Goodbye, Ginger

She was one of 14 children but absolutely and completely different than any of her siblings. All of her brothers and sisters has slick-looking shiny raven-colored hair, and when she was born, she was adorned with the bushiest fuzz of auburn red hair that you've ever seen.

She was a voracious eater as an infant, yet she gained weight almost daintily, as waifs oft do. She was a lady, from the get-go.

At home, as she grew up, she could be both solemnly thoughtful and in the next instant, impishly grinning, eyes sparkling mischievously.

She loved being loved and yet bestowed love without question. From time to time, she would catch me engrossed in the sporting event of the day on the tube, oblivious to all around me and slowly slip her body beneath my hand so that I would be thus enticed to stroke her neck or the top of her head and give me that look that said, "Thank you so much for you attention and affection. I love you."

And she was always apprehensive around strangers, except for my Mom and Dad, and Laura Lee's little brother Dru. She trusted her family and her world and was dubious about anything beyond that. She was devoted and loyal and protective of those things and the people she loved and trusted. She loved me, Laura, Wes and Shannon, and she was patient and forgiving. God blessed us with her. She filled an emptiness and hole in our hearts.

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Fourteen years have passed, and as I've aged, my attention span shortens, my eyesight weakens, my hearing grows dimmer; laborious tasks seem more difficult and tiring, and I'm stiffer and more sore from those strenuous activities.

Like last night, when I got out the shovel and the spade and the maul, and went to the recesses of the backyard and began to dig and dig and dig. About 2 feet wide, 3 feet long and 4 to 5 feet deep.

And then I spread her favorite blanket across the bottom of this pit and eased her body onto the blanket and then first covering her face, and then her torso and limbs. And the last thing I saw before I covered her with the blanket was that flaming auburn-red thick coat of hair.

And as each shovel of dirt covered the blanket, I could no longer discern what was rivulets of sweat from the saltiness of my tears. And the ache of my bones and muscles were matched hand-in-hand by the ache in my heart. And there was still the solemn, dreaded task of breaking the news to my wife, daughter, and son.

And I sat there on the couch, trying to catch my breath, I remembered the time Laura Lee told me that about the time she penned her in the foyer while she was gone, fenced from the living room by one of those expandable baby gates. And when she got home, there she was, escaped from the foyer, sitting up on the couch in the living room, with one of mine and one of Laura Lee's shoes from our bedroom, one of Shannon's shoes from Shannon's room, and one of Wes's shoes from Wes's room, each partially chewed on, and she looked at Laura Lee with a big ole sloppy grin, tongue rolling out the side of her mouth, both proud and happy.

Wish I had thought to bury an old shoe with Ginger. She would have liked that.