Ruth piled the last shovel of earth onto the mound and then stood, spade in hand, shivering and helpless. It was the hottest day of the year so far, and barely cooling as the sun started to sink towards the trees. From above came the clatter of a squirrel’s claws, and out of sight a crow made its presence known with a shattering cry. She crouched and patted down the dusty soil, mostly for want of anything else to do. Then the two Sisters took the paving slabs lying nearby and laid them on top, in case of foxes, and Sister Helena gave Ruth the improvised wooden cross and a mallet, and with blow after blow she forced it down into the hard soil. In a few months, once the ground had settled and before she left, they would replace it with a small stone, but for now Sister Helena said that this would do.
The cross cast a shadow, reaching up the wall, dark amid the evening gold which lit the bricks. It was done, time to move on, time to leave Dot behind and go on with life. More and more, it felt like a short intermission, the four years with Dot merely a break from the rest of her life without. And now it was time to turn her back and walk away, to carry on alone. Nothing but beautiful memories, reminders of these beautiful years which were now gone.
A touch on her hand made her look down and accept the offered tissue, to wipe her eyes and try to keep her composure.
“Would you like me to pray?”
She was ready to go, but nodded anyway.
Sister Helena stepped forward and stood still and silent for a moment before speaking. “Father, bless this place and all who come here. We ask you, be with all who mourn Dot’s death, and let us remember her example of unconditional love which helped us to see you. Thank you for the joys of her life, and for the peace in which she now rests. Through Jesus Christ our Lord, Amen.” She kept another moment of silence before reaching out a hand to Ruth. “Come with us until compline?”
Ruth took a deep breath and nodded, very slightly, but remained still as the Sisters moved away. Out of the corner of her eye she could see them stop and wait as she knelt, slowly, tears seeping out as she closed her eyes. Even now, with her hand on the edge of the slab which covered the grave, she could see Dot standing beside her, cold nose nuzzling against her wrist, bouncing away to crouch in the grass and wait, eyes on ball or stick or Frisbee or whatever toy they were playing with today. Eyes on Ruth, waiting for her to respond, waiting for her to play, waiting for her to come and see whatever Dot had found that she so eagerly wanted to show. Waiting for her.
“Goodbye,” Ruth whispered, swallowing past the lump in her throat. “My darling, darling Dot. Goodbye. I miss you already, I’ll always miss you. Goodbye.”
There were no more words, only tears, and had she been alone Ruth would have curled up in a ball and shed them. But she wasn’t, so she just stayed where she was and let them fall, her posture still even as her teeth chattered and her shoulders shook. Her head and her heart both hurt, and she was alone once more. And she would go home to an empty flat, to sit alone on an empty sofa, to eat alone and prepare for bed and sleep. And then wake in the morning, with nothing but work to fill her day. Nothing, and no one.
And in barely more than two months, she wouldn’t even have that.
The Sisters hadn’t left, and slowly she became aware of them again, now sitting together in a patch of shade. She wiped her eyes with the cuff of her shirt and stood up, to turn resolutely and walk towards them. “Sorry about that.”
“Funerals are a time for sharing in tears.” Sister Helena rose to walk close beside Ruth, Sister Joan half a step behind. “She was a special dog, that makes it hard to say goodbye.”
“I never thought it would be this hard.”
“If you had thought about it, you would have known.”
Ruth sighed tiredly. “I suppose I guessed, a bit. When we knew it was coming, from how hard it was, just the idea. But now…” She shrugged. “At least she loved it here. She’ll never have to leave.”
She wouldn’t have to build a new life elsewhere. Wouldn’t have to find new friends, new communities, new reasons to live. Wouldn’t have to say goodbye. Ruth followed Sister Helena silently, the weight settling on her heart. Dot would not have to find a way to live alone. Wouldn’t have to get used to an empty house. Wouldn’t have to take that step backwards, into a darker time, wouldn’t have to seek a new solution after her perfect solution had failed – well, not failed, perhaps, but had run out. And while perhaps she could get a new dog, it wouldn’t be the same, it wouldn’t be Dot. And in the end, she’d just have to face the same thing again, twofold.
She shouldn’t be jealous of Dot, but she was.
