There recently was a death of a 98-year-old lady named Irena. During WWII, Irena got permission to work in the Warsaw ghetto, as a Plumbing/Sewer specialist. She had an ‘ulterior motive’. She KNEW what the Nazis’ plans were for the Jews (being German). Irena smuggled infants out in the bottom of the tool box she carried; and she carried in the back of her truck a burlap sack (for larger kids). She also had a dog in the back that she trained to bark when the Nazi soldiers let her in and out of the ghetto. The soldiers of course wanted nothing to do with the dog, and the barking covered the kids/infants’ noises. During her time of doing this, she managed to smuggle out and save 2500 kids/infants.   She was caught, and the Nazis broke both her legs, arms and beat her severely. Irena kept a record of the names of all the kids she smuggled out and kept them in a glass jar, buried under a tree in her back yard. After the war, she tried to locate any parents that may have survived and reunited the family. Most had been gassed. Those kids she helped got placed into foster family homes or adopted. Last year Irena was up for the Nobel Peace Prize.* She was not selected. President Obama won one year before becoming President for his work as a community organizer for ACORN and Al Gore won also— for a slide show on Global Warming.   63 years later In MEMORIAM – 63 YEARS LATER Please read the little cartoon carefully, it’s powerful. Then read the comments at the end. I’m doing my small part by forwarding this message. I hope you’ll consider doing the same. It is now more than 60 years after the Second World War in Europe ended. Remember the  the six million Jews, 20 million Russians, 10 million Christians and 1,900 Catholic priests who were murdered, massacred, raped, burned, starved and humiliated! Now, more than ever, with Iraq , Iran , and others, claiming the HOLOCAUST to be ‘a myth’. It’s imperative to make sure the world never forgets, because there are others who would like to do it again.

~The’LITTLE‘ Things~               As you might remember, the head of a company survived 9/11 because his son started kindergarten. Another fellow was alive because it was His turn to bring donuts. One woman was late because her Alarm clock didn’t go off in time. One was late because of being stuck on the NJ Turnpike Because of an auto accident. One of them Missed his bus. One spilled food on her clothes and had to take Time to change. One’s Car wouldn’t start. One couldn’t Get a taxi. The one that struck me was the man Who put on a new pair of shoes that morning, Took the various means to get to work But before he got there, he developed a blister on his foot. He stopped at a drugstore to buy a Band-Aid. That is why he is alive today.. Now when I am Stuck in traffic, Miss an elevator, Turn back to answer a ringing telephone… All the little things that annoy me. I think to myself, This is exactly where God wants me to be At this very moment.. Next time your morning seems to be Going wrong, You can’t seem to find the car keys, You hit every traffic light, Don’t get mad or frustrated; It may be just that God is at work watching over you. May God continue to bless you With all those annoying little things And may you remember their possible purpose. Pass this on to someone else, if you’d like. God’s Love Is Not Dependent On E-Mail or copying and forwarding messages as I have just donel!!  Don’t’ you think this is a Great Message? Meredith (that’s the cool part) AMEN

I have many things for which to be grateful.  I try daily to list my gratitudes to God  and there are many.  Now that I have had a pacemaker installed to raise my heart rate from 40-50 which it has been running for several years, I am finally getting out of mind numbing and overwhelming fatigue not helped by my grief of losing my Al almost a year ago now.  I have several blog items in the works and am even looking at Facebook again!  I also want to share the latest photosof my Rattlebridge Cyber Dawn; I am really grateful to have this young, beautiful, and totally adorable boy in my life and usually fighting for space on my lap. 

             Rattlebridge Cyber Dawn

Thought the following was important enough to share:  M.

WHAT HAPPENS IN HEAVEN WHEN WE PRAY?

I dreamt that I went to Heaven and an angel was showing me around. We walked side-by-side inside a large workroom filled with angels. My angel guide stopped in front of the first section and said, ‘ This is the Receiving Section. Here, all petitions to God said in prayer are received. I looked around in this area, and it was terribly busy with so many angels sorting out petitions written on voluminous paper sheets and scraps from people all over the world.

