Me: Beaumont. You’re lying on my legs.
Beau: I know.
Me: You’re heavy.
Beau: So is grief.
Me: And what does that have to do with lying on my legs?
Beau: I’m just trying to keep you from getting washed away.
Me: Really? It just feels like you’re trying to lie on top of me.
Beau: That too. But only for your own good.
Me: Oh really?
Beau: Yes, really.
Me: So, tell me, how does your crawling up onto my legs as I sit here at my desk with my feet propped up on the chaise, become ‘for my own good’.
Beau: I’m the bridge.
Me: And pray tell. What bridge would that be?
Beau: The bridge between grief and carrying on. Everyone needs one and I’m yours.
Me: I don’t need a bridge Beau. I just need time.
Beau: Yes. And in time, you won’t need a bridge either, because you’ll remember love is all you need. For now, I’m your bridge.
Me: So… why do I need this bridge?
Beau: Sometimes, grief can feel like you’re caught in an eddy of rainwater swirling down into a gutter. I’m the bridge to remind you to grieve but to not get washed away with your tears.
Me: And how do you, aka The Bridge, help?
Beau: Oh Louise. I’m the bridge that reminds you always that no matter how you spell ‘dawg’ you always get ‘LOVE’.
Need I say more? Sometimes (ok all the time) Beau surprises me with his intuitiveness and wisdom.
My mother left this earthly plane on Tuesday, February 25th. Over the past two weeks, Beau has been exceptionally cuddly and attentive, even for him who believes ‘lying close’ and ‘lying on top of’ are the same thing.