They wouldn’t let her go back upstairs, but took her through into the small sitting room that the two shared, and offered her tea and a blanket to wrap around her shoulders as she continued to shiver. The weight at least was comforting, and she brushed off the Sisters’ concerns.
“I’m tired. Haven’t been sleeping well.”
“Since she died?”
“Yeah. Last night especially.” She made a concerted effort to sit still, blinking several times, ignoring the sick feeling in her stomach. “Should be better now we’ve… buried her. Some kind of finality. I can get used to…” she dug for words, “the idea.”
Sister Helena looked at Sister Joan. “We have a room down here, if you want a night somewhere else. Just to get a break. Or you could take a few days in Whitby. Just while you get used to the idea of living without her.”
“My diary isn’t that flexible.”
“Surely it can be, if it needs to. Your hand is hot to the touch, you're not well.”
“I’ll be fine in the morning. Though if you have ibuprofen or anything, that’d be great to tide me through…”
Sister Helena nodded to Sister Joan, who disappeared for a moment and then returned with a large glass of water and a small box of tablets.
Ruth swallowed them with experienced ease and leant back. “Sorry. I’m being useless tonight. It’s just… hard, you know? Losing her. I know she was only a dog, but still…”
“Humans are not the only ones we love,” Sister Helena interrupted her. “Everyone who works here can tell you that, you are not the only one who misses her – although you miss her most, because you knew her best. You loved her the moment you met her, and that has only grown stronger since.”
Ruth sighed. “I often wonder whether it’s easier not to love. I’ve seen so many people hurt.”
“Perhaps, but then what is life without love?”
“Easier. Far easier.” Ruth pulled the blanket from around her shoulders and laid it beside her. “It saves ever feeling like this.”
“But wouldn’t it be empty?”
“I’m empty now. If you make a place for someone, and then they’re gone, there’s a space left behind. An empty space.” She forced herself to shrug. “Well, filled with memories, I guess.”
“With God hiding right at the bottom.” Sister Helena smiled at her. “Don’t forget God, Ruth, God’s important here, when you’re sad.”
Ruth shrugged again. “Yeah. Yeah, I know.” If only God were here. If only God were here, to clear her brain, to make space, to help her think again. Or even just to be there, instead of this vast emptiness. If only God cared.
She moved on, hiding the thoughts from the Sisters. “I’m going to miss Bishopthorpe.”
“You will, and we will miss you, but Cambridge will start to fill the space. You can’t stay anywhere forever.”
“You’ve taken vows to do just that.”
“It doesn’t just mean geographically.”
“Yeah, I know that really.” Ruth leant her pounding head back against the cushion, trying to ignore the general sense of nausea that had been getting worse all afternoon. “I don’t really want to talk about feelings anymore.”
“There are only twenty minutes before compline, we can sit quietly for a bit and then go and light the candles.”
“Is that what you normally do in the evening?”
“Yes, we normally meet and have a time to talk. And then we go to the chapel and pray silently, and then compline, and then to bed. So yes, that is what we are doing today.”
“Okay.” Ruth tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “You must have other things you talk about.”
They looked at each other, and Sister Helena answered. “Of course. We talk about what’s happened in the day, here and in the world, and sport, and the garden. There’s little to be said today, except about Dot, and it would be artificial to try. We could do a crossword, perhaps, or a jigsaw – that’s a good way to spend an evening. Would you like to do that?”
“Perhaps a jigsaw, my brain’s too tired for crosswords…”
Not that, in fifteen minutes, much could be accomplished, but it was something to focus on, training eyes to patterns and colours, pretending the world wasn't swimming in front of her. A few short rows of edge pieces were left on the table when Sister Joan rose to lead the way out, Ruth following with a sense of guilt. She’d broken into their evening and they’d offered her every care, and she had nothing to offer in return, only tired and frustrated sadness. All they’d done to uplift her, and she’d just brushed it off so to continue wallowing. And their concerns about her health, she should listen to them, she just didn't want to.
She took her seat in the chapel, too tired to kneel, still-aching head leant back against the wood of the stall, eyes on the flickering candles which lit the altar. She was tired, and empty, and the silence held nothing for her. The two Sisters had each other, and the rest of their community at Whitby and elsewhere. She had nobody, just a borrowed community in this place, one which she was already preparing to leave.