Then we moved on down a long corridor until we reached the second section.
The angel then said to me, "This is the Packaging and Delivery Section.. Here, the graces and blessings the people asked for are processed and delivered to the living persons who asked for them." I noticed again how busy it was there There were many angels working hard at that station, since so many blessings had been requested and were being packaged for delivery to Earth.

Finally at the farthest end of the long corridor we stopped at the door of a very small station. To my great surprise, only one angel was seated there, idly doing nothing. "This is the Acknowledgment Section, my angel friend quietly admitted to me. He seemed embarrassed." How is it that there is no work going on here? ‘ I asked.
"So sad," the angel sighed. "After people receive the blessings that they asked for, very few send back acknowledgments"
"How does one acknowledge God’s blessings? " I asked.  "Simple," the angel answered. Just say, "Thank you, Lord. "

"What blessings should they acknowledge?" I asked.

"If you have food in the refrigerator, clothes on your back, a roof overhead and a place to sleep you are richer than 75% of this world. If you have money in the bank, in your wallet, and spare change in a dish, you are among the top 8% of the world’s wealthy. "
"And if you get this on your own computer, you are part of the 1% in the world who has that opportunity."
"If you woke up this morning with more health than illness … You are more blessed than the many who will not even survive this day. "
"If you have never experienced the fear in battle, the loneliness of imprisonment, the agony of torture, or the pangs of starvation … You are ahead of 700 million people in the world."
"If you can attend a church without the fear of harassment, arrest, torture or death you are envied by, and more blessed than, three billion people in the world."
"If your parents are still alive and still married …you are very rare."
"If you can hold your head up and smile, you are not the norm, you’re unique to all those in doubt and despair……"
Ok, what now? How can I start?
If you can read this message, you just received a double blessing in that someone was thinking of you as very special and you are more blessed than over two billion people in the world who cannot read at all. Have a good day, count your blessings , and if you care to, pass this along to remind everyone else how blessed we all are

I was asked to keep this going – and will gladly do so WHEN A SOLDIER COMES HOME This email is being circulated around the world – please keep it going When a soldier comes home, he finds it hard…. ..to listen to his son whine about being bored.   ….to keep a straight face when people complain about potholes.            to be tolerant of people who complain about the hassle of getting ready for work.   …to be understanding when a co-worker complains about a bad night’s sleep.   ..to be silent when people pray to God for a new car.   ….to control his panic when his wife tells him he needs to drive slower.   ..to be compassionate when a businessman expresses a fear of flying.   ….to keep from laughing when anxious parents say they’re afraid to   send their kids off to summer camp.    ….to keep from ridiculing someone who complains about hot weather.     ….to control his frustration when a colleague gripes about his coffee being cold.   ….to remain calm when his daughter complains about having to walk the dog.   …..to be civil to people who complain about their jobs.     …..to just walk away when someone says they only get two weeks of vacation a year.     ….to be forgiving when someone says how hard it is to have a new baby in the house. The only thing harder than being a Soldier… Is loving one.     I was asked to pass this on and I will gladly do so, Will you???

A friend sent this to me in the form of an email.  Its message hit me hard. How often have I become very annoyed at perceived wrongs only to find that I have been the one acting wrongly by thinking ill of someone else. Life does have its lessons and the following has served its purpose in reminding me not to be so quick to judge less I be judged in return.

The following is a poignant vignette reminding us that all those with special needs, animal or human, do need understanding and help when needed.  Too often a blind eye is cast towards those needing help or understanding which we are always called to offer.   A few weeks ago, a naked man bleeding from scratches evidently from going through brush and branches, appeared on the doorstep of a home in Hilliard, Ohio. He begged to be let in as he was freezing in the bitter cold and snow.  The owner of the house did not open his door but called 911 which was the proper call to make in the owner’s eyes.  I am not one to judge the owner’s reasons for not throwing out a blanket at least, but I wish he had done more.  With the 911 call, the naked man became frightened and ran away. When the police arrived they looked for the man and were not able to find him.  The man took refuge in a shed and was found dead of hypothermia the next morning.  Now if his tracks could be followed the next morning, why did not the police use flashlights to track him the night before?  The police dropped the ball. I know that the naked, the homeless, the broke and broken do not always fare well in our society, but why did the police not do a more thorough search and why did the house owner not do more.

