Remembering Sam

There are too many moments in our lives when forces gather and in instant, crevices are drawn on our foreheads and around our eyes.  It is an invisible hand that does the drawing, and there are evenings when I reach for the hand; but I can never catch it, and I know the game that hand plays is fixed.  It does ugly work.

The phone rings at 10 P M.  For many a call at that time is perhaps not unusual.  In my home, spirit and energy are quickly fading at that hour.  A phone call though sets the adrenalin rushing, and my catalogue of possible disasters flies open searching for a page.  It takes a lifetime to make that catalogue, but there is no comfort in that knowledge and no comfort to be found in that book.

“Louise, the phone is ringing.”  I hear my husband’s voice from a far end of the house.  “‘yes,” I answer, I’ll get it.”  My heart is pounding. The adrenalin has set the blood coursing through my body. We are scarred by our history.  It is a daughter’s voice. She sounds calm. My near panic retreats.  “I saw the lights and knew you were up,” she says.  “Can you take care of Max tomorrow?   I want to go to Portland and meet a friend.” I relax.  Max is her dog, a joyous creature of love and energy, and hubby and I are good dog sitters.  “Yes of course.” I answer and settle back into my chair.

 I remember another dog of love and boundless energy.  He has left me here on earth.  He has crossed the bridge that forms that pathway that bleeds our hearts and spirits.  Gee I miss him!  I miss his smile, his voice and the touch of his foot against my leg.  I miss that black nose that always pointed the way to the playground or warm spot in the sun.

There are times when I know that the animals in our lives define the decades.  It is sad to remember those creatures that we have loved and lost, but many times, the memories bring a smile to our faces and make us warm as we reach out a hand and stroke the soft fur of a four footed one that warms our feet or lap.

For each of us though, I think there must be at least one of those lost friends that has torn a huge piece of heart from our chests when he leaves this world, and we are left without him. There is no recovery from their loss.  My Sam dog was one of those, and I fear that I will never have another like him.   I will love others and take what I can of their spirit and devotion.  Loving them is healing; it is strength giving, but I miss that Sam dog.

Sam was a throw-away.  He was brought home by a daughter in a moment of desperate grief---just for a good weekend.  The daughter never had any serious thoughts of adopting a large black four footed friend that would consume huge amounts of resource and energy.  The black dog was scheduled to be euthanized. The daughter brought him home just for the holiday, but he never returned to the shelter. I think Sam dog was a gift from God at a time when a vacuum of loss almost consumed us. 

My daughter’s boyfriend of many years, a friend who sustained her and loved her through college and law school was killed when the rescue helicopter he was in went down over the ocean on a very stormy night.  Prayers and hopes did not bring back that gentle, caring man.  .  The dark waters of the bay kept his secrets and his body.  His death left a vacuum without dimensions.  It was beyond definition. 

I still remember the hysterical phone call that night. It was raining, and the wind was howling and rattling shingles.  I remember the desperate sobbing of a daughter in unbearable pain, and the memory continues to feed my panic of late night phone calls.   The ugly hand that draws the crevices on our faces etched deep lines that night, lines of grief and horror. There was no relief for the pain. The lines remain.   I held the daughter tight that night, but I felt her slipping in the days that followed and was fearful of losing her too.  There are times when one feels powerless even in their loving.  That is a dreaded feeling, and it spreads a gloom that colors the nights and days.

The daughter in her search for relief from the pain that weighed her down visited the local animal shelter. The needs of its inhabitants are always huge, and it was her habit to put a few dollars in the jar and love those of diminished spirit.  Love is the food of sustenance.  Can one live without it?  In the giving of it, one receives.

Our Lord works in mysterious ways.  The young black dog lying on a small piece of rug in the far corner of the kennel showed the same despondency she was feeling.  He had given up; His spirit was broken.  Love had eluded him.  Hands always reached for the adorable ones kenneled near him, and he knew his fate. He had heard the talk, and the pain and fear gleamed from his knowledge consumed him.  If you looked, you could see the tears that flooded his eyes.  He didn’t raise his head as the girl with dark hair and pale face passed; but, she spoke to him, and the music of her voice resonated through his spirit.  It roused him; it propelled him to rush the gate. He cocked his head to see her better.  He smiled at her, and in that moment he forgot his own sadness.   “What do you call him?” the daughter asked.  “Sam” a voice answered, “We just call him Sam”

 Sam dog’s huge heart of love and loyalty and fun sustained this daughter.  .I knew it as the months passed and the years passed. The knife like pain of her loss subsided, and the love of this dog helped to heal her heart that was so badly broken.   One does not easily survive some losses, she survived.

Sam’s love and devotion was big enough for two.  I was so ill, and I remember the fear and fatigue of the illness.   Sam guarded my bed day and night barely leaving my side to go out and relieve himself.  He directed my recovery as he led me to warm grass, sunshine and an oasis of peace.  What a gift was that dog Sam.  Thank you Lord!

Oh Sam dog I miss you for my fingers cannot find their way into your soft fur, and I cannot see the bright eye that was the light of my life.  You treated me as if I were your sun, your moon and the stars that gave glitter to your life.  We cried together, but you would always lead me back to the sunshine.  I felt so loved!

You walked with me to the barn and through my morning chores and my evening chores.  You surveyed with me the perimeter of my gardens and assisted me with the pick up of fallen branches, flower pots and lost balls.  In our games of run and fetch, you would run and run gleefully at top speed whizzing by me and to me and sometimes over me in your enthusiasm.  Of course, many times you would forget to return the prize, and we would have to walk together to that forgotten ball.  You would remind me of my place in the hierarchy of our friendship as you directed me to retrieve the forgotten.

I remember the days of sunshine when I cantered on my pony through the fields that were freshly mowed and richly fragrant.  You would always be too close to my pony’s heels, and the Shawdow would kick out urging you to respect space.  You would run circles about us and were often a nuisance with your barking and teasing. I would admonish you to no avail and shorten my reins hoping to keep a secure seat. That was sometimes a challenge for the Shawdow loved the game you played and was easily caught up in the excitement.  I don’t think he ever nicked your ribs with his big hooves for he knew the game, and it was his place to remember the part that you assigned.

 We gathered purple Violets in the spring; we picked four leaf clover.  We gathered bouquets of Black eyed Susan’s, Queen Ann’s Lace, Goldenrod and Yarrow and sampled the fruit of the land, the apples, blueberries and strawberries that were so abundant. We inspected woodchuck holes and celebrated the beauty of turkey and deer and the black and white cows on the far side of the fence.  They all knew us like family and barely paused in their feeding as we passed.

Oh Sam,   We watched the sun rise and the sun set.  The seasons passed, but I didn’t see the gray coming into your coat.  The slowing of your pace matched my own.  I didn’t notice.  Your eyes never dulled.  Dear Sam, my heart still aches for you.  My eyes still search for you bounding after rabbit or cat or pony.  Till we meet again.

 By Louise Nomani    April 2008

Louise isfrom a small town in central Maine,  USA – Norridgewock, which is named for the tribe of Indians that lived on this town’s riverbanks for generations