Where have you been? Where are you going? And why?
“Hi, I was in this morning with my cat…and well, she passed this afternoon.”
“I’m so sorry, sir. I remember you and Taz, wasn’t it? I thought about her all day. I’m so sorry.”
“Thanks. I actually need help knowing how to bury her. I’ve never done this before. My wife isn’t sure she’s ready to bury her just yet, and I was wondering if it could wait until morning.”
“Yes, as long she’s kept in a cool place.”
“Like room temperature or colder than that?”
“Okay. I think my garage will work.”
“Yes, that’s perfect.”
Perfect? Can that word be appropriate here?
“I’m so sorry for your loss. So sorry.”
“Thanks, it’s alright. Well, no, it’s not all right, but we’ll make it through. I’m glad she passed quietly at home.”
“Yes, that’s just the way it’s meant to be.”
No. No, it’s not the way it was meant to be. To believe so misses the gospel. She needs to know.
I hung up the phone and turned toward the backyard. The ground lay so frozen that it refused to crunch beneath my steps. It must be like the famous frozen tundra at Lambeau Field, I thought. The wind whipped into my face like ice. With a shovel in my hand and a tear in my heart, I set out to dig next to the creek. Even beneath four layers, my body refused to sweat thanks to the fifteen degree weather. Surprisingly the ground gave way quite easily. Ten minutes later, a small hole lay open before me. I looked up to see the setting sun and realized the scene before me. The water rushing over the rocks sang a beautiful river bed song, the kind I always wanted to live near. With the birds gone South and every other animal sleeping, the only other sound came from the wind in the naked branches. Then my eyes diverted to the shovel, which reminded me of why I had come. I’m digging an f-ing grave. Damn this world, Lord! No, redeem it.