The television show “What Would You Do?” can be turned into What Would I Do?  if a freezing naked man would appear on my doorstep or anybody’s doorstep. My friends and I have had deep discussions about the tragic scenario of a life not being saved. I know deep in my heart what several of my very brave, caring girlfriends and I would do: we would have gathered sweats, blankets, and opened the door and invited the man in to get him warm with something hot to drink and then would have called 911. I could turn the name of the TV show into “What Would Jesus Do?”  I was truly enraged and horrified at the outcome for this mentally ill man so in need of help. In my opinion, we need to remember the Golden Rule as difficult as it sometimes to do so.

*********************************************************************************************************************************************

A farmer had some puppies he needed to sell.  He painted a sign advertising the 4 pups and set about nailing it to a post on the edge of his yard. As he was driving the last nail into the post, he felt a tug on his overalls. He looked down into the eyes of a little boy.

“Mister," he said, "I want to buy one of your puppies."

"Well," said the farmer, as he rubbed the sweat off the back of his neck, "These puppies come from fine parents and cost a good deal of money."

The boy dropped his head for a moment. Then reaching deep into his pocket, he pulled out a handful of change and held it up to the farmer. "I’ve got thirty-nine cents. Is that enough to take a look?"

"Sure," said the farmer. And with that he let out  a whistle. "Here, Dolly!" he called. Out from the doghouse and down the ramp ran Dolly followed by four little balls of fur.

The little boy pressed his face against the chain link fence. His eyes danced with delight. As the dogs made their way to the fence, the little boy noticed something else stirring inside the doghouse. Slowly another little ball appeared, this one noticeably smaller. Down the ramp it slid. Then in a somewhat awkward manner, the little pup began hobbling toward the others, doing its best to catch up…

"I want that one," the little boy said, pointing to the runt.

The farmer knelt down at the boy’s side and said, "Son, you don’t want that puppy. He will never be able to run and play with you like these other dogs would."

With that the little boy stepped back from the fence, reached down, and began rolling up one leg of his trousers. In doing so he revealed a steel brace running down both sides of his leg attaching itself to a specially made shoe. Looking back up at the farmer, he said, "You see sir, I don’t run too well myself, and he will need someone who understands."

With tears in his eyes, the farmer reached down and picked up the little pup. Holding it carefully he handed it to the little boy.

“How much?" asked the little boy… "No charge,"  answered the farmer, "There’s no charge for love."

The world is full of people who need someone who understands.  Just like our naked, freezing man!

The following, sent to me by my friend Alana, certainly had an impact on me today.  I have been very depressed mourning my Al and wondering what my purpose is in life now that he is gone.  I have always been independent so it is not that I can’t carry on, the question has been do I really want to without him.   For all my independence, Al was my rock, my foundation, and my deepest love.  Reading the following gave me pause and something to think about.  Of course, I want to strangle the girl and hug the boyfriend. THINK There was a blind girl who hated herself because she was blind. She hated everyone except her loving boyfriend. He was always there for her. She told her boyfriend, ‘If I could only see the world, I will marry you.’ One day, someone donated a pair of eyes to her. When the bandages came off, she was able to see everything, including her boyfriend. He asked her, ‘Now that you can see the world, will you marry me?’ The girl looked at her boyfriend and saw that he was blind. The sight of his closed eyelids shocked her. She hadn’t expected that. The thought of looking at them the rest of her life led her to refuse to marry him. Her boyfriend left in tears and days later wrote a note to her saying: ‘Take good care of your eyes, my dear, for before they were yours, they were mine.’   This is how the human brain often works when our status changes. Only a very few remember what life was like before, and who was always by their side in the most painful situations. Life Is a Gift Today before you say an unkind word – Think of someone who can’t speak. Before you complain about the taste of your food – Think of someone who has nothing to eat.. Before you complain about your husband or wife – Think of someone who’s crying out to GOD for a companion. Today before you complain about life – Think of someone who went too early to heaven.. Before whining about the distance you drive -Think of someone who walks the same distance with their feet. When you are tired and complain about your job – Think of the unemployed, the disabled, and those who wish they had your job.. And when depressing thoughts seem to get you down – Put a smile on your face and think: you’re alive and still around..

