The Memorial Table

I woke up hearing strange sounds. I thought it was a dogfight, but it was likely a car’s breaks making a high pitched whimpering sound. I came to Santa Cruz yesterday after picking up Hardy’s ashes from the vet. The place where I am staying is close to a busy street. I got up to check out the noise, but there was nothing to see. Just the misty damp ocean air amidst some tall trees on the side of a busy road.

I left Hardy’s ashes in my home. The man who handed them to me was one of the compassionate ones. I spoke with him on phone the day after the attack. The animal control officer at the scene had asked us what we wanted to do with Hardy’s body. She said there were two options: either she would dispose of his body, or we could have his body cremated. We chose the latter, and she responded by telling us about a place, a veterinary practice in a nearby town. She also offered to transport Hardy there for us. It was after Hardy was delivered to the vet’s office when I spoke with Don (not his real name) for the first time.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” he said. I’ve heard those words a lot lately, but somehow when I heard Don say it, I was comforted a little more than usual. There was sincerity in his voice, and his gentle, quiet demeanor was soothing. I found myself recounting what happened for him, but it seemed important for me to tell him not to look at Hardy’s body. I recounted how everyone at the scene didn’t want me to see his body, and I took their word for it. I think Don did too, but he said one other thing that I doubt I’ll be able to forget. It was about the other dog. He said, “Go through with the prosecution,” and he handed me a disk with photos of my dog before the cremation. Then he said, “This is for the D.A.” I tucked the disk in my purse knowing that I would never access those photos.

I was able to drive to the vet, but it was my daughter who drove us home. The wooden box that held Hardy’s ashes was heavier than I thought it would be. I held it on my lap reverently, thinking about how much I loved my dog. The last time I held him in my lap alive was when we were driving home from my daughter’s graduation at the UC. I remember feeling guilty because I couldn’t bring him to the grad ceremony, and I held noodle boy during the drive all the way home. So when we arrived with Hardy’s ashes on this day, I was feeling strong knowing what I would do with the box. I walked directly to the table with all of the cards and flowers and memorabilia. I had subconsciously created a memorial area for Hardy already.

I asked my daughter if she thought the memorial table was bothering her in any way. Her reply surprised me. She said that she thought the family needed the memorial area to help with the grieving process. I had hoped that was how everyone felt, but sometimes I was skeptical. However, after placing that box on the table, it felt proper. A small part of Hardy was now there in my home in a special place that I’d created just for him. One that would be there waiting for us when we return.