passthought

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It never failed. Just when he least expected it, a thought would go flying through his mind and cause him to stumble. Sometimes the trigger was a teasing scent of clean medical supplies; sometimes it was a certain tone in the bark of a dog heard down a long street while on stake out. And then there were days like this one, where the thought struck from out of the blue, with no rhyme or reason, and his emotions would start to plummet.

He knew he shouldn’t have become attached, not with his track record, but he’d gone against the advice of his head and listened to his heart. And for that momentary lapse of logical reasoning, he was once again mourning the passing of a loved one.

No, Grania wasn’t his in the sense that one owns an animal, but she was a friend and had more than once proven herself to be a protector of others, even himself and for that, he was grateful. For he knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that his life was richer for having shared the friendship of a certain Great Dane with her real mother.

The sadness lingered, even these many months later, but the edge of the sorrow was no longer razor sharp and bright. No longer waiting in the darkness, lurking, waiting for a weak moment to reach out and cut his soul to ribbons with cruel and merciless abandon. It had been dulled by the wearing of time. It still hurt, he still felt the lump and harness in his throat when he allowed himself to think about Grania, but it no longer threatened to consume him.

He remembered, with startling clarity, the first day he’d laid eyes on the huge, gentle giant of a dog. She’d come home with his roommate and best friend, after possibly saving the younger man’s life or, at the least saved him from serious physical harm. And for her troubles, for doing HIS job, she’d gotten a bath that had left her smelling clean and almost exactly like Blair. He fell into like instantly with her, but Grania didn’t settle for just being liked and soon he found himself in love.

Leaning forward on the couch, he reached under the wing-backed chair and pulled out a reminder of Grania’s presence in his life. How it had managed to hide from him when he was cleaning up the loft he wouldn’t even try to think about. Nor mention it to Sandburg. It just was and, therefore, meant to be. A gentle, non-invasive reminder in the form of an old, partially frayed rope toy that Grania used to play tug-of-war with him in the park.

Blinking back a tear that threatened to spill over, Jim stood up, walked up to his room, and pulled a box out from under his bed. The top of the box was labeled -- he never could get out of the habit of identifying everything -- with one simple word: Mementoes. Opening the lid of the box, he placed Grania’s toy inside, right next to first awards he ever won in the Boy Scouts, and medals from the Army, and the one and only picture he had of his mother.

Grania was special and his memories of her deserved a special place to rest, and this box was the best he could think of at the moment. Maybe later this evening as the sun started to set, he’d talk Blair into taking a walk so they could pass by the place where Doc had interred the Great Dane’s ashes. Just to let Grania know he still thought of her from time to time, that he still loved her, and he was just waiting for her spirit to return to earth in a new form so Doc could find her again.