 Many years ago now, I sold a little boy Rubens (Ch. and Ch. Rattlebridge Masterpiece) son to the daughter of fellow judge, the wonderful late Judy Doniere.

Tilt changed the lives of Tami and Jeff Byroads, now my dear friends, and started them on the road to showing Cavaliers.  Tilt enjoyed a wonderful life with the Byroads.  He was very sensitive and we swore he saw spirits, but only good spirits like that of Tami’s beloved father when he passed.  We all loved Tilt.  I join in the sorrow of my “other family.”  Good night, dear Tilt. Until the Rainbow Bridge.  Give my Al a kiss from me!

 

Rattlebridge Tilt A Whirl

In Loving Memory

"TILT"

June 6th 1998 – October 20, 2010

You came to us from 3,000 miles away as a little 4 month old and stole our
hearts as you felt they were yours to keep. You quickly became the head of
the house, protector of your queen, and so "aggressively cute" that the
desire to have more Cavaliers soon after became not only a reality, but part
of our lives.

You passed the baton on to Ace and he promised you that although he could
never fill your paws, he will always protect your queen. Your best friend
Winnie, will miss you the most of the pack, as you taught her how to take
care of her "king". You showed Kahnrad that his princess is his to protect
and he said he will always remember that when she returns from college.
Party Sue, your Rattlebridge counterpart, whom you always let snuggle up to
you at night, will willingly go to snuggle with Ace as you have wished for
her to do. She thanks you from the bottom of her heart for all you have
taught her about how to get the food made quickly and earlier each morning.
You have kept little Cash in line and tried your best to teach him manners
and how to get in line for the succession order and to obey Ace as the new
"head of house".

Tilt, it was only fitting that you were with us as a pet – never seeing the
show ring until the beautiful age of 10 ½ years old, where you competed your
first and only time in the Veterans ring and won Best Veteran in Specialty.
As if you felt you needed to do one last thing to prove to us just how
special of a boy you are. We cherish that moment as we do all the others
over the years you have given us. Thanks for being the best "car rider",
"river dog", the best eater, and the best Tilt A Whirl ever. 
           

Our little "ghost buster" as we nicknamed you, never hesitated
to tell us our deceased loved ones were certainly nearby. As you grew more
accustomed to seeing these spirits, we were at ease to know that because of
you, we were able to say "I love you and goodbye" one last time. So now is
your time sweet boy, for us to say " I love you and goodbye". You leave us
only physically as we know you will stay around us as you never feel that
your job is done.

WE AWAIT YOUR RETURN,

Your loving family

Jeff, Tami & Karlie

 

 

 

And now a story to touch hearts . . . I cry every time I read it.  We know that Tilt, well loved, will be waiting for his family. All of our beloveds were waiting for Al and will be waiting for me standing beside my Al wagging and wiggling with joy.

AT THE RAINBOW BRIDGE
by Alexander Theodore, Bouvier, Fourth Year Resident (written September 2001)

On the morning of September 11, 2001, there was an unprecedented amount of
activity at the Rainbow Bridge. Decisions had to be made. They had to be
made quickly. And, they were. 

An issue, not often addressed here, is the fact that many residents really
have no loved one for whom to wait. Think of the pups who lived and died in
hideous puppy mills. No one on earth loved or protected them. What about
the many who spent unhappy lives tied in backyards? And, the ones who were
abused. Who are they to wait for?

   
We don’t talk about that much up here. We share our loved ones as they
arrive, happy to do so. But we all know there is nothing like having your
very own person who thinks you are the most special pup in the Heavens.   
Last Tuesday morning a request rang out for pups not waiting for specific
persons to volunteer for special assignment.. An eager, curious crowd
surged excitedly forward, each pup wondering what the assignment would be. 
They were told by a solemn voice that unexpectedly, all at once, over 4,000
loving people had left Earth long before they were ready. All the pups, as
all pups do, felt the humans’ pain deep in their own hearts. Without
hearing more, there was a clamoring among them – "May I have one to
comfort?" "I’ll take two, I have a big heart." "I have been saving kisses
forever."   

