

[Tamar]

Fran, thank you.