She sang with them at first, then gave up and just listened to the chant pass backwards and forwards across the chapel. Timeless worship, heard throughout centuries. Her hand trembled and she clenched her fist to still it. The sick, clammy feeling was only growing stronger. Compline, and then bed, and perhaps she would sleep tonight.
May the souls of the faithful, through the mercy of God, rest in peace…
Rest. Peace. She clung to the words as she climbed the stairs, hand on the banister to steady herself. It was as though the burial had released the barrier which had kept the tiredness at bay. She filled a glass with water, first, drained and refilled it, before carrying it through to place on her bedside table. Shoes off, she curled up on top of the duvet, aching head laid down on the pillow. A stroke, a nuzzle in return, a soft goodnight, that’s what she was missing, and would now always be missing. The apartment was empty, and she was alone. This was her life now.
It was dark when she woke, still in clericals, cross digging into her chest. She sat up with a grimace, drained her glass of water to ease her parched mouth, and then wandered through to the bathroom. And then back to the bedroom again, pausing at the door of the living room to gaze at the empty corner in which a ghost lay, head on paws, unmoving. And then faded again, into nothing. The ibuprofen had worn off and the pain was back, drilling through her skull.
She stood at the window with head pounding and looked out and down, at the garden bathed in moonlight, at the shadowy corner where a wooden cross stood above freshly dug earth. She was alone in the flat and she shouldn’t be. She was alone in her life and she shouldn’t be. But she was. Always had been, always would be. It would be easier if she’d never known an alternative.
And soon, she would leave, and there would be nothing left. How much easier it was for Dot, safe at rest, no need for change, not having to face the loss that her passing had brought. And all of a sudden Ruth couldn’t stand to be here anymore, couldn’t face the empty flat, had to go, had to get in the car and pick a destination and let it carry her away from there, away from the memories. It was two in the morning, and the roads were silent, the moors lit by moonlight all around. This place was where she belonged, why had she ever thought to leave?
The sound of the sea filled her ears as she got out of the car and climbed a familiar path, legs trembling with each step. At least moving took her mind off the hot-cold sick feeling. She stumbled once, hauled herself back up, then the nausea became too much and she clung to the railing as she retched up whatever was left in her empty stomach, wiping her mouth on her sleeve. She should have brought a bottle of water. The beam of the moon reflected along the water, towards the horizon the lights of so many ships. They that go down to the sea in ships… but what did that have to do with anything, except as a sign of her straying mind? What was she doing, why was she here? The questions teased at the edges of her mind, woven in with whatever was driving her to keep moving.
And down below, waves lapped against the rock, and she passed a patch of fence bedecked with ribbons and cards and flowers and prayers, and went on, until her legs gave up and she sat down on a bench beside the path and considered the sea. Here, she was alone, and that was normal, because she was always alone. Because people came and went and then she was alone again. And soon, she would move, and then she wouldn’t even have work, and then what would she have left? Memories? What were they worth?
Ruth took out her phone and stared at it, blinking hard at the brightness of the screen, feeling the blood racing in her ears. She’d have to be back at work tomorrow, though what was the point, when she felt like this? What was the point, when there was no joy in anything? When she’d be even more tired from another lost night, and would have to just drag herself through with pounding head and blurring eyes, and do it all in the knowledge that she was about to lose this too? When everything was fleeting, near as gone already? What was the point, when she was losing it all, everything she had to live for? What was the point in living, when it felt like this? What kind of gift was life, when all it held was emptiness?
The night was hot, so hot, even with the sea breeze. She was too tired to walk back down, and her legs hurt too much, so she just shut her eyes to hide from the moonlight, feeling her empty stomach cramp. She felt sick still, but wasn’t that just what life felt like now? Useless, empty, fleeting, lonely and in vain. A world where she made her home but didn’t really live, didn’t really belong. Was this perhaps something like how Samantha had felt, when she’d climbed up here in a storm? As she’d taken those final steps out of this cold world and into God’s embrace? When, having lost everything, she’d looked for something else, something that might actually last?
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