One after another they came forward begging for assignment. One
cozy-looking fluffy pup hesitantly asked, "Are there any children coming? I
would be very comforting for a child ’cause I’m soft and squishy and I
always wanted to be hugged." A group of Dalmatians came forward asking to
meet the Firemen and be their friends. The larger working breeds offered to
greet the Police Officers and make them feel at home. Little dogs
volunteered to do what they do best, cuddle and kiss. 

Dogs who on Earth had never had a kind word or a pat on the head, stepped
forward and said, "I will love any human who needs love." 
Then all the dogs, wherever on Earth they originally came from, rushed to
the Rainbow Bridge and stood waiting, overflowing with love to share – each
tail wagging an American Flag.

Great Dog Story and well worth the reading! I know that I have included this poignant, bittersweet story (true) on my blog before, but it is timeless.  I never get tired of reading it and crying over it.  With Al’s passing I am considering my own mortality; hopefully, I will have years left to give back to society as I have been very lucky and fortunate in my life, especially in my choice of a husband. This story reminds me that one must not forget to provide for one’s dogs in one’s will; one should create a trust for one’s dogs to ensure their welfare when their owner can no longer love and care for them. I am very aware that the dogs I breed and keep now will be ten by the time I am 76.  I want them in good, loving homes when I am no longer able to care for them. Just think about it please. 

They told me the big black Lab’s name was Reggie,
as I looked at him lying in his pen..  The shelter was
clean, no-kill, and the people really friendly.
I’d only been in the area for six months, but everywhere
I went in the small college town, people were welcoming and open

Everyone waves when you pass them on the
street.

But something was still missing as I attempted to
settle in to my new life here, and I thought a dog
couldn’t hurt.  Give me someone to talk to.
And I had just seen Reggie’s advertisement on the local
news.  The shelter said  they had received numerous
calls right after, but they said the people who had come
down to see him just didn’t look like "Lab
people,"  whatever that meant.  They must’ve
thought I did.

But at first, I thought the shelter had misjudged me
in giving me Reggie and his things, which consisted of a dog pad,

bag of toys almost all of which were brand new tennis
balls, his dishes, and a sealed letter from his previous
owner.   See, Reggie and I didn’t really hit it off
when we got home.  We struggled for two weeks (which is
how long the shelter told me to give him to adjust to his
new home).  Maybe it was the fact that I was trying to
adjust, too.  Maybe we were too much alike.

For some reason, his stuff (except for the tennis
balls — he wouldn’t go anywhere without two stuffed in
his mouth) got tossed in with all of my other unpacked
boxes.  I guess I didn’t really think he’d need
all his old stuff, that I’d get him new things once he
settled in.  But it became pretty clear pretty soon
that he wasn’t going to.

I tried the normal commands the shelter told me he
knew, ones like "sit" and "stay" and
"come" and "heel," and he’d  follow
them – when he felt like it.  He never really seemed to
listen when I called his name — sure, he’d look in my
direction after the fourth or fifth time I said it, but then
he’d just go back to doing whatever.  When I’d
ask again, you could almost see him sigh and then grudgingly
obey.

This just wasn’t going to work.  He chewed a
couple shoes and some unpacked boxes.  I was a little
too stern with him and he resented it, I could tell.
The friction got so bad that I couldn’t wait for the two
weeks to be up, and when it was, I was in full-on search
mode for my cell phone amid all of my unpacked stuff.  I
remembered leaving it on the stack of boxes for the guest
room, but I also mumbled, rather cynically, that the
"damn dog probably hid it on me."

Finally I found it, but before I could punch up the
shelter’s number, I also found his pad and other toys
from the shelter…I tossed the pad in Reggie’s
direction and he snuffed it and wagged, some of the most
enthusiasm I’d seen since bringing him home.  But
then I called, "Hey, Reggie, you like that?   Come
here and I’ll give you a treat."   Instead, he
sort of glanced in my direction — maybe "glared"
is more accurate — and then gave a discontented sigh and
flopped down.   With his back to me.

Well, that’s not going to do it either,  I
thought.  And I punched the shelter phone number.

But I hung up when I saw the sealed envelope.   I
had completely forgotten about that, too.  "Okay,
Reggie,"  I said out loud, "let’s see if
your previous owner has any advice."…. …..

