Rose always seemed to have a map of the farm in her head, something I never quite had. If I lost a glove or cellphone or keyring, I would just let Rose out and she would go right to it, especially if it wasn’t there the day before. She was always watching over the farm. First from her perch up the hill, and through the windows of the farmhouse, or from her favorite perch in the front yard by the big maple tree. On her last day, she sat up in the Pole Barn for a last look. One of the things she was always updating was me – where I was, what I was doing.

I’m going to be posting photos from the Last Day this week and beyond, also chronicling the process of love, loss, grief and celebration. I celebrate Rose’s life more than I grieve it. Much more.

A couple of things I have learned about grieving this past weekend. More to come:

– It is critical to have an easy relationship with a vet, to have a vet you can talk to, who will listen and understand what you need and want and what the animal needs and wants. I was fortunate to have such a vet in Suzanne Fariello of the Cambridge Valley Veterinary Hospital. Talking to Suzanne openly and honestly transformed the experience from a possible wrenching nightmare into a very beautiful ritual of love, farewell and responsibility. We have only beautiful memories of Rose’s last minutes, and Dr. Fariello is responsible for that. Make sure you have a vet you trust and can talk to, and who listens.

– Rituals of remembrance are important. I am so glad I spent a final day with Rose, walking with her, talking to her, photographing her. My notion in the book is so, I think. They don’t have to disappear. You can experience them again and again, and that is very helpful, very healing. I’ll put up some video of Rose’s last day later in the week.

More late. I am overwhelmed by your messages, now into the thousands. Thank you.