The soil had softened just enough to welcome her (and the little tree sapling we've been saving in our garage) to a final resting place.
I shouldn't have smiled in this photograph, and I don't know why that I did, except for the fact that I wasn't thinking straight, having just seen my girl's remains lowered permanently into the ground.
The wound from losing Macy was opening up again, and I was fighting back tears, so a smile crested over my face in concealment of my true emotions, I guess.
A dogwood tree felt like the perfect way to honor the very best dog ever. It will bloom white this May, and when it does, it will be my Macybaby smiling back at us during the month of her birthday.
Macy's final resting place is perfect. It marks the spot where she always had complete joy. Either we were just setting out on a walk or just about to arrive home, and both directions delighted her.
I will see her tree from the kitchen window when I wash the dishes, and we will walk past it every time we go to the garage.
I have always wanted to plant a tree there, since the sidewalk curves out in a way to make room for one. I'm sure there used to be a giant old tree there many years ago, and I have always felt that the space looked empty without a tree. And now that space has been filled with more than just a tree; it has been filled with memories.
Being on the "public" side of the sidewalk, now the neighborhood dogs will pass by their old companion, and the invitation for me to spend moments with her will always be open, even after we move someday.
Until we meet in Heaven one day, Macy, you are firmly planted in my heart. Grow strong and rejoice, little tree, for you are being lifted up by the same creature who once lifted me.
Macy Philomena Goddard
May 10, 2003 -- December 28, 2013