______________________________ _________

To whoever  Gets My Dog:
Well, I can’t say that I’m
happy you’re reading this, a letter I told the shelter
could only be opened by Reggie’s new owner.
I’m not even happy writing it.  If you’re
reading this, it means I just got back from my last car ride
with my Lab after dropping him off at the shelter.  He
knew something was different.  I have packed up his pad
and toys before and set them by the back door before a trip,
but this time… it’s like he knew something was
wrong.  And something is wrong…which is why I have
to go to try to make it right.

So let me tell you about my Lab in the hopes that it
will help you bond with him and he with
you.

First, he loves tennis balls.
The more the merrier.  Sometimes I think he’s part
squirrel, the way he hordes them.  He usually always
has two in his mouth, and he tries to get a third in
there.  Hasn’t done it yet.  Doesn’t
matter where you throw them, he’ll bound after it, so be
careful – really don’t do it by any roads..  I made
that mistake once, and it almost cost him
dearly.

Next, commands.  Maybe the shelter staff
already told you, but I’ll go over them
again:  Reggie knows the obvious ones —
"sit,"  "stay,"  "come," "heel."  
He knows hand signals:
"back" to turn around and go back when you put
your hand straight up; and "over" if you put your
hand out right or left.  "Shake" for shaking
water off,  and "paw" for a high-five.  He
does "down" when he feels like lying down — I bet
you could work on that with him some more.  He knows
"ball" and "food" and "bone"
and "treat" like  nobody’s
business.

I trained Reggie with small food
treats.  Nothing opens his ears like little pieces
of hot dog.

Feeding schedule:  twice a day,
once about seven in the morning, and again at six in
the evening.   Regular store-bought stuff; the shelter
has the brand.

He’s up on his shots.
Call the clinic on 9th Street and update his info with
yours; they’ll make sure to send you reminders for when
he’s due.  Be forewarned:  Reggie hates the
vet.  Good luck getting him in the car — I don’t
know how he knows when it’s time to go to the vet, but
he knows.

Finally, give him some time.
I’ve never been married, so it’s only been Reggie
and me for his whole life.  He’s gone everywhere
with me, so please include him on your daily car rides if
you can.  He sits well in the backseat, and he
doesn’t bark or complain.  He just loves to be
around people, and me most especially.

Which means that this transition is
going to be hard, with him going to live with someone
new.

And that’s why I need to share
one more bit of info with you…..

His name’s not
Reggie.

I don’t know what made me do it, but
when I dropped him off at the shelter, I told them
his name was Reggie.  
He’s a smart dog, he’ll get used to it
and will respond to it, of that I have no
doubt.  But I just couldn’t bear to give them his
real name.  For me to do that, it seemed so final, that
handing him over to the shelter was as good as me admitting
that I’d never see him again.  And if I end up
coming back, getting him, and tearing up this letter, it
means everything’s fine.  But if someone else is
reading it, well …. well it means that his new owner should
know his real name.  It’ll help you bond with
him.  Who knows, maybe you’ll even notice a change
in his demeanor if he’s been giving you
problems.

His real name is "Tank".

Because that is what  I
drive.

Again, if you’re reading this
and you’re from the area, maybe my name has been on the
news.  I told the shelter that they couldn’t make
"Reggie" available for adoption until they
received word from my company commander.  See, my
parents are gone, I have no siblings, no one I could’ve
left Tank with … and it was my only real request of the
Army upon my deployment to Iraq , that they make one phone…
call the shelter … in the "event" … to tell
them that Tank could be put up for adoption.  Luckily,
my colonel is a dog guy, too, and he knew where my platoon
was headed.  He said he’d do it
personally.  And if you’re  reading this, then
he made good on his word.

Well, this letter is getting downright depressing,
even though, frankly, I’m just
writing it for my dog.  I couldn’t imagine if I was
writing it for a wife and kids and family … but still,
Tank has been my family for the last six years, almost as
long as the Army has been my family.

And now I hope and pray that you
make him part of your family and that he will adjust and
come to love you the same way he loved me.

