The Gift of Knowing It Is the Last Time

 

Greetings, Dear Reader, from Beagle’s northern base, Boise, Idaho.  Yes, it’s been a long time and I have been remiss in that I have, in fact, had the Beagle out at least twice without so much as a hint to you.  I would apologize but the truth is there was very little to say so you should really thank me for not boring you to death.

However, this topic, the gift of knowing it is the last time to experience something, has been rolling around my head for many months. 

Have you noticed that in life there are moments when you can feel the last time coming for years, or maybe just hours or, on occasion, with startling immediacy?  The shorter the time of realization, the more difficult it is to appreciate the gift of knowing it is, indeed, the last time.

In the course of the last couple of Beagle trips, I have covered all three and, am happy to report, that I took notice that it was the last time and appreciated it for everything a last time should be:  The gift of having that time with someone or something knowing you will not have it again, maybe forever, maybe for some period of time you cannot measure, and maybe just for the season.  It makes you utilize all your senses in an attempt to gather as much information as possible so you can carry that love despite the lack of its physical presence.

For the last few years, I have known River was getting close to the end of her time on Earth.  I know I have blogged about her death before, but it is worth repeating with the emphasis on the fact that I knew the last time with her was coming for over a year.  And so I took the time to give her extra huggers and to tell her what a good dog she was and try to love her as much as she needed (which, for those of you who knew River, was never enough.)  I knew the end was coming and when it came, I was glad that I had appreciated the last times with her; it made it easier to accept that it was the last time forever. 

Then there was the day when the last time struck me one bright, sunny morning camping on the shores of a lake in Utah; I didn’t see it coming but when it did, it felt right and I knew I had only a few hours.  A few hours to be able to tell someone how much I appreciated having them in my life; how they made me a better person; and how, suddenly, now, it is time to walk away.  The last hug for time immeasurable.

A few weeks after that, camping on Antelope Island, again in Utah, waking up to a toasty Beagle but everything outside frozen solid (it was 10 degrees when I woke up), I realized it was the last time for Beagle winter camping.  This was a sad realization for me as I had planned on taking Beagle up to McCall skiing at least once a month for a week each time through the winter.  But I found, like when it is over 100 degrees, camping in extremes is not my thing.  So my last night heading back home, I laid in Beagle and savored her smells, the hard bed, the puffy, warm comforter, the encapsulating and safe feeling of having everything you need all around you all the time.  The last night in Beagle for the season.

And so Beagle is parked in her indoor garage, taking a break.  I was just out to see her yesterday and, after opening her back door, I leaned over and hugged her cushions.  I miss her so!  But have no fear, if this cold, grey Boise weather sticks around, she’ll be packed up soon enough and heading south.

-K

PS:  The photo above was taken on the last Beagle trip at a lovely reservoir in southern Utah.