That unconditional love from a dog
is what I take with me to Iraq as an inspiration to do
something selfless, to protect innocent people from those
who would do terrible things … and to keep those terrible
people from coming over here.  If I have to give up Tank
in order to do it, I  am glad to have done so.  He is
my example of service and of love.  I hope I honored
him by my service to my country and comrades.

All right, that’s enough.
I deploy this evening and have to drop this letter off at
the shelter.  I don’t  think I’ll say another
good-bye to Tank, though.  I cried too much the first
time.  Maybe I’ll peek in on him and see if he
finally got that third tennis ball in his
mouth.

Good luck with Tank.  Give him
a good home, and give him an extra kiss goodnight – every
night – from  me.

Thank you,  Paul Mallory

I  folded the letter and slipped it back in the envelope.  Sure I
had heard of Paul Mallory, everyone in town knew him, even
new people like me.  Local kid, killed in Iraq a few
months ago and  posthumously earning the Silver Star when he
gave his life to save three buddies.  Flags had been at
half-mast all summer.

I leaned forward in my chair and rested my elbows on
my knees, staring at the dog.

"Hey, Tank," I said  quietly.

The dog’s head whipped up, his ears cocked and his
eyes bright.

"C’mere boy."

He was  instantly on his feet, his nails clicking on
the hardwood floor.  He sat in front of me, his head
tilted, searching for the name he hadn’t heard in months.

"Tank," I whispered.

His tail swished.

I kept whispering his name, over and over, and each
time, his ears lowered, his eyes softened, and his posture
relaxed as a wave of contentment just seemed to flood
him.  I stroked his ears, rubbed his shoulders, buried
my face into his scruff and hugged him.

"It’s me now, Tank, just you and me.
Your old pal gave you to me."  Tank reached up and
licked my cheek.  "So whatdaya say we play some
ball?"  His ears perked again."Yeah?  Ball?  You like that?
Ball?"  Tank tore from my hands and disappeared in the next room.

And when he came back, he had three tennis balls in
his  mouth.

Thank you to all of you who have sent condolences through many emails and many, many cards.  I would like to thank each of you personally, but of course cannot.  Your words of sympathy and encouragement made it easier to bear up under the incredible grief I feel every second of every day. Grief is a strange bedfellow and I am doing my best to get on with life as Al would have wanted me to do.

Al’s Memorial Service took place Thursday. August 19, which was a month after he died due to his older brother not being able to make the trip until then.  Fr. David Shalk, a friend of ours, officiated at he Catholic service although Al was not Catholic.  I am grateful to my parish, St. John Neumann, Sunbury, Ohio, and its pastor, Fr. David Sizemore, for allowing the service to be held there as I was greatly comforted.  I am very grateful to all who came to honor and remember Al and to support me.  The beginning music was my husband’s beloved Bach, followed by my niece Annie singing our favorite hymn, “On Eagles’ Wings.  Al’s niece Gabriella, an opera singer, sang the “Lord’s Prayer” and “The Wind Beneath Wings.”  I carried my beloved’s ashes out to Sarah Brightman’s melodious and haunting “It’s Time to Say Goodbye.”    At the risk of repeating parts of what I have already related on this blog, below is the Eulogy I delivered for Al:

 

Al’s Eulogy

I loved my husband. Our first conversation on the phone before we met was about broccoli, gardening, and nature. Thank God he loved he loved dogs and horses for if he didn’t I was in trouble. I was a “goner” as soon as we met. We met January 20, 1984, on the coldest night of that year and we knew that we belonged together. We just knew. We weren’t sure how; we weren’t sure why. We just knew that no longer would we be alone. Our first kiss in the restaurant parking lot sealed our future.

We were married six weeks later . . . the feisty gal from Brooklyn (Al hated New Yorkers, go figure)—the queen of excess and Irish emotion and the master of moderation and restraint. The earthy hopeless romantic and the complete realist with a wry sense of humor.

A poem from the romanticist Elizabeth Barrett Browning describes my way of expressing my love for Al:

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.

I love thee to the depth and breadth and height

My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight

For the ends of Being and ideal Grace.

I love thee to the level of every day’s

Most quiet need, by sun and candlelight.

I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;

I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.

I love thee with a passion put to use

In my old grief’s, and with my childhood’s faith.

I love thee with a love I seemed to lose

With my lost saints, I love thee with the breath,

Smiles, tears, of all my life! and, if God chooses,

I shall but love thee better after death.

In Al’s desk I found the following Alfred Lord Tennyson poem in Al’s writing; it describes Al’s way of expressing love with his own brand of humor perfectly but doesn’t say much for me:

In the spring a young man’s fancy lightly turns to thoughts of love.

He will hold thee, when his passion shall run its novel course:

Something better than his dog, a little dearer than his horse.

To explain further Al’s sense of humor, I submit the following: his favorite tee shirt which I hold up now and which sweetly reads: “My next wife will be normal.”

What is the measure of a man: for Al it was honor, integrity, ethics, honesty, strength of character, and stoicism. He believed in hard work and no complaints.

For Al it was the love of his children Carolyn and Stuart, his grandchildren Audrey and Darren, his brothers Bill and Jack, now deceased, his sister Susan and his nieces and nephews, and me.

For Al it was gardening; farming, nature, red tailed hawks, bird watching, Celtic history and music, Bach, his beloved Cavaliers and the Rattlebridge fame we achieved together, his mare Buttercup to whom he sang the Gilbert and Sullivan tune, “They call me Buttercup” from the time she was born. For Al it was science, his great passion for sailing especially with his brother Bill. And for Al at the very end it was Jesus Christ whom he had spent his lifetime at least publicly denying.

Before we were married, he told me: “My soul is in your hands” and I took it very seriously. I felt that if I were a better Christian and a better person, I could set the example to bring him to Jesus. Al despised the hypocrisy of organized religion with its corrupt scandalous leaders who should have been the epitome of God’s grace and kindness to man. I explained that because men were fallible, it did not mean that belief in the goodness and omnipresence of God was tainted. I prayed for 26 years that Al would believe as I believe. He balked. His soul was never in my hands but in God’s hands all the time. Two days before Al died, he became filled with anger physically pushing me away and harshly uttering that “he hated this world and wanted to leave this earth.” I climbed in beside him, held him tight, and fervently told him to let go of the anger and the darkness in his head for it was the devil’s work. I begged him to accept the light and God’s love. I said the “Our Father” and he joined me in the prayer. I asked him to pray to Jesus and he said “I am” and physically relaxed. Later he told me to ‘let him go” please let me go and I told him yes, it was okay to go.

The night before he died, he was restless and agitated. My niece Annie and her husband Eric, both of whom loved Al very much and whom he loved, and I held a prayer vigil over Al. I once again crawled in beside him as close as I could, inhaling his scent, and whispering my love for him and more importantly God and His Son Jesus’ love for him. Eric said that Al visibly relaxed as peace descended upon him.

Al died the next day very peacefully and I know he died believing—the answer to my prayers.

Recently I had researched near death and dying experiences which seem to mirror each other around the world. Dr. John Lerma, hospice physician at Houston Medical Center, wrote the book Into the Light which chronicles the stories of dying patients who testified that they saw angels and sometimes Christ at their bedsides embracing them with incredible love. Sometimes inexplicably a white feather would appear in the room–a sign that the angels were filling the room with light.

Even though I believe that Al is in heaven, I have begged Al and God for a sign. The other night just before closing, I pulled into Lowe’s and at my feet as I got out of the car lay this white feather. The smaller feather Annie just found in the barn at the farm Al loved so much, the only white feather we have ever seen at the farm. I have my sign.

The love of my life is with God watching over those he loved especially me and cringing that I now have access to the checkbook which he knows I will screw up for before I was married I balanced my checkbook by changing banks every four months. He is also worried that I will never change the oil in the cars. Al took good care of me. He was my rock, my support, my solace, and my friend. A friend just wrote me: “In knowing Al, a person of quiet wisdom with a sneaky little dry sense of humor, there is one thing I loved seeing each time. This is a man who really "got you". He knew you inside and out and loved you. He loved sharing life with you.” Yes he really “got me” and I “got him.” Two souls that came together on that cold night.

Not a demonstrative man verbally he still told me many times: “all I do and my life is for you.” His support allowed me to fly but he was always and always will be the “wind beneath my wings.” His love is alive in my heart, but oh, my Albie, I miss you so . . .